Sadie: Oh, I KNOW they do! I’ve got a hard-headed (and soft-bottomed) little hobbit of my own! 😉
A candy bar. That was all John wanted; a candy bar. Was that too much to ask? Especially after the long, withering, soul-crushing day he’d had standing in the blazing sun, culminating in a fight (a real, actual ‘I’m-going-to-bring-up-everything-terrible-you’ve-ever-done’ fight that may or may not have been John’s fault in the first place; he couldn’t remember after standing right under the fucking SUN) with Sherlock…at a scene, no less (in front of Greg and every other goggle-eyed bobby there, who all made it a point to pretend they weren’t listening even though they were)!
And all he wanted, was a candy bar. Just a little something to help him forget all the bad things for a minute or two.
John stood in front of the vending machine, looking over the selection…he wanted chocolate, that’s for certain. But what kind? A Galaxy? A Wispa? Cadbury’s? Maltesers? A Time-Out…?
John frowned. No, he did not want a Time-Out.
While he was considering his options, someone behind John stepped up to the machine, and he automatically moved to the side to get out of their way.
“…Do you think you’ve been good enough for a sweetie today?”
John’s eyes shot to the reflection in the glass. ‘Great. That’s just great,’ he thought. It was too soon for Round Two of the ‘Great Ball-Busting Bitchfest of 2k16′. “Shut up.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes; “That attitude isn’t going to get you anything, young man,” he said, and put his hand on John’s shoulder.
A hand that John immediately shrugged off, and with enough vehemence that nearly knocked himself off-balance. “Don’t do that here!” he hissed between clenched teeth, keeping his voice low.
But Sherlock was undeterred, and met John’s blistering gaze with his own cool, unwavering one. “Jawn…”
John knew what Sherlock was trying to do, and it was not. going. to. work. He reached into his pocket; sod it, he was getting a Mars, and then he was going to go away and enjoy it…
John stopped.
His pocket was empty. He had no change. He didn’t even have a spare note on him.
John felt the heat creep up his neck, flushing his cheeks. Great. They could keep their fucking candy. He fought the urge to kick the machine right in it’s stupid, reflective, condescending face and turned on his heel, ready to stomp off and get the fuck out of this fucking building, with these fucking eavesdropping pricks, and this big, ponce fucker and his fucking--!
…The hand was back on his shoulder, stopping him.
And just before John could rip that hand and the arm attached to it right out of it’s socket and beat it’s owner right in his smug face with it, Sherlock demonstrated, once again, that he was a man of impeccable timing–”Let Da’ get this one, love. What did you want?”
Jawn stopped, and let Sherlock turn him around. Well…the git was offering to buy him candy. But that didn’t mean Jawn still couldn’t be pissed off. “Mars,” he mumbled, staring down at the floor.
And he continued to stare down at the floor while he listened to the sound of coins being handled, then dropped into the slot. He stared at the floor while the little spirally things whirred, and when his candy fell with a thunk into the bottom tray. And he definitely didn’t look up when Sherlock bent down to retrieve it, and held it under Jawn’s nose.
Jawn reached for it and mumbled a quick “Thanks,”…but before he could touch it, Sherlock’s hand closed around it and pulled it away.
Jawn’s head snapped up; “Wha–!?”
“You can have this after,” Sherlock said, pocketing it.
Jawn looked up at him suspiciously; “After…?”
“After we go home and sit you on the Naughty Step for the way you’ve been acting all day.”
“But…!” Sherlock gave him a very pointed look, a look that said, very plainly, that he would not be above creating a Naughty Step right here at the office if pressed. Jawn faltered, and stared back down at his feet. He guessed he had been in a bit of a bad mood before they’d left for the scene, anyway. And it hadn’t been Sherlock’s fault that it had been so hot today. And he could have been a little nicer when he asked if it was time to go yet. And he could have waited longer than five minutes before asking again, he supposed…
Jawn toed the carpet with his shoe; “Sor’ee,” he mumbled.
He felt Sherlock’s hand at his lower back, and then the detective kissed the top of his bowed head. “I know. Come along, sweetheart…it’s time to go home.”
“…I can still have my candy?” Jawn asked, peeking up at his Da’ hopefully.
“Of course.” Sherlock took Jawn’s hand, and they both headed for the elevators. “…After time-out.”
“But I asked for a Mars!”
Sherlock hit the button and gave Jawn a sideways glance. “Cute.”
Jawn returned a cheeky grin and giggled, then gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. “I’ssa good one, huh Da’?”
“That’s debatable.”
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