Sherlock stared at the four mashed-together words jotted on the scrap of paper he’d uncovered when he picked up John’s laptop.
Who the hell was Chris? Why had she (or he) called John “sweetie”? And why had John deemed this event so noteworthy as to hurriedly scribble it down, careless of capitalisation, punctuation, or even spaces between the words?
John knew that Sherlock regularly borrowed his laptop. Had he left that message under it on purpose for Sherlock to find? If so, why?
Was this John’s way of letting Sherlock know that “idiot” was no longer a sufficient term of endearment? Did he expect Sherlock to start calling him “sweetie” or “darling” or “dear”? Perish the thought!
Was Chris one of John’s ex-lovers? Someone whose standard he expected Sherlock to live up to? Were pet names only the start of it? Would Sherlock now be presented with a string of such messages?
Oh god. Where had that last thought come from?
Sherlock stood, frozen, mind whirling, John’s laptop in one hand, the scrap of paper in the other, deaf to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He startled as John entered the room.
“Oh, I see you’ve found it, then,” John said, grinning. “What did you think? Aren’t our fans talented?”
“Yeah. Haven’t you looked at the blog yet?”
“The blog…” Sherlock repeated, feeling uncharacteristically clueless. His brain was still trying to process his reaction to the imagined future messages John might leave.
John took the laptop from Sherlock’s unresisting hand and flipped it open. As he waited for it to boot up, he explained:
“You know my blog has thousands of followers, and you’ve become somewhat of a celebrity, right? Well, I found out that someone’s created a website where our fans can share their artwork and stories and whatnot about us.”
“That’s the URL. Doesn’t make a lot of sense, since it has nothing to do with either of us, but the blog title is ‘you may as well,’ so maybe she wants us to refer to her as ‘sweetie,’ too.”
John sat on the sofa and patted the spot next to him. Sherlock plopped down and leaned close to peer at the laptop screen. As John scrolled down, Sherlock gasped.
“What are we doing?!”
“Did you delete sex ed along with the solar system?”
“That is not something I was ever taught in school. Is that position even anatomically possible?”
“Hmm… You are pretty flexible…”
Sherlock’s mind finally caught up with the situation. Here he was, pressed against John, looking at pictures of the two of them in compromising positions. Yes, he was pretty flexible. And apparently, so was John…