![slashyking:
weaslee:
Sherlock yelling at Jeopardy, [simultaneously bored at how easy all of the questions are] while John reads a book. [the Red Headed League? hahaha]
Lazy sunday at 221B, because who doesn’t love domestics?
“‘Who is’ Blaise Pascal.”
“‘Who is’…Rene Decartes?” Bzzz. “Oh, so sorry, the answer was Blaise Pascal.”
“These people are so dense, John. It’s almost too much to bear.”
“Then change the channel or turn off the telly.” His tone was slightly annoyed but mostly indifferent, nose embedded in his current read. Sherlock glanced over and saw him sitting a bit uncomfortably next to him.
“John, if you’d like to stretch your legs out, you can. You look disatisfied.” John looked up from his book and caught Sherlock’s sincere stare before he looked back at the telly.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he shifted, resting his head in Sherlock’s lap, pulling a pillow under it for support. Sherlock didn’t look down right away, waiting for John to get back into the story.
As the commericals hummed on, he slowly cast his eyes over John’s seren face, eyes scanning the words at an even pace, just as slow and rhythmic as his breathing.
Taking in every angle and every curve of his visage. He’d seen John’s face so many times before, on a daily basis, observed his actions even, but he couldn’t remember the last time he actully looked at him.
So, even when the show came back, he found himself staring still.
“‘What is’ Love and Other Catastrophes.” Ding.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzqktnGnaX1qe2gw3o1_1280.jpg)
Sherlock yelling at Jeopardy, [simultaneously bored at how easy all of the questions are] while John reads a book. [the Red Headed League? hahaha]
Lazy sunday at 221B, because who doesn’t love domestics?
“‘Who is’ Blaise Pascal.”
“‘Who is’…Rene Decartes?” Bzzz. “Oh, so sorry, the answer was Blaise Pascal.”
“These people are so dense, John. It’s almost too much to bear.”
“Then change the channel or turn off the telly.” His tone was slightly annoyed but mostly indifferent, nose embedded in his current read. Sherlock glanced over and saw him sitting a bit uncomfortably next to him.
“John, if you’d like to stretch your legs out, you can. You look disatisfied.” John looked up from his book and caught Sherlock’s sincere stare before he looked back at the telly.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he shifted, resting his head in Sherlock’s lap, pulling a pillow under it for support. Sherlock didn’t look down right away, waiting for John to get back into the story.
As the commericals hummed on, he slowly cast his eyes over John’s seren face, eyes scanning the words at an even pace, just as slow and rhythmic as his breathing.
Taking in every angle and every curve of his visage. He’d seen John’s face so many times before, on a daily basis, observed his actions even, but he couldn’t remember the last time he actully looked at him.
So, even when the show came back, he found himself staring still.
“‘What is’ Love and Other Catastrophes.” Ding.
(via piscesanela007)
