Prompt Post Part XXVIII

[sherlockbbc_fic]

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4/?

[holyfant]

*

He sent Lestrade a text:

Are you free tonight?
SH

and there was a longer stretch of no response than usual.

um. why?

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

To celebrate John's birthday
at our flat, of course.
SH

He had a moment of regret at inviting Lestrade when he received the

yeah of course! LOL I
thought you were making
a pass at me for a moment.

And he almost broke his phone sending the

Don't ever say something
like that to me again. Ever.
SH

He bounded down the stairs, stuck his head into Mrs. Hudson's flat, and hushedly told her that he'd be cooking for John, and her delight was a bit too loud, but she promised she'd come.

Stamford couldn't make it. Only too well. He was even more irritating than Lestrade when he'd had a drink.

*

John was rubbing at his shoulder halfway through the medical article he was reading on his laptop. Sherlock flopped down on the couch next to him.

“Want me to rub it?” Sherlock said, feeling his face growing a bit hotter.

John turned to him slowly, and the look of wary astonishment on his face was so magnified that Sherlock couldn't help the laugh bursting from his throat at it.

“My shoulder?” John squeaked, looking at Sherlock as though he was one of the rather more interesting aliens on Doctor Who.

“It's hurting. I can tell,” Sherlock said, because backing down now would only be more suspicious. “I'm good at muscle massages.” He didn't add the in theory, because really, there hadn't ever been anyone who had let him give them a muscle massage, but his knowledge of the human anatomy was top notch.

“Of course you are,” John said, still looking at Sherlock's face as though he expected something to sprout from his nose.

“So?” Sherlock urged, growing a little impatient.

“Um,” John said, “all right, I guess?”

Sherlock pressed his palm against the place where he knew the scar to be, first, feeling out how John responded to the pressure, and then he moved on to curling his hand around the muscle connecting John's shoulder to his neck, before rolling around the muscle on the back of his shoulder. John was silent; Sherlock could almost feel his smile.

“Okay,” he said, awkwardly, after a moment of pinching with a bit more harshness at the remaining knot at the point where John's collar bone was a hard boundary under his shirt, unteasing it. Then he took his hand away.

“You are good at that,” John said, mildly.

“Evidently,” Sherlock said.

“Though humility is still not your strongest suit.” John rolled his shoulder, then threw him a broad smile. “Thanks.”

Sherlock hummed in response, and retreated back into the kitchen, pleased with himself.

*

“Sherlock, I haven't even finished this one,” John protested, when Sherlock brought him another cup of tea.

“Ah, yes,” he said, putting it on the table. “I'll just leave it here, then.”

*

“Still haven't finished this one, Sherlock,” John said, eyes sparkling, five minutes later.

“Well, now you can choose which one you want next,” Sherlock said.