Going to a crime scene handcuffed to Sherlock Holmes had to be at least the second most mortifying experience John had ever experienced.
"Err, John, I believe you have a Sherlock attached to you…" Lestrade couldn't keep the grin from spreading over his face. It was all he could do to prevent himself from bursting out laughing.
Scratch that, it was definitely the most mortifying experience John had ever experienced.
"Yea, thanks for that Greg. I hadn't noticed." John scowled and once again tugged at the handcuffs binding him and Sherlock together. Sherlock gave John a pouting look, but backed off when John shot his 'Army Commander Look' at him.
"It really isn't my place to ask about what you two do in your spare time, but at least take off the handcuffs before coming to a crime scene." Lestrade tried to place annoyance in his tone, but failed miserably.
"We weren't doing ANYTHING. Or at least I bloody wasn't! This idiot," John jerked on the handcuffs again, this time making Sherlock stumble forward, "decided it would be a brilliant idea to handcuff us together with an un-pickable lock with no key!"
At this Sherlock pulled another sulking face, "Really John, it isn't un-pickable. I just haven't been able to decipher the lock yet."
"Like that's any better!"
"It is! It means I can pick it! Just not now…"
"I don't want to be stuck to you forever!"
"John stop being so melodramatic. We won't be stuck together forever…maybe just a few days."
"A few days!" John spluttered.
"Oi, you two. Quite bickering and remember you are at a crime scene." Lestrade butted in, giving both of them a glare. "Now if you don't mind, Sherlock, could you please take a look at the body? Anderson's on duty so yes," Lestrade added to Sherlock's snide look, "John can take a look at the body and offer his medical opinion."
Placated, Sherlock quickly moved towards the crime scene, dragging John behind him like a dog on a leash.
"Sherlock slow down!" John hissed, "Your legs are too damn long. I have enough trouble keeping up with you regularly but now that we're attached you need to slow down so I can at least not trip onto my face every five seconds!"
"Not now John, the crime scene calls to me." Sherlock smirked at John's furious face and continued pulling him along behind him until they reached the crime scene. Sherlock's face was lit up with interest until he took a good look around the room, and his face suddenly fell back into one of boredom.
"Really Lestrade? I don't even need to step into the room to tell you that the man was murdered by his brother. The clues are everywhere. Did you even bother waking up this morning or did you just sleepwalk into the crime scene?" Sherlock ignored the look of frustration that played over Lestrade's face, choosing instead to immediately start playing with the lock on the handcuffs again.
"Damn it Sherlock, this isn't the place!" John smacked Sherlock's hand off the handcuffs.
"I agree, both of you stop flirting at crime scene. It's inappropriate." Lestrade didn't even bother glancing in their direction as he moved about the crime scene once again, trying to discover what Sherlock had so obviously seen.
"We don't flirt at crime scenes. We may giggle but we certainly don't flirt." Sherlock said in a monotone voice, trying to fiddle with the handcuffs before backing down quickly as John raised his hand to smack Sherlock's again.
"We don't giggle. We laugh. And we only did that once." John said. Lestrade grunted in reply, still searching for the evidence. Sherlock slyly slid his hand down to touch the handcuffs one last time, only to have them smacked away a second time by John's hand.
"John if you want me to get these off I do have to touch them. I don't have psychic powers to magically undo the lock." Sherlock scowled. John sent an equally exasperated look at him, but grudgingly allowed Sherlock access to the handcuffs once more…only to regret it a second later when Sherlock semi-gracefully plunked himself on the floor and gave his full attention to the handcuffs. This was obviously the perfect time for Sally to make her entrance. One look around the room gave her a view of Sherlock on the crime scene floor fiddling with handcuffs, John also attached to said handcuffs being tugged down to Sherlock's level, and Lestrade mumbling to himself, looking in weird places for only god knows what.
"Should I even ask?" Sally asked.
All three men looked up at the same time, and in different tones said all together, "No."
"Didn't think so. You, freak, take your boy toy out of the crime scene if you aren't helping." Sally commanded. John's protests at being Sherlock's 'boy toy' were unheard by all parties as Sherlock stood up and fixed Sally with his 'I-know-something-embarrassing-about-you-and-I'm-about-to-reveal-it-to-everyone-if-you-don't-shut-up-now' look.
"Sherlock." Lestrade's voice warned from behind the couch. The man had since long ago acquired a 'Sherlock is feeling snarky' detector, and unless he wanted World War III happening in his crime scene area, Lestrade had to stop Sally and Sherlock from going at it…again.
"We were just leaving." John was finally given the chance to drag Sherlock by way of handcuffs, leading him out of the crime scene. Sadly, he wasn't quick enough to stop Sherlock from muttering something in Sally's ear, leaving the poor woman red faced and angrily spluttering incoherent words.
Both men stepped out back onto the street, and right away they strode off into two different directions. Sherlock and John didn't even realize what was happening before the handcuffs made a cracking noise, and both men were suddenly pulled back to each other, their back hitting one another before they collapsed on the ground.
"This isn't happening." John groaned, slapping a hand to his face. Sherlock snorted and glanced backward at him.
"A bit late for denial, isn't it John?"
