"…Sherlock?" John stared at the multi-colored bundle that had been dropped unceremoniously into his lap.

"Yes?" The detective grabbed his jacket from its peg by the door and slipped his arms into the sleeves.

"What is this?" He poked the cloth in his lap, nearly jumping when a bit of the knitted garment unrolled and fell to the floor with a soft thump.

"It's a scarf, John." John ignored the flat, "you-couldn't-gather-that?" stare Sherlock gave him. He poked at the bundle again suspiciously, but nothing seemed about to jump out at him (a sound practice in 221B, as with Sherlock, you never could tell). He looked back at Sherlock, who was stooping down to grab the fallen end of the garish scarf.

"It's… a bit long for a scarf."

"It serves its purpose well." Sherlock twisted the end about his neck, then shook the rest of the garment out.

"Hey!" John's cries were slightly muffled by the thick wool being shoved roughly around his head, but it was plenty loud enough for Sherlock, his would-be strangler, to hear. "Sherlock, wha-"

"Stay still, John."

"But-"

"John, I told you to keep still."

"Geroff me, you bloody wanker!"

"John."

The man in question wheeled his arms about; it was an ungraceful maneuver but, fortunately for John, an effective one, as it managed to keep Sherlock and the rather ridiculous scarf at bay. Sherlock stepped back with a huff.

"Alright, then, what is it?"

John straightened his coat and looked indignantly up at the detective. "Why are you trying to put a scarf on me?" Sherlock sighed.

"Your body temperature runs warmer than others; however, you do tend to get cold on cases, particularly long ones. You prepare for this with your jacket and gloves, but you omit a scarf, which would be the obvious solution to the problem of losing body heat via your neck. I have therefore provided you with an adequate scarf."

"Wha- no, wait, no, you haven't!" John sputtered. "It's attached to you!"

Sherlock advanced towards John slowly, scarf in hand. "I am well aware of that fact, John."

"And just what happens when you decide to bloody run off in the middle of a case with no warning? What then?"

"Well, then, John," Sherlock looped the scarf around John's head, "you'll just have to keep up." He tugged on the end and smiled, meeting John's incredulous gaze briefly. "Now, come on, then," he spun abruptly on the spot, "there's work to be done!" And with that, he walked crisply out of the flat, John struggling to take off the blasted leash (because that's what it was to Sherlock, wasn't it, a bloody leash, Moriarty was right about the whole pet thing) and not get strangled by the insistent onward tugging at the other end of the scarf.

John was too busy cursing all of England and fighting the scarf to notice the blue police box quietly phasing out of sight in a back alleyway. Sherlock, however, caught sight of it as it disappeared, stopped for a second, and grinned.

"Onward, John!" He called behind him. "Cases to solve, people to see, things to do! What a day to be in London!"

o.O.o

A/N: I saw the cutest pic of Sherlock and John in the same scarf the other day (I will be trolling the interwebs to find it for y'all, don't worry), and thought of this! I can't decide my headcanon for Sherlock and the Doctor, but they have to have met at some point in time. Whether it's a friendly relationship or not is up to interpretation, however. As always, nothing in this is mine. Well. Does it count if I wish really, really hard?

Edit: Found it! But apparently there are no links allowed in stories, so just take out the spaces!

http : / / tarteauxfraises . tumblr . com / post / 8953823551