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As soon as the patient was out of his office, John sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. Today had been absolutely awful. He’d had a nonstop flow of trying patients throughout the day—three supposed cases of the “swine flu” that turned out to be minor coughs, one overbearing mother who was convinced that her fifteen-year-old daughter’s pregnancy test was false (it was not, in fact), and a man with a broken nose who had accidentally sent the Valentine’s Day flowers meant for his mistress to his wife. And, to top it off, he’d received exactly one text from Sherlock the entire day, and it had been case-related, something about the location of the hat for his police uniform. John had simply replied with Under the bed. Please be careful and don’t get arrested.
It would be just his luck, to have to go bail his lover out of jail on Valentine’s Day. Not that he had expected any sort of grandiose display of affection for the holiday—he didn’t actually like Valentine’s Day all that much, and had been secretly relieved that he didn’t have a girlfriend with high expectations to deal with this year. But even so. Usually Sherlock would ask John to accompany him on the case, or at least keep him informed as to what was going on. He found that he didn’t like being ignored by his boyfriend, after also having to deal with so many irritating patients.
“John?” Sarah’s voice on the phone’s intercom jolted him out of his thoughts. He pushed the button to respond.
“Yes Sarah?”
“I know it’s almost the end of your shift, but we’ve got one more patient out here. Do you mind taking him?”
John signed heavily and tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “No, not at all. Mind giving me an idea of what he’s got?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” she replied, and John could have sworn he heard a touch of amusement in her voice. “He’s certainly going to be a fun one.”
He ground his teeth and gathered himself before answering her. “Thanks. I’ll come get him.” It’s just one more patient, he told himself, trying to stamp out the irritation that was quickly turning to anger. He really wasn’t in the mood to have Sarah take the piss out of him, especially on today of all days. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and schooled his face into what he hoped was a pleasant expression before getting up from his desk and opening the door to his office.
“Next patient pl….” the words died in his throat at the sight in front of him. Sherlock was standing in the lobby of the clinic, his back to the door of John’s office, wearing the police uniform he’d probably nicked from someone. Which, considering the nature of their relationship, wouldn’t normally be that unusual.
Only instead of wearing the usual standard-issue trousers that came with it, he was wearing shorts. Short shorts. Short shorts that were entirely too short for London in February, or for ghostly pale legs that John had never seen exposed outside of their flat. Before his brain could catch up with the sight in front of him and provide him with something coherent to say, Sherlock whipped around and fixed John with a serious expression.
“Are you Doctor John Watson?”
John gaped at him. “I—what?”
“Are you Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, currently blogger and boyfriend to one Sherlock Holmes?”
“I’m—of course I am, you berk, what’s going—”
“We received a complaint from Mr. Holmes at Scotland Yard today.” Sherlock continued as if John had never spoken and took a step forward. “He claims that you have been shirking your obligations as boyfriend by working entirely too long, leaving Mr. Holmes back at your flat entirely too bored for anyone’s good.”
John heard a giggle from somewhere on his left, and the gravity of the situation dawned on him. He was in the middle of the clinic’s lobby, surrounded by his (mostly female) peers and few patients. And standing in front of him was his mad, terrible, wonderful, gorgeous flatmate-slash-boyfriend, wearing a sham police uniform that looked like something out of a bad porno. It was, hands down, one of the single most embarrassing situations he had ever found himself in.
He figured he could react one of two ways. He could either let the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface just a few minutes ago flare up, which would cause him to drag Sherlock back to the flat by his ear, and would most likely end in a spectacular row and bad violin playing for at least a week. Or…
He could give in, accept the moment of uncharacteristic silliness, and just play along.
“Well?” Sherlock said sharply, when John remained silent for a beat too long. “What do you have to say in response to these accusations?”
John fixed him with the filthiest grin he could manage, standing in his workplace and surrounded by his colleagues.
“Guilty as charged, officer.”
Sherlock gave him an equally filthy grin in return before closing the gap between them with a few predatory steps.
“Then I’m afraid you’re under arrest, Doctor Watson,” Sherlock practically purred, running his hand down John’s arm. “I’ll have to take you back to the station immediately.” In one swift movement, he grasped John’s hand and wrapped his other arm around John’s back, pulling him into a dip and forcing John to drape his arms around Sherlock’s neck and hang on for dear life. He giggled a bit madly as the women around them catcalled and whistled. Sherlock was grinning down at him, looking happier and carefree than John could ever remember seeing him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, John,” he murmured. Then he ducked his head and kissed John with all of the passion and love John knew he was capable of.
Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.