"John?"

To anyone else in the world, the sound of their name being called by Sherlock Holmes would mean nothing. The questioning tone would go unnoticed. The annoyed breathy timbre to his voice would not be feared. To John Watson however, the sound meant trouble.

"Yes Sherlock," he said with a sigh, hoping that the detective would just stay put on the sofa long enough for him to make a decent cup of tea.

There was a slight pause and then, "John, have you ever warn women's underwear?"

John groped for the mug as it leapt from his fingers, but it was too late. Tea, china and milk scattered across the kitchen floor. Just another stain to add to the acid erosion, check pattern décor they had going on. He doesn't even have to bloody move! The doctor shook his head in disbelief and then hobbled over the puddle and broken fragments to the doorway.

"Have I ever done what now?" He asked, just wanting to be sure he hadn't misheard.

He received an alarming scowl; a look that reminded him just how much Sherlock did not like having to repeat himself.

"No Sherlock," John huffed, "I have never warn women's underwear. D'you mind telling me why you're asking?"

Sherlock's cool blue eyes turned grey in the light as they fixed themselves to the ceiling, "I was just wondering what these were doing here."

"What what were doing here?"

The detective's eyes rolled as he shoved his right arm beneath the sofa cushion and yanked out a pair of pink, French cut, lacy knickers. John swallowed hard as Sherlock offered them out to him at the tip of one long pale finger.

"I judge from your pupil dilation, salivation and the perfume coming off these things," Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disgust, "That these are your lady friend's."

"I, uh," John was momentarily speechless as pink lace flew towards his face with one quick flick. He dodged them on instinct before quickly snatching them up from his chair and ramming them into his pocket, "Yes, they are, urm, from the other night."

"One night stand with Sarah again."

It wasn't a question, but as always, John still felt compelled to answer, "None of your business."

"It is my business when her underwear impedes the comfortable application of my lumber support."

"Your what now?"

"My ability to lie down without having bunched up knickers prodding me in the back," Sherlock growled lowly.

John felt a sudden surge of defensiveness take over, "Wait! How did you even know they were Sarah's? We've been broken up for months now! Ever since that night…"

Sherlock cut in abruptly, "How many times do I have to go through this John?"

The tall elegant frame was whisked of the sofa and, in the blink of a sniper's eye, John's pocket was once again tenantless.

"Do you see here?" Sherlock began, tugging at the label stitched into the back, "These are La Senza, a pricey brand, highly impractical, suggesting a woman with a relatively good income who is able to treat themselves to such frivolities. Then of course there's the colour, Sarah's favourite is magenta. Despite being a redhead she liked to think she could pull it off from time to time and then of course, there's the odour which I've already spoken of."

He paused, stilling his frantic pacing in front of the window to examine them further, "If I had to guess, her date never picked her up from the practice and you attempted to comfort her…Thursday if I'm not mistaken."

"Thursday?"

"I was polishing off the case about the horse and then Lestrade roped me in on a murder so I stayed at the station over night, giving you plenty of opportunity. And I haven't had chance to lie down since," there was something odd about the way he was now looking at Sarah's underwear, hanging limply off his hand in the dimming light.

John, not being a great consulting detective or anything, couldn't quite place his finger on the right adjective. All he knew was that it wasn't the way a normal person looked at a pair of knickers, and it was making him uncomfortable. There was a slackness in the detectives face; his lids were heavy; his lips not set in their usual expressionless line, but instead, drooping down. Then he snapped back to life; pants were being hurled at John's head once more and the strange look was gone. Sherlock bounded up, across the coffee table and out of the door, "Get the sofa steam cleaned please!" he shouted over his shoulder. Five seconds later his door closed with a bang.

The disorientated doctor, having caught the knickers this time, stood for a short period in the middle of the living room trying to suss out exactly what had just happened. He understood that Sherlock's sofa probably hadn't been the most appropriate of places to have sex but did he have to be such a…such a woman about it? John let out a frustrated roar, and stared up at the ceiling, "I know you're watching up there. See what I have to put up with? He's bloody nuts!"

He started towards the kitchen, back to the shattered mess of his cuppa, before turning and adding, "I don't know what kind of shitty pranks you played on him when you two were kids. There only bloomin' knickers! For God's sake!"

Somewhere across London, in an underground facility, Mycroft Holmes felt confusion for all of a tenth of a second. John was wrong in his deductions once again. Sherlock's doctor still remained oblivious to the simple facts. Mycroft chuckled and took out his phone to send one simple two word message. A question both comical in its application to Sherlock, and in the context of its urban colloquialism coming from a Holmes. The message to Sherlock read quite simply;

You jelly? -MH

A.N.- The title to this story is taken from the song Half of My Heart by John Mayer. Check it out! Oh and this is my first Sherlock Fic and first real FanFic too so I hopes you like it ^^ R&R