A/N: Written for the prompt:

"Give me some accidental stimulation/involuntarily arousal.
Awkward situations between John and Sherlock (maybe caused by too much friction?)
A lot of blushing and mumbling occurs :) Whether they do something with it or not is up to you ;D"

This isn't quite as asked but.. I hope that you enjoy it anyway.

Oh, and as usual this is not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own and feel free to shout.

John shifted yesterday's newspaper in his grip, juggling effortlessly with his usual oversized mug of tea as he turned the next page and flaunted an ease that came only with practise. There had been no sign of any new cases for almost two weeks now and it was growing more and more of a struggle for him to do as little as get his flatmate up and out of his bedroom every morning, despite it inevitably leading them to yet another argument. At least Sherlock was sleeping, he supposed. Silver lining and all that.

Taking another swig of his tea, the doctor resumed his flipping through the thin, rustling pages, scanning small print and searching for even a hint of a case that had not yet caught his eye. It would be a relief to get out of the flat without the need for incessant worry about what may get destroyed or what other problems were going to surface when he did.

With a heavy sigh that rattled through his chest, John yawned and set down his tea in order to then take up his mobile and proceed to send yet another text to Lestrade, all but begging for something less harmful that may peak Sherlock's interest.

Minutes of strained hope stretched on before even the suggestion of relief.

Just as the screen flickered pleasingly with the now familiar delivery tone, a slam shattered out from the direction of their shared bathroom. Immediately, John's head whipped up, his eyes widening a little in alarm and with a sharp intake breath.

"Sherlock?"

The shout rang through the few rooms of 221B, unanswered but accompanied with an echoing undertone of empty silence. It was just as John made to stand, both phone and paper pushed to one side, that the bathroom door flung wide open to reveal a very irritated male sporting very wet hair and a very naked body.

"Sherlock?" John asked again but much fainter, his voice giving the slightest waver before he cleared his throat and swallowed with a slight, disbelieving shake of his head.

If the detective had noticed his slip up then John wasn't going to acknowledge it, keeping his gaze down but distinctly away as Sherlock's hands fell upon his narrow hips. He certainly did not watch as they were thrust forwards slightly in the process.

"Yes, that is my name, obviously," Sherlock muttered, rolling his eyes pointedly but not once allowing the irritation to slip from his features.

John cleared his throat once again, struggling to appear calm and collected, even as a flush of red spread over the doctor's cheeks and crept up to his ears.

Clearly annoyed further by the lasting silence, a growl escaped from between Sherlock's lips to try and pull back his flatmate's full attention.

"Where have you put my razor?" he hissed, eyes blazing.

John's breath hitched, nearly causing him to choke on the inhale.

"I.. uh.." he couldn't seem to find the correct words or even legible sounds, his mind drifting inevitably closer to Sherlock's state and what exactly he may have wanted the razor for.

Even as John's dilemma grew, the detective continued to stare, allowing nothing to escape his notice as he observed the subtle shifting, the drawing of the paper back over his flatmates lap. A single, perfectly shaped brunette brow arched fractionally before curving into a still irritated yet also intrigued frown.

"John-" he began only to be swiftly cut off by the man himself.

"I have no idea where it is, go and put some bloody clothes on!"

The end of the sentence rose into an almost choked cry and John flushed impossibly deeper, shifting his trousers in what he believed to be an unnoticeable manner beneath the newspaper.

Of course, Sherlock was in no way convinced and still stared blatantly, seeming about to comment further when the sharp sound of a phone ringing sliced through the air between the two men.

Instantly, the doctor grabbed for the mobile in an attempt to swerve past the extent of the awkwardness. He took one look at the caller ID before tossing the phone at Sherlock for it to be deftly caught and answered. Swallowing, John both willed his erection to leave and hoped beyond possibility that Lestrade was getting in touch finally with details of a case rather than pressed sympathy. Luckily for the fairer haired man, both of those variables turned up well, although one admittedly more so than the other.

"We're leaving in five minutes," Sherlock announced, ending the call and once again capturing John's whole attention with an admirable ease. He was slightly reluctant to abandon the subject of his blogger's genitals but a case was by a margin more exciting.

The relief was almost palpable as John's shoulders sagged, his trousers thankfully not quite as tight as his grip on the newspaper

"You'd better put some clothes on then," the doctor murmured fondly, lips quirked at the corners into a slight smile. "I think your shaving will wait."

The only response was an absently huffed sigh and the faintest of drafts as Sherlock swirled away into his bedroom.