Fragile Things
Fragile Things: in which Sherlock and John dye Easter eggs, and Sherlock reveals his softer side.
Rating: G
Word count: 750
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Warning: Fluff, oh dear gods the fluff. Unbeta'ed, unBrit-picked, all errors are mine.
Disclaimer: I am not related in any way to the Beeb, Sherlock, Doyle, etc, or XKCD, all rights belong to them.
This is the long-awaited sequel to Peep Wars, which I promised to kittygopounce and cody_thomas. It's fairly short, and was not the porn I was expecting, but...I kinda like it. ^_^
~~~~~
There was still a dismaying amount of hardened marshmallow in the microwave. John peered into the corners, sighed, and sprayed it again with the cleaning solution before shutting it and resigning himself to cold soup for lunch.
"How are the eggs coming?"
John jumped, turned, and scowled a little at Sherlock, who had padded up soundlessly. "D'you have to move that quietly?" he asked, attempting to sound grumpy.
Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow at him, then peered into the saucepan. "Try throwing some salt in, it'll speed things up," he suggested.
"It's right there, do it yourself you lazy git," John said, smiling.
Reaching one long arm out, Sherlock snagged John's wrist and pulled him over, wrapping his arms around the shorter man and burying his face in his hair. John hugged back, still marvelling a little at being allowed such casual, intimate contact with the man he'd only days ago thought for sure was uninterested in any such thing.
"Did you get out the dye yet?" Sherlock mumbled.
"Nope, just got done setting out the newspapers and fancied some lunch. Think I should at least attempt to get the last of the marshmallow out of the microwave before baking it permanently to the sides, though." John rubbed small circles on Sherlock's back for a bit, then pulled back for a kiss. Sherlock returned it enthusiastically, and John's hand fisted on his back, then slid upward into the silky, dark curls. Things got a bit heated for awhile before the bubbling of the water intruded on their awareness, and they broke apart, panting a little.
John found he was grinning rather widely, and giggled a bit at the heated interest in Sherlock's eyes. "Eggs first, Sherlock," he admonished mock-sternly.
"I don't want eggs, John, I want you," Sherlock practically growled.
"We got up two hours later than we'd planned because you wanted me, it's the eggs' turn now," John replied cheekily.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock opened the fridge and pulled the dye out of the butter compartment. "I don't recall you minding," he said dryly.
"Never said I did. However, the eggs only have a few more minutes to boil, and I want to get this set up." John pulled out the vinegar and oil, and the last of the clean bowls.
"We could have used food to dye them, you know," Sherlock pointed out, setting each little bottle down next to a bowl.
"Dye's already bought, we can try making Easter a scientific holiday next year, assuming any food we purchase lasts long enough to become dye," John said, turning off the stove and draining the eggs in the sink. "Seriously, would it kill you to rinse your dishes?"
"Depends on what was on the dish," Sherlock teased.
"Forget I asked, you'll give me nightmares," John chuckled. "Where did you put the crayons?"
They spent the next hour dyeing and decorating all twelve eggs. John tried his hand at marbling a few of his, while Sherlock, frowning ferociously, etched intricate designs on his before dipping them, pulling out brightly-coloured ovoids with molecule patterns and scientific formulae. One of them caught John's eye, and he leaned over to see the cloudy-blue egg Sherlock had just pulled from its bath. "I didn't know you read XKCD," he said, reading the little formulae scrawled across its curves.
"Cos <3 = ?"
"√<3 = ?”
“d/dx<3 = ?”
“Math and sarcasm, how did you think I could miss it?” Sherlock smiled. His ears were slightly pink, though, and John blinked, looking harder at the egg.
“Hang on, did you…match my eyes?” he asked a little incredulously.
Sherlock's ears went pinker. “...possibly,” he admitted.
Carefully, John reached over and picked the egg up, holding it as if it was made of spun glass. “You...made this...for me,” he said slowly, wonderingly.
“I did,” Sherlock said.
Surely John's heart was going to burst out of his chest. The egg trembled in his hand, and he giggled, just a bit, his eyes shining as he examined it, and then looked across the table at Sherlock. “You are amazing,” he said, shaking his head.
“I seem to remember you saying this before,” Sherlock replied, but he was smiling back. John reached across the table and took his hand, egg still in the other.
Lacing their fingers together, John squeezed Sherlock's hand, then set the egg down. “Let's go back to bed,” he said.
