Being in bed with a horny John Watson was never a chore. What WAS hopelessly tedious however was a sleeping John Watson who insisted Sherlock stay with him whether he could sleep or not. How many hours had been wasted by such slothful dawdling when there were experiments to be done and puzzles to be unraveled. Worse yet was the fact that Sherlock had developed the annoying habit of actually dozing off himself next to a warm cuddling John.
That was the case this morning as John had quietly arisen, showered and eaten without Sherlock ever stirring until he felt a hand on his hip and a kiss on his forehead. Eyes still sealed shut, the delicious "only him scent" told him it was John.
"Sorry to wake you, love, but I'm off to the clinic. Sorry but I already know I'll be in for extra hours, so don't expect me till half seven at the earliest. Oh and just a reminder, amazing man, don't forget our conversation yesterday. I don't ask much of you, Lock, and you promised, so I expect you to get right on it. See you tonight." Then, with another kiss, he was gone.
Sherlock grumbled as he roused himself to full wakefulness. Just a reminder, indeed. As if John needed to prod his brilliant brain about some inane little chat where he had extracted some ridiculous promise from him to do...something. Suddenly, like a taut spring snapping shut, Sherlock sat bolt upright with a knot in his stomach and a very large hole in his Mind Palace. What the bloody hell had he agreed to do?
In short order Sherlock discovered that pacing around whilst pulling his hair was not yielding any useful results. So, process of elimination it was. What did John generally dwell on the most? Eating and sleeping yes, but of late Sherlock had been praised for his cooperation in those areas more than scolded. What next?
He looked at the chaos around him. The state of the flat was a bit not good. THAT must be the "thing". Now armed with a plan of action he set to work. The washing up was done, several loads of funky and, ahem, "spunky" laundry were washed, dried, folded and put away. The bed was made and the room tidied, the sitting room hoovered and dusted, and the bulk of the detritus set to rights. Well, if not set to rights at least hidden from sight under various pieces of furniture and in various other cubby holes. "Well done you, Sherlock. Now, only the fridge left."
As he set to cleaning the "pickled" liver of the unfortunate alcoholic out of the vegetable crisper he had to smile. John had really been quite good about it even cracking a joke that Sherlock should pay extra attention to examining the putrid bile duct as he might gleen some insight as to the bile like nature of his endearing personality. It had been said with a wink and a rather cheeky pinch to his bum, so all was forgiven.
Finally- spotless. There's that done then. Down to the bins with this and the day was his to start a new experiment. Or so he thought.
"Sherlock is that you out there dear?"
"Yes, Hudders, just come down to..."
"Oh, lovely. I'm so pleased. John had spoken to me about you scrubbing out my bins but I didn't hold out much hope. How sweet of you to do this for me."
For a moment, mouth hanging open, Sherlock was dumbstruck. Then he found his voice. "Ah yes, of course, your bins. What else would I be here for? I, ah, have to run down to Speedy's with this bit of rubbish, then I'll be on it in a tic."
He literally stomped the few yards to the industrial bin swearing under his breath. "The bins, the damn bins. THAT must be the "thing", and I wasted all that effort in the flat. Stupid promise."
An hour later, Hudders bins were shining like John's dress uniform boots and Sherlock looked like a human compost pile. Hudders offered tea and biscuits but the wrinkle of her nose told him a shower was in order. "At least", he thought, "I'm done."
As he turned to go inside, "Sherlock, dear, John is going to be so chuffed that you took his advice to heart and you're making a real effort to be so much nicer to everyone. You know it's always bothered him that you so often have such an abrasive relationship with Greg, Molly and, goodness sake, your brother. If you do something near as thoughtful for them as you have for me, he will be over the moon. Well, run along now dear, you're attracting flies."
That was how, after a shower and a tantrum, Sherlock was hailing a cab and tearing towards Soho to be "nice". The mental storm cloud over his head was black and thunder was about to boom despite the very warm sunny day.
