I decided to make this fluffy since I don’t know how to write anything else.
Not Beta’d
Disclaimer: Do I look like Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to you? I do not own BBC Sherlock.
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John didn’t remember collapsing on the sofa as soon as he got home. He didn’t even remember opening the door of the flat and just throwing himself on the sofa, similar to the fashion of one certain detective in a strop.
What he could remember is the amount of text messages he received from said detective while at work. Text messages like, ‘Lestrade wants me to look at a level 3 case, I told him to not bore me’ or ’The eggs have gone bad, I put them down the garbage disposal’ which followed with a ’it smells now’ and went to describe the smell and how Mrs.Hudson was berated him for being such a little boy for putting things down the sink to see what would happen.
John only sent one text back against the barrage of messages, saying, ‘She is right, you are a little boy, just admit you miss me for some odd reason and stop with the texts or I will turn off my phone’. They didn’t stop of course, but nor did Sherlock ever admit the truth.
John tried to concentrate on his patients but the texts kept coming, even with the threat that he would shut off his phone, and he could feel himself getting worn out. With a clingy flatmate and cold season, he felt he was about to drop onto the floor. It seems that Sarah must have let him home early, even though what we could recall getting home was all blur.
Well, at least I am home now and had some rest, he thought as he shifted where he sat, waking up to a low lit sitting room,only to freeze to feel a weight on his lap. He looked down squinting a bit, eyes still fuzzy from sleep to see a black, curly head resting on his thigh, connected to a long, slim body that took up the rest of the sofa. It took him a few seconds to realize who it was and that his left hand was threading though the curly mess.
The curly head stirred and lifted up, turning to look up at John with a glare, “Stop moving, I am trying to sleep” he said, as he plopped his head on John’s thigh and closed his eyes once more. John knew that he should be upset over being used as a pillow but he was too warm and rested to do anything about it, but tug at Sherlock’s hair and feeling him trying to bat his hand halfheartedly away.
John chuckled and said under his breath, “You sir are a big cat, clingy cat.” Sherlock only but hummed as he fell asleep with John’s hand in his hair.
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Ficlets are supposed to be short, so I made a short one finally. Yeah Sherlock is a clingy cat.
AO3 Version
