John was seriously starting to regret giving Sherlock those chemicals.

Groaning in exasperation, John held up his favourite jumper, well it WAS his favourite jumper, what was left of it anyway.

He glared at Sherlock, who widened his eyes and gave him an 'innocent' look behind his safety goggles, two test tubes in his hands. John's jumper and several large black holes in it and had a strange green tint to it and smelt off.

There was nothing John could do to save it. "That was my favourite jumper, Sherlock!" John complained, chucking it into the fire and, dejectedly, watching it burn.

There was a hissing sound. "I was experimenting on the fabrication of sheep's wool," he stated simply.

Sighing in frustrating, John headed for the door without his beloved jumper, even though it was gusty and snowing outside.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, sounding surprised.

"Out," John said curtly, he seriously needed some fresh air and a job.

With that thought in mind, he slammed the door shut behind him and marched across the street, looking in windows and shops for vacancies.

*.*.*.

After an hour or two of searching, he finally found one. It was at another clinic, but this one felt much more… homier. Smiling, John went in and applied.

After a decent talk, the girl at the counter decided that he would start work next week, Monday at 8am.

Thanking her profusely, John left the shop, and, whistling, made his way home.

He didn't realise how cold he was until he looked at his hands and realised they were turning purple from the cold. Groaning, he prayed that he wouldn't get sick.

Running the rest of the way home, John burst into the flat, carefully closing the door behind him and running up the flat, shaking with cold now, and up to where Sherlock was still experimenting.

Sherlock nearly dropped his new test tubes when John ran up to him and un-tucked his shirt, slipping his hands inside Sherlock's top to gain warmth faster.

John sighed happily, and Sherlock unsteadily put down the test tubes and took off his safety glasses. "John, what-" Sherlock started, but John cut him off my leaning up and kissing him.

Sherlock put his hands on John's shoulders and gently turned them until Sherlock was sitting on the arm of the chair, eyes closed.

John gently nibbled on Sherlock's lower lip, smiling at the gasp that came from Sherlock. Rubbing his hands in slow circles, John felt himself beginning to thaw.

Pulling away, John ran tiny nibbles down Sherlock's neck. Sherlock tilted his head back and threaded a hand into John's hair.

*.*.*.

John sat on the couch; book in one hand, Sherlock's hand in the other. Sherlock was holding John's hand up to the light and examining it, for some reason John was too scared to ask about. He flipped John's hand over so that it was palm up, and starting tracing the faint lines on it.

John bit his lip to stop from laughing; it was slightly tickling. Turning the page with some difficulty, John looked up as Greg waltzed in. "Have you found those robbers, yet, Sherlock?" Greg asked, putting his hands in his pockets and John froze.

Oh, god. "What robbers?" John asked shakily, praying they didn't mean him and Harry.

"The one I texted you about, John. When you were out," Sherlock told him, glancing at him briefly before going back to studying his hand.

Greg raised an eye brow, and John shrugged; he had no idea what Sherlock was doing either.

"Yeah, alright, we got some footage that I thought you might want to look at," Greg went on, producing a disk out of his pocket.

John's stomach sank lower. He glared at Greg, and, just to make matters worse, Harry barged in through the door, clearly drunk.

"Helllllllo, John!!" she slurred, hanging onto the doorframe for support.

"Did Sherrrly-locks like his *hic* present?" Harry giggled.

John stared at her in horror. She was going to ruin everything! As she opened her mouth again, John shot up, ripping his hand from Sherlock's grasp, and earning a disapproving noise from him, and ushered Harry back downstairs. "Dammit, Harry! Come back when you're sober!" John snarled, pushing her into the waiting cab.

Rubbing his hands from the cold, he went back upstairs. Greg was putting the disk into their DVD player. Standing stock still in the doorway from horror, John watched as disguised him and Harry entered the store.

Sherlock had his fingers in their usual steeped position. He was watching the scene intently, eyes flickering to catch everything.

John, thinking fast, whipped out his phone and texted Mycroft.

'Get Greg out of here. NOW! And make sure he takes his disk with him! Otherwise, I swear to God I will post the video of you and Greg snogging at the bar on the internet.'

Greg's phone buzzed within seconds. "Sorry, Sherlock, got to dash, Mycroft needs me, sorry. Stop by the office and we can watch this properly," Greg apologized, taking the disk and dashing down the stairs.

Feeling smug that he had blackmail over Mycroft, John sat down again, switching off the telly and picking up his book again.

Sherlock was watching him intently. Twitching slightly, John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand, squeezing it slightly and smiling as he started reading again.

*.*.*.

John and Sherlock stayed like for most of the day. When it came to lunch time, John was just about to get up, when Sherlock's head flopped onto his shoulder, sleeping. Surprised, John just stared at him for a moment.

He must have stayed up late doing experiments if he was sleeping now. Smiling, John manoeuvred them until they were lying down with Sherlock sleeping on John's chest.  

Since his phone was still in his pocket, he ordered some sandwiches from the sandwich shop. Then he texted Mrs Hudson (he didn't want to wake Sherlock by shouting) to bring the people up when they got here.

Content, John went back to reading. He soon realised that he wasn't actually reading, but instead paying more attention to Sherlock.

His hair smelt delicious, it was right under his nose… Without thinking, John took in a deep breath, smiling.

Sherlock stirred slightly, and John remained motionless while Sherlock re-arranged himself so he was comfy.

Sighing in amusement, John set down his book and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.

*.*.*.

John was gently tugging on Sherlock's black curls, marvelling at their softness, when Mrs Hudson came up, the delivery boy behind her with his order in his hands.

"Ah, thank you, Mrs Hudson," John said, grinning as he grabbed his wallet from the table and handed the money to the boy.

He took it, and John felt himself bristle at the disgusted look on his face. The boy quickly put the bag on the table and left, throwing one last disgusted look at John and Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson smiled at John, and they talked idly for a while, until she exclaimed that she had left her tea downstairs, and was off.

John's stomach rumbled; and he reached for the sandwiches, licking his lips. Sherlock let out a soft groan, shaking his head slightly and reaching up, patting John's face.

Bemused, John stayed still. Sherlock moved his hands over John's face, his chin, his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his eyebrows, his ears, his forehead and finally into his hair. John felt Sherlock smile sleepily against his chest. "John," he murmured contentedly.

John patted Sherlock's hair, smiling. "Yes, Sherlock, I'm here," John said softly, eyeing the bag of sandwiches.

Sherlock gave a sleepy mumble and shifted up slightly so that his cheek was resting on John's, his face turned to him so that their noses were almost touching.

John watched as Sherlock's eyes opened slightly, and he smiled at John. John brought his hands up to Sherlock's hair and tugged on it softly.

"John?" Sherlock asked, studying John's expression.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

John was completely unprepared for what Sherlock said next.

"You don't look as good as a girl."

John stared at Sherlock, mouth open in surprise.

Sherlock just chuckled.