Baker Street Boys

25

//SMUT WARNING//

John and Sherlock get trapped in the morgue overnight and have to share body heat to stay warm (of COURSE they do).

The door to the morgue slid shut with a metallic, and very final-sounding click that brought Sherlock's head swinging up from the corpse he was looking at.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you remove the chock from the door?"

"Yeah, problem?"

Sherlock granted John one of his rare contrite looks accompanied by a nod, "Possibly it would have been prudent for me to share that the lock on that door is broken somewhat earlier."

John's jaw dropped, just a little before he silently turned and rattled the handle. Not surprisingly, with the exception of a disappointing rattle, the door failed to shift.

"Sherlock," John turned back to the tall man standing silently beside the broad metal table, "It's past midnight, there's nobody else in the building, and we are now locked in the morgue."

Sherlock's mouth lifted wryly, "See, I told you that if you spent enough time with me, your deductive abilities would improve."

"Not funny, Sherlock. Not funny." John turned and rattled the doorknob again with similar results, muttering over his shoulder, "I can't believe you—"

"Calm down, John. Dawn is less than six hours away, we'll be perfectly fi—"

John swung back, fists clenched and mouth tight, "We will 'not' be fine. The heating is off, and the chillers down here are designed to keep this place cool. You've managed to lock us in a room that's little more than an oversized refrigerator. So, well done, Sherlock."

Sherlock mumbled something, eyes averted and John strode up to him, stepping into Sherlock's personal space and scowling up into his face, "What did you say?"

"I wasn't the one that closed the door," he murmured, not meeting John's eyes.

"What?"

"I said—"

"I heard what you said," John paused, breathing hard and virtually pressed up against the detective. He brought a hand up and with firm fingers, turned Sherlock's head back to meet his eyes, "I heard you. You... you..." John's mouth softened to a grin, "you idiot."

Sherlock's eyes widened marginally as he slowly matched John's smile, a soft chuckle eased itself between John's lips. Within moments, his own baritone laugh joined his partner's as the tension broke.

"Right," John took a step back, his shoulders lifted as he considered their options, "let's look around and see what we can find to keep us warm."

Five minutes of searching found very little. The sparse, medical area consisted of brushed metal surfaces and clinical equipment, and the drawers where not already occupied with their sorry burdens, were nothing more that metal benches on sliding tracks.

By the time they'd finished, both men were blowing warm breath onto their fingers in an attempt to stave off the chill.

"I have an idea," Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, his breath fogging the air, "but you won't like it."

"I don't like the idea of frostbite either, so whatever you've come up with, I'm onboard."

Sherlock took three long strides and pulled open one of the empty cadaver drawers, standing to one side without a word.

"You've got to be kidding?" John's eyes widened, looking at the dark cavity beyond the open door.

"It gets worse, I promise you," Sherlock shrugged out of his heavy Belstaff coat.