June 23rd, 2020
A/N: Let's start off with some domestic fluff, shall we?

John scowled to himself as he closed the door behind him. After a less than ideal day at work, he'd had to walk back to the flat in the pouring rain; all the cabs had been taken. He shrugged off his soaked coat, shaking it out. Water began to pool beneath his sneakers on the floor. He swore, knowing Mrs. Hudson wouldn't appreciate it.

He made his way up the stairs, knowing he was still leaving wet footprints; he hoped their landlady would be understanding. Once he reached the door to the flat, he sighed. John opened it, seeing Sherlock writing on a piece of sheet music that was on the table.

The detective didn't turn when he entered but greeted him in a way that was typical for him. "You took your time today," he said.

John rolled his eyes as he hung up his coat. "Well in case you've been too busy to notice, it's pouring outside," he said bitterly. "All of the cabs were busy so I had to bloody walk and unlike your brother, I don't always have an umbrella on hand."

He saw a small smirk appear on his flatmate's face at the comment. "Well, the surgery is only a ten minute walk away, surely it couldn't have been that bad."

"Says the one who stays in the flat all day doing whatever he pleases," John pointed out with irritated huff. Sherlock looked at him and raised an eyebrow. The doctor sighed and shook his head, water still dripping down from his hair. "Whatever, it doesn't matter, I'm going to go change my clothes."

The detective watched him walked out of the room with his typical blank expression. Once John got to his bedroom, he hastily began unbuttoning his shirt. He had to practically peal the flannel off of him and his skin was still tacky from the damp underneath. He grumbled to himself as he begrudgingly searched for a towel. The one he'd used earlier that morning was hanging on one of the bedposts, so he picked it up and patted down his skin. He then continued to change into a pair of pajamas and a jumper. Once he was fully clothed, John took the towel to his hair, rubbing it as dry as he could.

Making his way back to the living room, he stopped to hang up the towel in the bathroom. Sherlock had begun to play his violin. The sound drifted through the flat and mixed with the sound of the rain falling outside.

John sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh. The smell of tea wafted to his nose, making him look down. A cup of tea was on the table beside him. He frowned and looked up at Sherlock. "Did you make me a cup of tea?" he asked in bewilderment. The detective paused his playing, turning toward him with a nod. "You never make tea."

"You expressed your unpleasant mood, so I thought it would be helpful for me to do so," he explained. "Am I wrong?"

He shook his head and brought the cup of tea to his lips. "Just didn't expect you to care about my crappy mood," John mumbled. He took a sip of the tea, humming appreciatively; he was starting to feel better already. "You usually don't."

"I was simply confused by your rather extreme reaction to some rain," Sherlock stated, swinging his bow around in his hand to gesture to the window. "Most people find rain relaxing, as do I. Rain is a producer of negative ions, which reduce stress levels and increase your serotonin counts once they enter your bloodstream. With the help of negative ions, your brain can operate without the typical accompaniment of tension or slowness."

John stared at the taller man with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, but does it occur anywhere in your genius brain that having soaking wet clothes sticking to your body without a choice annoys people? Namely, me?"

"The thought hadn't occurred to me until you came stomping into the apartment and interrupting my work," he replied.

The doctor rolled his eyes and took another sip of his tea. Sherlock turned back to the sheet music on the table and scribbled something. He exhaled and tilted his head curiously. "What are you working on anyway?"

"I'm composing," he replied without looking up. "As I said, rain allows my mind to work more smoothly. It's the optimal time to occupy myself with more creative activities."

John just relaxed against the chair. He took a moment to breathe now that he was in dry clothes and drinking a perfect cup of tea. He briefly thought if he should thank Sherlock for preparing it for him, but the detective raised his violin to his chin and began to play once more. He figured he wouldn't want to be thanks over something as little as tea anyway; Sherlock typically saw such things as trivial.

He watched at Sherlock played his violin. Now that he wasn't soaking wet anymore, he could see what he'd been talking about rain being calming. The sound of it mixed with violin's sweet sound was starting to make his bad mood evaporate.

The detective moved a little as he played, turning and swaying. When he was facing John, he could see that his eyes were closed.

It was moments like this that the doctor felt incredibly lucky. Sherlock Holmes was a pain in the ass, but he was also the most incredible person John had ever met. He was intelligent, determined, and unstoppable once he put his brilliant mind to something. He was talented and caring despite what Sherlock himself might think.

John couldn't help the small smile the appeared on his lips as he gazed as the detective's relaxed expression. The way his eyelashes hovered over his cheekbones and the way his curls framed his face made his chest expand in an inexplainable way.

He knew he wasn't gay, but the evidence that he was bisexual or something else had been becoming clear since he'd met Sherlock.

The doctor shook his head and decided not to worry about that for the time being. He wanted to enjoy the moment and watch him play the violin, drinking tea and listening to the rain for the rest of the evening.