sherlock holmes was dangerous when bored.

well, he had been dangerous when bored. your poor walls had long felt the affect of several stray bullets shot to get your attention, only for sherlock to whinge at you about how utterly catatonic the world was around you.

the danger, you supposed, had subsided the millisecond you'd become officially romantically linked. now the only danger you were in was being pestered to death.

"dove," he called, waltzing into the main room like he hadn't just confided in you that he was debating causing his own murder case.

wearing. only a sheet, tied around him like a toga. sherlock holmes, the man you are.

"i'm bored," he continued when you did not respond, exhaling from his nose in what was a huff, but he'd rather die than call it that.

sherlock holmes, as both a boyfriend and friend, was a whiny little bitch. you adored him.

he stood, expectantly, in front of you. and then, when you didn't react aside from raising a disapproving eyebrow, he draped himself on top of you. all 6'0 of him, laying atop you like a gangly, graceless cat.

even if he didn't really know how to...relationship, he was endearing in his own way.