"Shut up Sherlock. This is your fault."
"I think you've made it pretty clear that you think this is my fault already John."
"Well it is."
"I left my good lock picking tools back at Baker Street, and I forgot to bring enough money to grab another cab back home. Also I think the head inside the fridge is rotting, which disproves one of my theories about an old case."
"What?" John's bafflement was clear in his voice.
"I thought it best to get all the bad news out now while you're still mad at me now." Sherlock shrugged at John's horrified expression.
"Sherlock, I am not walking home or taking the underground with you handcuffed to me!" John forced them back up.
"Well do you have money for a cab?" Sherlock asked. John began shoving his free hand in his pockets, only turning up a sad, small amount of cash. Sherlock pooled their money together, but shook his head, signaling that even together their money wasn't enough to hire a cab to drive them all the way back to Baker Street.
"So are we walking or taking the underground?"
"Damn it Sherlock!"
Despite John's protests, they did indeed end up taking the underground back to Baker Street. John protested a bit, hoping they wouldn't run into many people walking, but was eventually won over by the fact that if they took the underground, they would get home faster meaning less time would be spent handcuffed to Sherlock.
Although all the looks from the other people on the underground were enough to make John regret his decision. Sherlock, of course, didn't mind at all. He was amusing himself by taking in the looks people gave them, and whispering about them to John.
"Look at that man staring at us, the one with the green umbrella. He is obviously gay and thinking about using handcuffs on his partner. The man next to him is looking slightly nervous, and by his looks he must be a rookie cop. Probably debating about whether we are escaped convicts or just strange people. The woman towards the front keeps giving us disgusted looks, but notice her ring finger is empty but there is still a ring mark. That means she wore her wedding ring for a long time without taking it off, but recently there's been a reason she had to. Her husband probably had an affair with a man and looking at us she remembers him. Hence the angry and disgusted looks she keeps sending us."
"Do we really give off a vibe that we're gay Sherlock?" John was almost tired of asking this question.
"I don't know. I've always been in the opinion everyone is either bisexual or asexual. Nobody is truly straight or gay." Sherlock answered back, giving John a brief reprieve from his constant chatter about the people around them. Not that it wasn't fun seeing Sherlock being brilliant, but considering how this day had been going for John, he would be relieved with a bit of peace and quiet after this whole handcuff thing was over with.
"Oh, this is our stop John." Sherlock and John got off and walked the rest of the way to Baker Street. As soon as they were back in the safety of their home, John sighed and leaned against the door, grateful for the privacy.
"Tools are upstairs John!" Sherlock tugged impatiently on John's jacket. John mumbled in agreement, and moved upstairs with Sherlock. He ignored Sherlock's mutterings as he pattered around the upstairs, searching for where he had hid the good lock picking kit, until they made their way into John's room.
"Sherlock," John paused, and then said, "What are we doing in my room?"
"Oh I always hide stuff in your room. You have some great hiding places in here." Sherlock said, reaching under the bed, only to let out a grunt of frustration when his hands found nothing.
"You hide stuff in my room?"
"I just said that John."
John was torn between smacking Sherlock or smacking himself. Of course Sherlock hid stuff in his room. Why had he expected anything different?
"I'm a bit surprised at how heavy a sleeper you are sometimes. I come in here at night to grab things and you never wake up." Sherlock continued, absentmindedly. John only stared at the other man, curse words wanting to make themselves out of his mouth, but not feeling quite appropriate for the situation. John continued with this inner struggle of not knowing exactly how to shout at Sherlock (so many different ways to choose from), but Sherlock suddenly made a 'Aha' sound and brought out a small set of lock picks from John's underwear drawer.
"My underwear drawer? Really Sherlock?" Maybe he should strangle him first. Or hit him over the head with something.
"I agree, not the cleverest place to hide them but you were about to wake up when I was putting these away and I panicked." Sherlock said mildly.
"Do you just watch me sleep sometimes?" John wasn't sure where that had come from, but he needed to say something while his brain was trying to process the different ways to hurt Sherlock without really killing him.
"Only if you were having a nightmare. I come in sometimes and you're frantically thrashing about. You seem to like it when I hold your hand or come into bed with you."
John couldn't say anything to that. There was nothing he could say. Only staring at Sherlock dumbly seemed the correct response. Although somewhere in the back of his mind, John's brain was processing that he had been getting better sleep awhile after moving in with Sherlock. John had just assumed it was the exhausting cases that gave him restful sleep, but apparently it wasn't just that.
"You're a snuggler by the way. You like to cuddle. It's hard to remove myself out of your grasp before you wake up in the morning." Sherlock squinted his eyes, poking at the lock on the handcuffs with some sort of oddly bent wire.
John's brain could no longer think of even a small word to shout at Sherlock. He just stared slack jawed at Sherlock, the other oblivious to John's sudden brain damage.
"Well that's one part of the lock down! I believe there are about eight other parts to it though…this might take me awhile. Did you want to lie down on the bed?" Sherlock asked John casually.
John took a look at the bed, and then looked back at Sherlock. He suddenly felt very much more aware of the other man, and lying down in bed with him was not about to help.