Tiff & Text
"If Edward VIII was half the git that he's portrayed as in this film, it's a good thing did abdicate." John paused the movie and stretched. He glanced over his shoulder to discover Sherlock engrossed in an experiment. Sherlock rarely watched movies with him, and whatever experiment he was doing now was neither smelly nor flammable, so John hadn't even noticed what he was up to. And they didn't have a case on, so: "What are you doing?"
"Working," was Sherlock's terse reply.
"Lestrade already identified the blood found on the recovered zither." It was how they'd finally identified the last missing girl. It had been a bizarre case involving a Croatian folk music group, a human trafficking ring, and an American cult leader who called himself Zarathustra the Younger. It was all in the hands of international authorities now, and had been for several days.
"Then what are you working on?" John asked, rising and coming to the end of the dining table to see. He reached out to pick up something unidentifiable from the top of what appeared to be a pile of discarded items.
John's hand froze.
For the first time, Sherlock looked up from the pipettes and Petri dishes and met John's curious gaze with a cold one of his own. "Why don't you go back to your film? Or better yet, leave entirely for the rest of the evening? The last thing I need is you blundering into things like a mindless automaton."
The words stung. They were hardly the worst ones Sherlock had thrown at him over the time they'd lived together, but coming so out of the blue and unprovoked as they had angered him.
"Fine," snapped John. He marched to the sitting room and snapped off the telly, then grabbed his coat. He paused by the table. "While you've got your eyes glued to that microscope, you might look for the allele that made you such an insufferable shit. I know you didn't get it from your mother; she's delightful. Must be from the Holmes side of the family."
He stormed down the stairs and out the front door. He was three blocks away when his phone chimed in his pocket. He considered ignoring it, but gave in in the end.
John allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Another text came on the heels of the first.
Come home when you like. -SH
His smile grew.
But make it late. -SH
John laughed and shot back a quick reply. I'll bring dinner. Make sure there's a place to eat it. -JW
Bring dessert, too. -SH
Will do. -JW
John walked on, his step and mood both lightened. He knew just the place.