The Johnlock Book of One Shots

Melting Ice Cream (@ConsultingSociopaths)

        John studied the selection of ice cream in front of him, as he had for at least ten minutes. But he couldn't decide. Too many flavors, too many brands.

        "Sherlock, what ice cream do you want tonight?"

        No answer.

        John looked up from the line of freezers, only to find that his taller companion wasn't next to him.

        "Sherlock? Sherlock!" John, despite his size, tried to look over the aisle. Without success, he marched to the end, all the time becoming more annoyed with his boyfriend. "Sherlock, where are you?"

        John began to walk along the sides of the aisles, searching for his detective. Passing the dairy aisle, he caught a glimpse of Sherlock's ever-present coat dash around the opposite end.

        Figuring he found him, John quickly stepped across the next wall...

        Only to find that Sherlock wasn't there.

        Becoming more and more agitated, John continued going down the rows, but couldn't catch another glimpse of him.

        Suddenly, John's phone buzzed in his coat pocket, signaling a text. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

        "1 new message from 'Sherlock<3'"

        Quickly unlocking it, John read the message.

        "John, come back to the flat. Now

                -SH"

        Bastard. He left.

        "Ok but I need to know what kind of ice cream you want.

                -JW"

        It took a moment, but Sherlock decided.

        "Just pick your favorite, I won't mind.

                -SH"

        John smiled, all agitation gone, and went back to the dessert aisle.

---

        On the ride home, John wondered why Sherlock needed him to come back to the flat so badly. He could have just left John without a word, so why tell him to come home?

---

        Both hands full of groceries, John finally managed to unlock the door and step inside.

        "John, is that you?" came Mrs. Hudson's shrill voice. She peeked her head around the doorframe and smiled. "Sherlock has been waiting for you to come home."

        John tilted his head. "Do you know why?" She shook her head.

        "Sorry, dear, but I can just hear him pacing across the flat."

        John nodded and slowly made his way up the stairs. To his disappointment, the door at the top was closed as well. Basically dropping the bag in his right hand, he fumbled for the keys in his pocket.       

          At the noise he made, the was a shuffling within the room, the door opened, and there was Sherlock, beaming from head to toe.

        "'Bout bloody time," John smiled, grabbing the other bag of food. Sherlock instantly moved out of the way, allowing John to step inside and heave the bags onto the table in the kitchen. As John straightened, long arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to Sherlock.

        "Check the fridge," he murmured in John's ear, just close enough to make John shiver. Sherlock stepped back and went to fling himself onto his chair. John looked over at him, wondering why he seemed so excited.

        Probably another body part of some sort.

        John walked the couple of steps to the refrigerator, and swung open the door. He was shocked. No head, no fingers or eyeballs or any part of a corpse.

Inside the fridge was a single carton of milk.

        John glanced over at Sherlock, who was smiling ear to ear.

        "Well?"

        "Y-you actually got milk?"

        "Mmm yes."

        John closed the door of the fridge and walked over to his own armchair.

        "Well thanks." Sherlock's mood seemed to go down a bit. Nevertheless, he simply took out his phone and began texting someone. John wasn't sure who. He tapped the arms of his chair before getting up to put away the groceries. As he put away the first carton of eggs, Sherlock whined behind him.

        "Joooooohhhhhhhhhhnnn."

        "Whhhaaaaaaaaaat?" John asked, mimicking his tone, and not turning around.

        "I waaaannt iiiicccce crrreeeaaaaamm." John simply laughed and continued to put away the food. He could hear Sherlock groan, but then heard him get off his chair and walk towards the kitchen. Again, his long arms entrapped him.

        "Sherlock, I'm putting away—" He cut off when Sherlock nudged his face in to John's neck.

        "Don't care." He murmured. His warm breath sent the rest of John's body cold. Tuning around within Sherlock's grip, John placed both of his hands around the taller man's neck and smiled.

        "You should," he whispered. "Otherwise the ice cream will melt." Sherlock smiled and leaned closer to John, pressing their foreheads together.

        "I don't want ice cream." He softly kissed the tip of John's nose.

        "Then what do you want?" His lips barely touched Sherlock's.

        "You."