Obviously he had deduced wrong yet again. Evidently the "thing" involved him engaging in polite social interaction with- others. Everything, EVERYTHING this morning had been a waste of time and labour. John hadn't asked him to tidy the flat or any of the other things he had spent hours on. He wanted him to be "normal". That alone was disappointing as John was always his strongest defender when it came to his...eccentricities. But if John wanted a friendly sweet Sherlock, so be it.
The cab pulled up in front of Crosstown Soho- Doughnuts & Coffee and he told the driver to wait. The LGBTQ friendly sticker in the window made Sherlock instantly relax and he allowed himself to enjoy the smells of the baked goods and the coffee. Armed with his purchases, he climbed back into the cab and soon arrived at Maison Bertaux. It was $$$$ as opposed to the Crosstown but another LGBTQ friendly destination and this last "gift" had to be more upper crust as it were.
The cabbie gladly accepted the bag of warm scones Sherlock offered in return for his continuing to wait for him stop to stop. That way the packages could stay in the cab while Sherlock did the "thing".
He bounded through the doors of Bart's morgue with the richest, sweetest, most delectable iced coffee available from Maison Bertaux and held it out to Molly like a Persian cat offering a "fresh kill" from it's backyard. Fortunately, Molly was able to discern the difference between Sherlock's "I'm pleased with myself" smile and his "I'm plotting your end" manic grin.
"Sherlock what a surprise. Always happy to see you, but I'm afraid it's been a slow few days. Seems as if it's too hot for people to even bother passing away."
"Can't I just come to visit a friend?"
"Sure, it's not usual for you that's all."
"Apologies for that. It occurred to me that some time ago you asked me if I wanted coffee and my response was less than thoughtful. I know it's been a while but it's quite hot today and I know you favour this concoction so- here!" He shoved it in her face accidentally getting a dollop of whipped cream on her nose. Well it WAS the thought that counted wasn't it?
Though startled, Molly was more than happy for the refreshing drink in what was frankly the biggest cup she had ever seen. "Golly, this is from Bertaux? More than my coffees cost me for a fortnight. Thank you, I'll really enjoy this. Wait, are you going?"
"Can't really stop. Only visiting several people I want to show my appreciation to. I was truly gratified by that swollen liver. See you soon."
In a moment of déjà vu Molly was frozen in place by a morgue table and squeaked, "Ok."
Lestrade was suffering the effects of the heat in his small oven of an office so he might have been spoiling for a fight when Sherlock burst in the door. "Afternoon, Galahad."
"It's Greg and you damn well know it you little shite. I got nothing for you Sherlock so don't bother whinging or going into a strop. It's too hot and I'm too knackered."
"I DO know it's Greg, but I thought Galahad was befitting a noble officer of the law such as yourself. These are for you. I know you fancy these sourdough doughnuts, particularly the matcha tea and chili chocolate, so there's half dozen of each."
"Assuming this is really a nice gesture on your part, thanks mate. Don't think I can eat them all myself though."
Sherlock noted the tips of his ears turning red beaneath his silver hair and huffed good naturedly. "I'm quite sure you can find someone to share with later this evening if you try hard enough."
"Yeah, well, most likely. Anyway, this is great, Sherlock, really. I'll call you first thing when the next juicy one comes in."
The fact that this was his last stop wasn't bringing any joy to the increasingly weary detective. He'd been on the go all day, it was near six o'clock and he hadn't eaten all day. Shite, shite, shite!!! And there was ANOTHER "thing".
Sherlock was glad that Mycroft was still in his office. He wasn't in any mood to jump through all the hoops required to enter the inner sanctum of the Diogenes Club. The private office had air conditioning of course, but Sherlock was surprised to see Anthea had already gone for the day and Mycroft was uncharacteristically in his shirtsleeves having even forgone his waistcoat and, horrors, his tie.
"Bad day, brother mine?"
"To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?"
"I'm endeavoring to make John happy by being more grateful to the people in my life who are...not entirely useless."
"Am I to gather that I am one such person? If so, that is very kind of you. I sometimes despair of our ever having an amiable association."
