Chapter Text
Rain drummed softly against the windows of 221B Baker Street, forming silvery rivulets that blurred the view of the street below. Inside, John observed Sherlock pacing restlessly, fingers tapping against his thighs, the usual signs of his agitation growing clearer with every passing minute. Their last case had ended three days prior - enough for the post-case crash to come and go, which meant now they were into the dangerous territory of potential boredom.
"Looks like we might be stuck in all day," John said, keeping his tone deliberately light and casual.
Sherlock paused mid-stride, fixing John with a pointed glare. "Congratulations, John, you've officially identified the dullest day in London's recorded history."
"Not necessarily." John stood, moving deliberately to the small shelf of DVDs near the television. He had an idea, and since the last time Sherlock had been bored had ended with a scorch mark on the kitchen ceiling, had gone ahead and got some supplies. "We could watch a film."
Sherlock frowned, instantly dismissive. "Films are tedious. Loud, predictable. They rarely warrant attention."
John smiled patiently, holding up a DVD case he had hidden behind the others with triumph. "What about a silent film, then? Less noise. Less distraction. More room for… interpretation."
Sherlock hesitated, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly, assessing John as though weighing the merits of this unusual suggestion. His expression softened just enough to reveal a grudging curiosity. He glared at the windows once more, then sighed a great put-upon sigh. "If it must be done," he said as if it were a huge concession. He arranged himself onto the sofa in a carefully orchestrated tangle of limbs, radiating an energy barely restrained.
John smiled to himself, careful to hide his face, then put on the DVD - a classic black-and-white comedy he remembered from childhood - and then joined Sherlock, sitting close but careful not to crowd. As the film began, John glanced over to gauge Sherlock’s reaction. True to form, Sherlock's eyes quickly drifted from the screen, wandering about the room, his fingers starting their familiar restless twitch.
Not to be deterred, John leaned closer and began narrating quietly, his voice low and steady, assigning playful personalities and quirky motives to the characters on the screen. Sherlock turned and stared at him, an eyebrow arched in skeptical curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to decode the unexpected but intriguing distraction John had created.
"The young man in the bowler hat," John explained, "has just realized he's forgotten his umbrella on the train. Which, considering this is London, might actually be a crime punishable by law."
Sherlock’s lips twitched even as he blinked several times at him, but then looked back at the screen. "And now," John continued, voice soft and amused, "the woman with the enormous hat is planning how she'll discreetly hide her collection of stolen spoons under her petticoat. She's quite famous in certain criminal circles, you know." Sherlock's eyes sparkled briefly, and John knew he'd struck exactly the right note. Encouraged, he wove increasingly absurd and humorous backstories, offering Sherlock a steady, amusing thread to follow. As minutes slipped by, Sherlock visibly relaxed, shoulders easing, his restless movements gradually stilling.
John felt pressure against his shoulder, barely noticeable at first, but undeniably there - Sherlock was leaning into him as he became utterly absorbed. He chuckled quietly at John's ongoing narrative, the soft sound sending vibrating warmth through John’s chest.
As the film continued, John realized he was getting tired and his voice became a bit hoarse. Sherlock glanced sideways at him when he yawned. After a visible brief hesitation, Sherlock cleared his throat and tentatively picked up the narration himself, voice initially quiet but gradually strengthening. "And the shopkeeper," he said, looking at John as if for confirmation, "is secretly an international jewel thief who moonlights as a terrible poet." John laughed, delighted, which was apparently all Sherlock needed. He grinned back, then his ongoing comments grew increasingly clever and absurd. Soon they were both trading back and forth, their laughter mingling, creating a warm bubble of shared happiness that John wanted to bottle for future rainy days.
When the film ended, neither moved. John basked for a moment, but then doubt started to set it - was Sherlock going to realize how close they were sitting, and put the distance back between them?
"Another?" Sherlock asked, smile dropping slightly as he turned to look at John. John internally kicked himself.
"Absolutely," John agreed. "I got three, just in case, and there are loads more where they came from."
Sherlock still looked a little on edge, and John couldn't have that. He bumped him with his shoulder.
"They're much more fun to watch with you," he said, refusing to second-guess himself. "You pick the next one."
Sherlock looked at him a moment more, eyes tracking over his features, and then that happy smile crept back over his face.
"OK," he said, voice soft with a rare sincerity. He hesitated, then added in a low, almost shy murmur, "It is easier to... follow the story with you."
"You mean, make the story up?"
"Well," said Sherlock, face flushing slightly even as he moved towards the DVDs, "the ones we make up together are apparently worthy of attention."
John felt his heart thud hard against his ribs, and when Sherlock sat back down, John slipped his arm around him.