A/N: I, uh... Sorry? I wrote this for a prompt on tumblr (the prompt has been rephrased in the summary) and I guess I liked it enough to post here. This was written in 15 minutes at 12:30 am on a sleep deprived mind, so sorry if it isn't up to scratch. Eh, I guess it's just a silly little drabble, and I like it, so. Reviews, of course, are adored. Happy reading! :)

Saint

"Here, hold this," Sherlock says and drops a finger into John's tea.

John, who was about to take a sip, pauses. He blinks once. "Sherlock," he says, "there is a finger in my tea."

Sherlock grumbles noncommittally.

It's too damn early for this, John decides.

John steps into his bedroom and stares. "Sherlock," he calls.

The other man ambles in a few minutes later. He simply glares at John, as though John had interrupted something important.

"Sherlock," John tries again. "Why are there various substances of questionable origins soaking my bedcovers?"

Sherlock sniffs. "Science, John. You wouldn't understand."

John closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. "Right. Funny little minds, got it. Well, this funny mind has a rather nasty left hook, so keep that in mind the next time you think about bringing your science into my living space. As for now, I'm going to pop by Sarah's and see it I can kip on her couch. I want this cleaned before I return tomorrow."

He gets the vague feeling Sherlock is mildly disappointed.

John is still trying rather valiantly to maintain his heterosexuality, but it's tough when Sherlock is eating his banana just so.

"Sherlock," John says, desperation bleeding into his voice. "Is that really necessary?"

Sherlock pauses, the phallic fruit buried halfway down his throat. "Mmshnf?" he garbles around the banana.

And isn't that rich. The little shit doesn't even understand what he's doing. John can't tell if Sherlock is just a really good actor or if he's genuinely that oblivious. Either way, it doesn't much matter. John's heterosexuality flew out the window ages ago.

John walks into the flat and immediately closes his eyes. "Sherlock," he says tiredly. "Sherlock, why the bloody fuck are you naked?"

"Come paint me like one of your French girls, John," Sherlock says in response, his voice deep and sultry.

"What the fuck," John starts. And then he trails off, because suddenly everything's starting to make sense.

"Oh for the love of-" John mutters under his breath. He opens his eyes, drinks in Sherlock's naked form splayed enticingly on the couch. He starts shedding his clothes. "We need to work on your methods of seduction," he tells Sherlock as he clambers over him. "There are better ways to get me in bed than putting human bits in my bloody tea."

The human bits stop eventually, but the bananas never do.

FIN