Fandom Oneshots [Mainly Marvel, Sherlock, and Good Omens, and House MD]

BBC Sherlock: (Johnlock) "Jealous?"

"Jealous?"

"For the last time... I'm not ga--"

"I never implied that."

John Watson placed one hand over the other, grasping the palm of one hand with his tanned fingers. His mind recalled the moment like a mantra being said. The Women had appeared in front of the two, her smirk only leading to a raised brow from Sherlock, John had stepped out of the room. He had paced up and down the hallway, before he heard a familiar sound of footsteps, he glanced up to see Irene Adler standing in front of the ex-army doctor.

He had raised his eyebrows, his lips didn't dare move at any point. Irene had unmistakably been flirting with his flatmate and he had a stone in his gut that he cursed at, a feeling he wanted to take the stone and throw it at The Women.

The feeling crawling up his back would see he unbearable, the burning passion in John's heart. He had growled every second Irene got close Sherlock, a hand on a shoulder, he whispered to the ear, John felt a rising trickle of a hiss in his throat, a bitter piece of candy lodged inside of his mouth.

Irene had whispered into his ear, the moments of his life where he felt the same stone in his stomach, the murmurs that send John's body in racks, a shaky breath every time he heard the words from her mouth.

That night, Irene was talking to Sherlock, placing her hand on his back, leaning in with a seductive pose, her hips to the side, her head tilted in a flirtatious fashion. Watson had to hold back the urge to throw-up, as Sherlock worked on the case, his hands grasped together like he always did.

"Sherlock? What about the last street they were on?" John said after a few beats of his own heart telling him to break the silence and the god-awful posture Adler was in that made John wince, rubbing his eyes.

"Hmm?" Sherlock replied, just looking up from the microscope. John saw that Irene hadn't moved and he sighed, moving back to whatever he was doing.

"I-- Nothing." John shook his head, body threatening to shiver again. Sherlock glanced down back at the case, not taking another glimpse at his flatmate.

"I found it!" Sherlock stood up, stringing a long line of a deduction of how the murderer was actually part of a gang that had been closely connected with Moriarty.

He, the great Sherlock Holmes had found the exact person who murdered the poor victim, the gang's commonly roamed area, the gang's true affiliations and jobs, the funder of the murder, and the funder's relationship with the gang.

It had been only a fraction of a day and this was the first time this gang had ever gotten to higher level crime, as Sherlock found out before they had murdered someone, the biggest crime was the robbery of items with barely any value.

"Brilliant!" John and Irene said at the same time, though John's breathless compliment was the one that came through louder as he exclaimed it, versus Irene's more flirty tone. Sherlock glimpsed over to the two, then when he turned back to slip on his coat, John shot Irene a glance that one would describe as the venom from a King Cobra trapped in a single look.

Sherlock had slipped out the door and John perked up, hastily bustling to catch up with his best friend, the high-functioning sociopath. Both Irene and John caught up to Sherlock pulling a taxi over and they both hopped in after Holmes. As cliché as it is, it just ended up with Sherlock in the middle of the two associates, John yearning of feeling the warmth of Sherlock's hand.

He blinked, realizing his craving, he stuttered under his breath and both dark-haired personalities turned their head towards John, who apologizes and lied about forgetting something and just remembering it.

Getting to Scotland Yard, Sherlock leaped off, leaving John to pay and Irene to follow suit in the man in the black coat's footsteps. John scurried into the building and found himself next to a rambling Sherlock, who was equally impressing Lestrade. The D.I. lead the three to the interrogation room, which he said was to find the leads on Moriarty.

Sherlock sat in the chair placed in front of the table while Irene and John took to the other chairs, though he later saw Irene moving her chair closer every minuscule second. John held his breath as he saw Irene wink at Sherlock.

The eyes of his flatmate, sparkling, shining, letting the stars whine.

The face of someone who had his heart, could take it and warm it up with just a laugh.

The voice of a harp's song that made sirens fall under a spell.

The personality that made him swoon even as he gripped the cane firmly.

"I'm bisexual, goddamnit!" John grumbled, Sherlock and Irene both turned to him. Muttering a curse, John stood up, brushing his pants off of fake dust, he cleared his throat, walking out of Scotland Yard to hail a cab. He headed back into 221-B Baker Street with his head in his hands and plopped down on his chair.

Feeling a wave of sleep come over him, one that he perceived was because of his current stress and his urge to shut down and never wake up. He let the dim room around him become a black canvas and he drew a breath before falling into slumber.

He yawned, stirring in his chair, but he felt something blanketing his body, a black jacket that was awfully familiar, John looked up and saw his flatmate in his usual posture, fingers placed at an angle that just hardly let the humble amount of light touch them.

"Sherlock..." John let out before he could close his mouth.

"John... are you jealous of Irene?" Sherlock asked, not batting an eye.

"I-- already to the personal questions? I just woke up." John tried to lighten up his sinking heart, a black fog rolling over his view.

"John, you don't need to be jealous," Sherlock said.

"I never implied that!" John snapped, before shaking his head. "Sorry, I--mmph!" John felt a pair of lips on his own and he felt every moment of jealousy melt into a ball of warm for Sherlock.

Sherlock finally pulled away, leaning on his chair once again. John felt his heart pound, a thumping the whole world could hear, his ears warm and colored a bright red. "I..." John never finished his sentence as his body flew towards Sherlock, locking lips once again. His body smiling at his sudden joy that washed over his body.

"John, I am going to apologize, I should've made it more clear I..." Sherlock looked down, his eyes not knowing how to respond.

"No, I'm sorry I kept on being an untrusting jealous bastard," John replied. A clapping came from the shadows of the dimmly lit room, a clack of their shoes echoed throughout and made it to the two flatmates' ears. Both turned at the same time with narrowed eyes.

"Great job, gentlemen," Irene smirked.

"Sod off," John said, burying his face in Sherlock's chest.