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The lights were off after an ordinary day at 221B. John had had a boring day at the clinic filled with runny noses and minor injuries. Sherlock spent the day around the flat, presumably thinking and tinkering with experiments, but without being there John could never actually be sure.
But that was being the husband of Sherlock Holmes for you.
They were lying in bed after this unremarkable day, nothing more than a few quick kisses exchanged before sprawling comfortably under the duvet.
That is, until Sherlock had a question for his husband.
Now, after six years of marriage, and over a decade of knowing the man, John had thought there couldn’t be many more surprises in store for him in regards to his husband. No request could be too shocking, no question too outlandish, no statement too eccentric. They had done so much over their years together, John had assumed he had acclimated and understood the man on a level that would allow for him to accept whatever Sherlock could throw at him.
But this was Sherlock after all, and being Sherlock, he still possessed the ability to surprise his husband on occasion.
“John?”
“Mmm?”
“Say I was in a horrific accident—“
“Not outside the realm of possibilities, with all the things you get into.”
“John, I’m serious. Listen.” John quieted and waited. “Now, if I was in a horrific accident, and Heaven forbid, I lost both of my arms…”
He kind of trailed off a bit. John shifted a bit more on his side to get a better look at Sherlock’s face in the dim light through the window.
“If I lost both of my arms… would you pick my nose for me?”
Silence permeated the room. After a moment, John turned on his bedside lamp, propped his head up on his elbow, and just stared dumbfounded at his husband.
Another moment passed, before John simply said, “no.”
“No?” Sherlock’s indignant cry sounded like he didn’t even consider that answer in the realm of possibilities.
“No, Sherlock, God no. I would not pick your nose, arms or no arms!”
“But what if I had a giant booger that was obstructing my breathing and I could potentially asphyxiate without its removal, would you sit there and watch me die because you refuse to pick your own husband’s nose?”
John continued to stare, trying to understand where Sherlock had even come up with this outlandish idea.
“No, Jesus Sherlock. I’d, I don’t know, get a pipette or one of those baby sucker things and remove it. I’m not sticking my fingers up your nose though!”
“You stick your—“
“I know, but Sherlock that’s completely different.”
“I don’t see how.”
“It just is! Now I’m going to sleep with no more discussion on picking anyone’s noses.” John rolled back to turn off the bedside lamp again and attempted to get comfortable again.
Sherlock shifted over when John settled on his back and curled into John’s side. A sigh and an arm wrapped around him as Sherlock cushioned his head on John’s good shoulder.
It was silent for almost five minutes before Sherlock whispered defiantly, “well, I’d pick your nose, so I must love you more.”