Perhaps it was his exhaustion or simply the open honest expression on Mycroft's face, but Sherlock was truly moved. "I, ah, am aware of your fondness for the Victoria Sponge and cream cakes from Maison Bertaux and I happened to be in the area."
Shyly- when was he SHY around his brother?- he placed the fancy box in Mycroft's outstretched hands. "I am touched dear boy. Would you like to perhaps share..."
"Another time, Mycroft. No really, I mean it. I would like that very much and we'll do it soon. In fact you call with a date and time and I will be there. Besides, I'm guessing Greg will be happy to have you home with those and he MIGHT have something for you as well. Bon Appetite mon frère. À bientôt."
It was just gone seven when Sherlock staggered up the stairs to the flat throwing himself onto the sofa with a groan. Bollocks, this being nice business had proved to be annoyingly rewarding. No chance of him sharing THAT with John. It was enough that he had done the "thing". As his eyes began to drift closed...
"Hello, honeybee! Made it home earlier than expected. Good news ya? Look at you there on the sofa all sprawled out and comfy. Now aren't you glad I reminded you about our talk last night? Easy to see you did precisely what I asked and it didn't kill you. Maybe now you can admit that my idea was a good one. It was that simple. Relax and stop worrying about everything in the world for one day. Wasn't that hard was it?"
If Sherlock had been able to form words he had no idea what they would be. The "thing", John's only request, was that he do and think absolutely nothing for the whole day. Dear God, he needed a drink. No he needed a padded room and a straitjacket.
"How about we take advantage of all that rest you got and go out on the town. The whole date night scene. Dinner, dancing, and then back here for some 'entertainment'. We'll make use of the energy you stored up today. Yeah?"
"Jawn, would you mind, I mean could we just...bed?"
John waggled his eyebrows. "Right! Let me have a quick wash and I'll meet you there."
Ten minutes later, a raring to go John brought a bottle of wine into their bedroom only to find Sherlock passed out still in his clothes. After a few efforts to rouse him, John left Sherlock to it. "It" being fourteen hours of sleep. His last words before going to the kitchen for a cold sandwich were, "I didn't want you THAT bloody relaxed."
By the time Sherlock was back amongst the living the next morning John had taken note of the remarkabley pristine state of their flat AND Hudders bins. A cuppa with fresh baked bread and homemade jam made him privy to Sherlock's housekeeping. Then a series of strange texts on Sherlock's mobile- couldn't let the noise wake his Sweetie could he?- painted a picture of a series of visits Sherlock had made to various friends to whom he came bearing presents, if you could believe it.
"John are you here?"
"Kitchen, love, and may I say you look adorably well rested."
"We didn't technically get to DO anything last night did we?"
"Technically? How about technically, figuratively or literally. Good thing I don't have a tender ego. Having you react to my magnificent boner by passing out and drooling didn't do much for my Sex God reputation. So why don't you sit down and tell me what you REALLY did yesterday. I'll make tea."
The tea was cooling in the cups when John served up a full English for both of them. "None of your 'not hungry' young man."
"I'm famished John. Thank you."
"So you did ALL of that because you didn't pay attention to what I was saying or you DID and then deleted it straight away."
"In all honesty, one or the other. I don't really know which."
"Well it certainly wasn't the day I had in mind for you but I have to say the flat has never looked better. Hudders is so thrilled with her bins she made Mrs. Turner come over to admire and SMELL them, and the other three recipients of your kindness are pleased as punch. Don't look so affronted. Yes, yes, I read the texts on your mobile but YOU DELETED ME!"
Sherlock squawked, "Not you John! I would never delete you. Just the words that come out of your mouth at times."
"Nice. Ta for that. So any grandiose plans for today?"
"Well if I'm not in Coventry perhaps we could make a second attempt at burning off some of our excess energy."
"Think that can be arranged AFTER you finish off that breakfast. There will be no snoring in our bed this time."
Sherlock leaned across the table and kissed John smearing jam on both their faces. "Agreed, with one caveat. While we are...busy, PLEASE don't say anything of import and if you MUST, kindly take care to give me a reminder of it later."
"Noted, sugarnut. Now, what say we go do...the "thing".