Chapter 2 of Armchairs- Knows
Word count: Chapters of less than 500 words, ongoing.
It’s a Saturday morning. Sherlock has encroached upon the Shelf of Sustenance with his experiments, so John's going between the kitchen and the living room, emptying the fridge onto his half of the desk so he can fit his cider in. [the desk has defined halves. Though technically Sherlock's, John started using it the week he moved in, after noticing Sherlock didn't use it. Then Sherlock put a fish tank on his half, used it as a ruler, and marked his territory with a compass. The tank has moved, the boundaries have not] Sherlock's just watching over the top of a newspaper like a spy. And John knows he's watching, so he's mixing all of Sherlock's dismembered bits of face together so Sherlock will eventually get up and help, or at least not keep the ears there. But Sherlock knows John knows he's watching, and is letting him mix it up, so he wins. He doesn't currently realise John knows that as well, but that his mixing will eventually inconvenience Sherlock, and then, later, he wins. John always plays the longer game.
John’s half of the desk is wrapped in cling-film in order to keep the icy blood residue from staining the table. He thinks that this, with some Dettol later, is best way to keep the job hygienic. Sherlock is going to use the bread faster than usual so that John will go out and he can clean it again with a chemical mixture he devised himself, so that John doesn’t get ill. But before that, John will Dettol the desk to within an inch of its life because he disapproves of the mixture. Though better than other cleaning agents either of them have used, it chaps Sherlock’s hands.
Chapter 2 of Armchairs- Knows
Length: Short chapters, but ongoing, and going on for a while.
Chapter 1 - Contrary
Sherlock is a strange person. Obviously. But he's strange in more ways than is clear from your first look at him. Much as he likes independence, he hates being alone, much as he distrusts strangers he has no problems with being touched or touching. Despite suffering from the cold and adoring pyjama days, he doesn't own a pair of slippers. He wears Dolce and Gabanna shirts and flatshares, he loves efficiency but prefers cabs to the tube, he finds a lot of people amusing yet rarely smiles with his teeth. It's like he's trying to be contrary.
John is a little weird too, which most people find less obvious, something Sherlock finds dreadfully frustrating. John has punched the chief superintendent of the Metropolitan Police, but thanks cash points on withdrawals. He thinks himself fairly laid back, but prefers to stand than to sit. When he was fifteen, he did work experience at the veterinary clinic in Battersea Dogs Home, but John actually hates dogs. And he's a doctor who carries a gun, there's always that.
Both of them think they shouldn't get on nearly as well as they do.
In the Youtube part of the world I've made a few videos under the name doctorcropcircles, because everyone prefers their own music taste, see hereherehere: The Stars of Track And Field , I Know You're Onto Something, God I Love You, But You Trouble Me, Starlings, Rules and Regulations.
The main reason I've even made a page and started inflicting my opinions on the world is because I want to do podfic, because almost everyone from any fandom is usually American and it seems a waste to go through all that time Britpicking and then have somebody read it in a fake-sounding generic British accent [that sounds snobbish and I really don't mean it to be] or even a straight-up honest American one, which would be fine if it didn't clash weirdly with the content.
If you were to respond to this bizarre business advertisement, I'd be free to spend time on it most Tuesdays- that's when my room-mate is away. I'm prepared to read slash, but not PWP [why anyone wants to listen to somebody else read straight porn escapes me], and I'm a John/Sherlock sort rather than anything which writes Mark Gatiss as sexy, which makes me distinctly uncomfortable. That said, each to their own and everyone has a right to their favourite flavour of fictitious sex.