Johnlock Oneshots

the fight

  "John, I'm bored," Sherlock announces, multi-colored eyes whipping open. The blonde blogger looks over at the dark-haired detective.

  "And what would you like me to do about it?" John asks.

  "Where's your gun?"

  "No. You are absoutely not shooting the wall again, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson would have a fit."

  "How many times must I tell you? The wall had it coming."

  John rolls his eyes.

  "When did it start snowing?" Sherlock jumps up, striding over to the window. He pulls one of the curtains aside, revealing the London scenery. The bright sun streams into the window, illuminating the white snowflakes falling slowly from the sky.

  "About a couple hours ago," John replies. Sherlock closes his eyes, going to his mind palace. He searches through files until he finds the one he was specifially looking for.

  "So the snow should have accumlated on the ground by now, judging by the size and the shape of each snowflake. Hmm...let's see. Three centimeters for the width, five for the length. Yes!" Sherlock pivots on his heel and grabs his coat off of his chair.

  "Where are you going?" John shuts his laptop.

  "Fresh air, Watson. Care to join me?" Sherlock slips on his coat and expertly ties his blue, striped scarf.

  "Er...I'm not one for the cold."

  "John, please?" Sherlock begs, grabbing his blogger's coat off of the coffee table. John sighs and stands.

  "Fine." He grabs his coat from Sherlock and slips it on as he follows the detective out of the flat. They trot down the stairs and out of 221B. Sherlock is silent as he leads John to an almost vacant park.

  "Jesus. It's freezing," John remarks.

  "'S not that bad." Sherlock tilts his head up to the sun before plopping down on a pile of the cold snow. He sticks out his arms and legs, moving them back and forth slowly.

  John laughs, "A snow angel? Really?"

  The detective closes his eyes, smiling faintly. "Mycroft and I used to make snow angels when we were younger."

  "I cannot imagine Mycroft making snow angels. I can't even imagine him liking the snow."

  "Oh, he loved it!" Sherlock suddenly jumps up, stepping back and admiring his work. "And do you know what else he loved?" The detective turns and smirks mischeviously at the blogger.

  "No idea." John pulls his coat tighter around him.

  "Snowball fights." Sherlock crouches down, picking up a pile of snow. He rolls it in his hands, forming a ball.

  "If you throw that at me--oof!" John blinks at the sudden impact on his chest. His eyes narrow as he stares at Sherlock. "You utter cock."

  "Oh, John, you always say such nice things. I never knew you cared," Sherlock smirks, leaning down to make more snowballs. But then he's hit in the head with the cold substance. He ruffles his hair with his fingers, shaking the snow from his ebony curls.

  "Nice aim," the detective says.

  "Thank you." John steps back, almost tripping over the slide that's attached to the playground. He wheels his arms foward, catching his balance. Sherlock laughs, taking his chance and throwing another snowball at his blogger. It hits John square in the face, making him fall backwards into the snow.

  "You are such an arse!" John wipes the snow from his face then glares up at the detective. Sherlock grins, then frowns as a snowball sails past his ear. John crosses his arms, frustrated.

  "Ha!" The detective laughs, stepping foward. John kicks Sherlock's foot, throwing him off balance and landing head-first into the freezing snow.

  "Ha!" John mimics at Sherlock looks up at him.

  "I think we're even now."

  "I think so too." John nods before grabbing a handful of snow and spreading it through Sherlock's dark hair. The detective yelps and hits the blogger's arm.

  "Now we're even."

a/n: Hope you liked it, lovelies. Until the next update!