The Weapon-A Sherlock Fanfiction

Chapter 26~Eye Sex

Sherlock and I were sitting on the couch, my knees hugged up to my chest and him in his blue robe. He was going on and on about his latest case, his hands flying, eyes bright with excitement. I sat there listening, a slight smile on my face. John came into the room. He eyed both of us sitting there before saying with a slight grin, "Lestrade called." Sherlock jumped up.

"It's Christmas!" He shouted, skipping over to the kitchen. John sat down, looked me up and down, still smiling.

"Interesting." He muttered.

"What?" I asked. He pulled out his laptop and just smiled wider.

"Oh, no." I said. "This isn't about that eye sex thing you were talking about."

"That wasn't eye sex." John said smugly. I rolled my eyes.

"What was it, then?"

"That was tender lovemaking." He said.

"Ha!" I shouted.

"He was smiling! Sherlock was really smiling!" John insisted. I waved my hand dismissively.

"I've seen him smile a million times before." I said.

"Not like that." John said. Sherlock came back into the room.

"Gerard has another case." He said, putting on his coat.

"Greg." I corrected. Sherlock looked at me.

"What?" He said.

"His name's Greg." I said with emphasis. He raised an eyebrow.

"Is it?" He said, challenging.

"Yup." I replied, matching the intensity of his gaze. He searched my eyes. We stared at each other for what felt like minutes. John cleared his throat.

"Yeah, still here." He interjected. We broke eye contact, looking briefly at John.

"Anyway, I'm going down to Scotland Yard." Sherlock said. He went over to the door and stood there expectantly.

"Jax, you coming?" He asked.

"No, I have something I have to do." I answered, getting up from the couch. He stood there for a moment.

"Alright. I'll be back." He said, descending down the stairs. The front door slammed behind him. John turned to look at me.

"Now, that was eye sex."
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I was sitting in my room when Sherlock came home. He opened the door and plopped on the bed. Mind you, when I have retreated to my room with my pajamas on, hair in a bun, laptop out, I'm done socializing for the day. Translation: don't bug me. Everyone in the flat knows that. Apparently, Sherlock had chosen to ignore this little detail. He settled next to me on the bed.

"Umm, what are you doing?" I asked. He pulled out his phone and started to scroll.

"Lestrade sent me all the details on the case so I'm-"

"No no no." I said. "What are you doing in my room." He looked around like he was just realizing his surroundings.

"Because you're not in the living room." He said simply. I stared at him with narrowed eyes, trying to decide whether to kick him out. He stared back, unyielding. In the back of my mind, John was saying eye sex eye sex eye sex. Deciding to let him stay, I looked back at my laptop.

"How is that case going?" I asked curiously. Sherlock's eyes lit up. He talked about the suspects, the crime scene, the weapon, the peanut butter, the footprints, the witnesses, yes I did just say peanut butter you heard me, the evidence, the victim, seriously there was peanut butter all over the crime scene, the fingerprints, the discarded bullets, John called it "The Peanut Butter Killer" on his blog, the motive, the means, the opportunity-until he just stopped mid-sentence. I looked up from my keyboard.