"Mr. Holmes, what type of suits do you wear?"
"Is the old woman who lives downstairs your housekeeper?"
"Are you and Dr. Watson a couple?"
"When's the last time you took a vacation?"
"What product do you use on your hair?"
"Do you consider yourself a genius?"
"You and John Watson... strictly platonic or no?"
John and Sherlock shoved through the hoard of journalists and photographers, quickly scooting into the backseat of their waiting taxi.
"Bloody hell. Would you all kindly PISS OFF!" John shouted before he slammed the taxi door shut.
Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow at his flatmate, a smirk gracing his lips.
"What?" John asked, an incredibly irritated look on his face. "Those fucking journalists are too nosey for their damn good."
Sherlock snorted out a laugh. "They're paid to be nosey, John." The detective turned his attention to the taxi driver and said quickly, "To Scotland Yard."
After a few brief moments of silence, John finally verbalized the thoughts that Sherlock could feel practically radiating from him.
"What the hell does it matter what type of suits you wear?" he grumbled. "What does that have to do with anything? Suddenly, you are brought to their attention, and they all mill about, lusting incessantly over your clothing and your hair!"
John was a bit red in the face now. His irritation with the constant crowd of journalists outside of 221 Baker Street had finally boiled over into full-blown frustration, just as Sherlock had been anticipating. The doctor had actually stayed calm much longer than Sherlock had initially suspected he would, which impressed him slightly.
"Perhaps I should answer their questions every so often," Sherlock mused. "That way, they would possibly be so kind as to – how did you so elegantly phrase it? – 'piss off'."
There was a moment of silence in which John attempted to scowl at Sherlock in reply. The cause was lost, however, when Sherlock's smirk transformed into a full-blown smile, which resulted in the pair breaking down into a fit of childish giggles.
"I can't believe -" John attempted to say between short spurts of laughter. "I can't believe I actually," he laughed again, "said that!"
"At least you were polite and said, 'kindly,'" Sherlock pointed out, chuckling all the while. "That was much better than I would have managed."
John barked out another laugh. "Luckily for their self-confidence, you didn't find the need to add in an insult or three. I'm impressed with your self-restraint."
Sherlock rolled his eyes in mock-annoyance. "I'm honestly considering answering the next question that I am asked by the press, simply to get them off my back," Sherlock said. "I figure there will be at least a couple reporters at the Yard when we arrive, so perhaps I will answer a few questions. . . That should send them running off to their computers for a few hours, thus providing us with a decent time to focus on the case."
John shrugged in response. "May as well give it a shot."
They soon arrived at Scotland Yard, and – just as Sherlock had anticipated – there were quite a few journalists hovering around, attempting to look inconspicuous. Sherlock handed the cabby a few pounds as he scooted out of the taxi after John.
They were bombarded with questions almost immediately. This time was different, however; nearly all of the questions had a similar premise.
"Are you and John Watson exclusive?"
"Dr. Watson, how long have you been lusting after Sherlock?"
"If you and Dr. Watson share the same bed, what do you do with the spare bedroom?"
"Sherlock, how long have you been buggering your flatmate?"
"So you two are a couple?"
"What in the bloody he-" John's question was promptly cut off when Sherlock seized him by the face and kissed him. Sherlock attempted to coax some sort of reciprocation out of John, but the latter was standing shock-still out of utter terror and confusion.
The detective pulled back and muttered quietly against his lips, "Trust me, John. Just play along."
Sherlock placed a hand on John's neck and brought their lips back together. After a moment, John relented and began to return the kiss, placing his hands on Sherlock's hips and pulling him a bit closer. Their lips moved together in perfect synchrony, and John was completely blown away by how wonderful the kiss felt.
After an unfortunately short period, Sherlock pulled back and muttered so only his flatmate could hear him."I told you I was going to answer their next question," Sherlock said. "If they're writing about us anyway, we might as well give them something to write about."
"But we're not together, Sherlock!" John retorted half-heartedly.
Sherlock simply smirked and pulled back from John. As he started walking away, Sherlock reached down and grabbed John's hand, yanking him toward the entrance of Scotland Yard.
"Just let them talk, John."