entranceway | [Accidental Video]

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[Accidental Video]

[The problem with science is sometimes it can take too long. There's time in the middle to be idle, time to kill and no deaths to find interest in. There is simply so much time to just think on the things he can't forget and ruminate on all his failures. With an audience, Sherlock's narcissistic, arrogant, antagonistic attitude is neigh unstoppable but alone he is simply quiet, ghosting around his room in his dressing gown with a sullen expression on his face.

He picks up his violin and starts to play near the windows looking out, the sad melody finally completed as he expresses himself in the only way he really knows how.]

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[Sherlock smirks--victory--and goes back to shoveling in his own food.]

The day you revolutionaize modern medicine with your findings is the day I'll drop it. Till then, I'm counting.

[He orders himself a nice wine to go with his pasta and orders for John while he's at it, putting it within his reach so he knows he's expected to have something liquid as well.

Yes, John, you are this mothering at times.]

[John glances up as the wine is brought, chuckling lowly to himself and refocusing his gaze on his plate, making sure to be extremely slow and drawing out each of the only four concise bites. He's avoiding the last one just to be frustrating. Two can play at that 'yes, you're really like this' game, Sherlock.

Instead, he reaches out to gracefully swirl the wine glass before taking a long, single drink. When Sherlock did this, his long pale neck was a sight and it reminded John exactly how lovely the other man was. He doesn't attempt to do the same, since the action would be quite silly on him, but he does try to hint at the other's smooth motions. They're hard to miss but also hard to imitate.]

[Sherlock almost feels like chuckling at the other man's actions. Some of the things he's amused he observed. Some of the things he's a little annoyed at because he is not that contrary.

... fine, he is. Shut up.]

Four.

[He tries to not giggle, instead turing his head slightly and cocking an eyebrow.]

Well observed. Problem?

We agreed on five. You've only had four. You owe me another bite.

...I'm full.

[Sherlock rolls his eyes, stabs some noodles with his fork, and holds it to John's lips.]

One more bite never killed anyone.

[He can't help it, his ears flush and lips part in a surprised, rather un-Sherlock way as the food is offered to him. John blinks rapidly, then tries to set his expression to one of boredom, rolling his eyes for good measure.]

And I'm quite sure one bite never did much for anyone nutritionally, either.

[But he does eventually give in, leaning in to take the bite, trying to look begrudging as he chews. The absurdity of the situation, and how they must look, suddenly hits him mid chew, and his hand flies up to press the back of it again his lips to try and smother his chuckle.]

[Sherlock leans over, one hand on John's thigh as he leans towards his ear to whisper.]

Go on and eat, John. I think you've about hit the limits of your role play abilities anyway.

[John has trouble swallowing his food for a minute, what, with Sherlock's hand on his thigh--feeling like a brand in the best way possible--his breath against his ear, and his scent muffled by one of John's own jumpers. He clears his throat with a sheepish chuckle, peeking over at Sherlock and hoping his unintentional observations of their proximity aren't noticeable.]

Caught me. I'm not as good at this as you.

Edited 2012-05-25 22:06 (UTC)

No, you're not. But your observations are... interesting.

[He smiles as he slides his hand away, going back to his plate which he still has every intention of cleaning or nearly doing so. When it's time to refuel, well, one refuels.]

I'm sure you're much more comfortable as Captain Blogger MD anyway.

Can't deny that. And the world needs it's proper Consulting Detective instead of a rather poor imitation.

[John shifts, flexing his jaw, and starts to eat properly, trying very much not to linger on the fact that he can /still/ feel where Sherlock's hand had been pressed against his thigh. Whenever he glances up and catches sight of his friend eating too, however, his smile turns fond and soft, happy to see that Sherlock was, indeed, refueling.]

[He enjoys his food and wine then leans back in his chair, feeling far too full. He rubs his jumper belly. It's very comfortable being in John's things. Feels like home.]

Thus concludes the entirety of my day's plans.

[Perhaps playing as Sherlock actually altered his appetite, because John feels full within a few bites.]

Including or not the part where we tussled about like children and proceeded to mimic one another through dinner?

[He chuckles, leaning forward onto his elbows.]

Life requires a certain degree of spontaneity. Besides, I needed to get out of my head for a while; it worked just as well to get into yours.

[He picks at the fabric of his jumper before looking over at John.]

You look good in a suit. At the trial, with that ghastly knit tie. You looked very smart--look very smart, I mean. Now.

Oh.

[John leans back in his seat and glances down at his clothing, as if forgetting what he's wearing, before looking back at the detective again. His hand absently flies up to thumb at the button closest to the collar.]

Well. Uhm. Thank you. Suppose it's partially the novelty of it all, though. What, with me rarely wearing one.

[He shifts in his seat, expression wavering between confusion, contemplation and content.]

Jumpers are more for comfort then they are for looks but... it's... nice seeing you in one. You seem, well, relaxed. Though I guess it's hard to look uptight in oversized knitwear.

You see me relaxed all the time. Unless somehow sleep wear and a dressing gown are the height of male fashion. Not really something I keep mindful of. Suits, at the very least, never go out of style. Can't accidentally look like a hobo in Dolce & Gabbana.

[Of the few times he's seen John put on shirt sleeves and a jacket, it was generally either for work or for a date. Something about this not being work related makes him smile.]

John, are we utterly, irreparably, inexcusably ridiculous?

[John, who's gaze had wandered off to other parts of the dinning hall, lets out a surprised snort and looks back to Sherlock with a laugh and raised eyebrows.]

...I suppose that's one way to describe us.

You're too indulgent is the problem.

[Not that he minds. He doesn't really care what anyone thinks. He's enjoying himself. But sometimes John cares and it's really not doing him any favors to let Sherlock have his way to the point of madness.]

Probably.

[John is aware of his indulgence, but sometimes he finds it tempting to just ignore that knowledge, getting whisked away into the excitement of the world Sherlock lives in, regardless of what others think. But he's all too human, and it's easy to fall back into the reality that public image can be tied to.

But, for right now at least, he's allowing himself to indulge.]

[Sherlock rises from the table]

Well, all silliness aside, I'm quite done here. Will you be returning to your room or mine?

[John stands as well, stretching with a low grunt.]

For the sake of both our sanity, I'd probably head back to mine. I'm due for a shower anyways. I can pop by later, if you'd like?

If you like. It doesn't matter. As I said, I'll probably sleep tonight as well.

I won't be interrupting that, for sure.

[John grins, quite pleased with the idea of Sherlock resting, and starts walking for the door, glancing over his shoulder at the detective.]

Eating and resting in one day? You're spoiling me, Sherlock Holmes.

[Sherlock follows, making a face.]

How is me doing either spoiling you?

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