I Am Offering This Scarf

Chapter 5- The Tattoo

//Hey guys! Some people were telling me to update! I'm probably going to use this excuse a lot, but I'm in band! It takes up a lot of time. I'll try not to let this thing happen again! It's been 11 days! Sorry!!!! :((((( Anyway! The story- The introduction to the plot begins here. You didn't think this was going to be just a Johnlock story, did you? If you did, mistaken you are.//

It takes a week for the article to come out with the news. Headlines are all over every newspaper. Pictures from outside Scotland Yard, the curb, even one that looks like the cabbie would've taken it (from the perspective). I cross my legs and lay yet another paper on my lap, sick of getting nothing but me and Sherlock's faces burned into my eyes. I want to read something good. A good murder.

Sherlock pulls the edge of the curtain back about an inch with one finger and, automatically, flashes are able to be seen through the window. He drops it back and blinks a few times to get the spots out of his eyes. He flops into his red chair and pokes me with his toe. "Jawwwwn. We have to go outside!"

I arc an eyebrow and smile at the somewhat pet name that he's given me in the past few days. Jawwwn. It's cute enough that I don't get angered about it. "Yes I know, Sherrrrrlock, but there are so many people out there and we don't even know where we'd be going." I'm still trying to find out what I can call him, so I've just been playing with the letters of his name since he likes it when I say it.

"We could go to the store. We haven't been outside for four days now and the ice box is running out of food." He offers.

I poke him with my socked toe. "Think of how many people will be there."

"Telling people doesn't bother me, John." He slouches in his chair and puts his feet up on the corner of mine.

"I don't mind telling the public either. I'm just worried about the fact that they'll not let us actually get our groceries. And then it won't be the chip and pin machine that I have a row with. It'll be one of those creeps." I say, waving my hand towards the window. The effect is hilarious, though, because I have Sherlock's blue robe on and it's slid down my arm again.

He stands and hops off into the kitchen. To do what, I have no idea. As long as it's keeping him occupied. From the kitchen I hear a the crash of breaking cups. The tinkling of glass hitting the floor can be heard along with it. I peer over the edge of my seat and find Sherlock with a hammer in his hand and the counter covered in white shards. He purses his lips. "That was probably to be expected from a hammer meeting a porcelain teacup."

I shake my head and stand up laughing. "Okay Sherlock, we'll leave."

***

I slip my sweater over my head and pull it down at my waist. Do I usually wear such drab colors? Maybe I'll ask for a purple one for Christmas or something. I can match Sherlock. I walk out of Sherlock's bedroom, which is also mine now, and find him waiting. He hands me his scarf, meaning for me to wear it.

I reach up and wrap it around his neck, the way he does. I like this scarf. Almost the same material as his coat.

He looks down at it. "I meant for you to wear it."

I nod. "Yes, I'm aware." I go to pull on my jacket and Sherlock stops me with a hand on my arm.

"At least wear the coat." He holds up the coat and bounces it up and down waiting for me to slip my arms inside. I roll my eyes but oblige. It's just long enough that it comes down to my ankles.

I turn around and look at him. "But what are you going to wear if I'm wearing your coat...?" I trail off as he reaches into the closet and pulls out another one. How many of them does he have?