Madnesssssss

areyoutryingtodeduceme:

pluph:

moriartyhasthetardis:

Science and chocolate? That’s definitely my division *_*

Its the kind of gift Sherlock and John would make for each other on their anniversary.

Sherlock makes vague, noncommittal noises in his throat whenever John tries to mention the fact that they’ve been in (what he, at least, acknowledges as) a relationship for nearly 6 months.
As far as Sherlock is concerned, they’ve been ‘in a relationship’ since he invited John to see Baker Street.
The day in question passes with little ado. There is a staged murder/suicide to deal with and it’s kept Sherlock occupied for the better part of three days. For his part, John makes tea and toast and drapes a wool blanket around Sherlock’s shoulders at 2 in the morning, and Sherlock accepts it all without complaint. Even takes a moment to brush a kiss along John’s cheek. So John smiles as he runs his fingers through Sherlock’s hair even though Sherlock is bent over a microscope and John goes to bed alone that night, his chest feeling slightly hollow and he ignores the empty space where Sherlock should be.
When he wakes up the next morning (his eyes puffy and red from the lack of sleep during this stressful case, and nothing more, nothing he’d ever admit) John finds Sherlock curled into the space, not sleeping, his eyes moving over John’s face and chest, just studying. John realizes one of his wrists is in Sherlock’s hands and knows Sherlock is feeling his pulse quicken and he laughs sleepily.
“Morning,” he croaks before pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.
Sherlock leans his body towards John and his voice holds no traces of sleep when he says “Yesterday was…. important to you, wasn’t it?”
John shrugs and nods a bit at the same time, not really sure what Sherlock wants to hear. It was important to John, for silly, sentimental, completely non-masculine ways and he feels a little ridiculous for it at all. So he wont lie to Sherlock about it. Knows there’s probably no point anyway.
“It’s fine…” he whispers, but then Sherlock is scooting up onto his elbows and reaching over him, towards John’s nightstand, and John doesn’t move or complain because the view of Sherlock’s stretched torso above his head is more than alright.
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Sherlock, and John twitches his body to move around, concerned, but Sherlock is settling back into the pillows before he can turn completely. In his hands is a beaker, familiar as one of the ones from Sherlock’s kitchen experiments, but filled with swirls of Chocolate and topped with more whipped cream than should be allowed before 9 a.m.
Before noon, really.
Sherlock offers the beaker to John with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and shyly avoids meeting John’s eyes. “Careful, the glass is a bit hot. I just brought it in a minute before you started waking up.”
John takes the beaker of hot chocolate carefully, and eyes it with a bit of awe and, frankly, suspicion. “Sherlock is this….”
“An anniversary gift, if you’d like. A day late, but….”
“No, I mean, is this one of your beakers? From the kitchen? I don’t know if I… um. You did, uh, clean it well, I hope?”
Sherlock makes an irritated clicking noise with his tongue and uses a long finger to scoop a dollop of cream from the top of the beaker.
“Cleaned thoroughly. With bleach and everything.” he offered the finger to John, who gladly popped it into his mouth with more innocent enthusiasm than any erotic intent.
“It took a few scrubbings to remove all traces of the sheep’s bile it originally contained at first. I believe I got the worst of it out though.”
“Ah, right, of course.” John refused to rise to the bait, but suspected he couldn’t help it if his face turned a bit green at the thought. So instead he chuckled and sipped his drink and met Sherlock’s lips and shared the taste of the rich chocolate (and maybe possibly some residue of sheep’s bile).