“Oh, God, yes,” Sherlock grinned.
Rating: G
Word count: 750
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Warning: Fluff, oh dear gods the fluff. Unbeta'ed, unBrit-picked, all errors are mine.
Disclaimer: I am not related in any way to the Beeb, Sherlock, Doyle, etc, or XKCD, all rights belong to them.
This is the long-awaited sequel to Peep Wars, which I promised to kittygopounce and cody_thomas. It's fairly short, and was not the porn I was expecting, but...I kinda like it. ^_^
~~~~~
There was still a dismaying amount of hardened marshmallow in the microwave. John peered into the corners, sighed, and sprayed it again with the cleaning solution before shutting it and resigning himself to cold soup for lunch.
"How are the eggs coming?"
John jumped, turned, and scowled a little at Sherlock, who had padded up soundlessly. "D'you have to move that quietly?" he asked, attempting to sound grumpy.
Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow at him, then peered into the saucepan. "Try throwing some salt in, it'll speed things up," he suggested.
"It's right there, do it yourself you lazy git," John said, smiling.
Reaching one long arm out, Sherlock snagged John's wrist and pulled him over, wrapping his arms around the shorter man and burying his face in his hair. John hugged back, still marvelling a little at being allowed such casual, intimate contact with the man he'd only days ago thought for sure was uninterested in any such thing.
"Did you get out the dye yet?" Sherlock mumbled.
"Nope, just got done setting out the newspapers and fancied some lunch. Think I should at least attempt to get the last of the marshmallow out of the microwave before baking it permanently to the sides, though." John rubbed small circles on Sherlock's back for a bit, then pulled back for a kiss. Sherlock returned it enthusiastically, and John's hand fisted on his back, then slid upward into the silky, dark curls. Things got a bit heated for awhile before the bubbling of the water intruded on their awareness, and they broke apart, panting a little.
John found he was grinning rather widely, and giggled a bit at the heated interest in Sherlock's eyes. "Eggs first, Sherlock," he admonished mock-sternly.
"I don't want eggs, John, I want you," Sherlock practically growled.
"We got up two hours later than we'd planned because you wanted me, it's the eggs' turn now," John replied cheekily.
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock opened the fridge and pulled the dye out of the butter compartment. "I don't recall you minding," he said dryly.
"Never said I did. However, the eggs only have a few more minutes to boil, and I want to get this set up." John pulled out the vinegar and oil, and the last of the clean bowls.
"We could have used food to dye them, you know," Sherlock pointed out, setting each little bottle down next to a bowl.
"Dye's already bought, we can try making Easter a scientific holiday next year, assuming any food we purchase lasts long enough to become dye," John said, turning off the stove and draining the eggs in the sink. "Seriously, would it kill you to rinse your dishes?"
"Depends on what was on the dish," Sherlock teased.
"Forget I asked, you'll give me nightmares," John chuckled. "Where did you put the crayons?"
They spent the next hour dyeing and decorating all twelve eggs. John tried his hand at marbling a few of his, while Sherlock, frowning ferociously, etched intricate designs on his before dipping them, pulling out brightly-coloured ovoids with molecule patterns and scientific formulae. One of them caught John's eye, and he leaned over to see the cloudy-blue egg Sherlock had just pulled from its bath. "I didn't know you read XKCD," he said, reading the little formulae scrawled across its curves.
"Cos <3 = ?"
"√<3 = ?”
“d/dx<3 = ?”
“Math and sarcasm, how did you think I could miss it?” Sherlock smiled. His ears were slightly pink, though, and John blinked, looking harder at the egg.
“Hang on, did you…match my eyes?” he asked a little incredulously.
Sherlock's ears went pinker. “...possibly,” he admitted.
Carefully, John reached over and picked the egg up, holding it as if it was made of spun glass. “You...made this...for me,” he said slowly, wonderingly.
“I did,” Sherlock said.
Surely John's heart was going to burst out of his chest. The egg trembled in his hand, and he giggled, just a bit, his eyes shining as he examined it, and then looked across the table at Sherlock. “You are amazing,” he said, shaking his head.
“I seem to remember you saying this before,” Sherlock replied, but he was smiling back. John reached across the table and took his hand, egg still in the other.
Lacing their fingers together, John squeezed Sherlock's hand, then set the egg down. “Let's go back to bed,” he said.
“Oh, God, yes,” Sherlock grinned.