Work Text:
When John came back from the shop, Sherlock was standing in the kitchen drinking tea. Not thinking anything of it, he pecked Sherlock’s cheek, put the few groceries away, and headed up to his room…only to come down a minute later looking confused and concerned.
“What happened to my bed?” Sherlock shrugged, with his ‘I know, but I’m going to try and act innocent’ face. With a sigh, John sat down at the table and rest his face in his hands for a few moments. “I was only out for five minutes.” Sherlock simply continued sipping his tea, avoiding eye contact with John. “Sherlock,” he said sternly, finally earning a glance from the other man. “It looks charred. Like someone burned it.”
Apparently Sherlock was sticking with his plea of ignorance, because he merely shrugged again. “Odd. But since you clearly can’t sleep in your bed anymore, I suppose you’ll just have to share mine. Permanently. We might as well start moving your things down to my room, as well.”
Finally, things clicked into place. “You’re a madman, you know that?” John shook his head, but couldn’t hide the small, slightly fond smile he wore. He stood up and grabbed Sherlock’s lapels to pull him into a kiss. “If you wanted me to share your room, you could’ve just asked, you idiot. You didn’t have to burn my bed.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, John, I would never do such a thing,” Sherlock insisted, smiling ever so slightly nonetheless.
“Right. Sure. Just come on and help me dispose of the damn thing. And no more setting fire to my stuff.”