John H. Watson

You and your brother, Sherlock, live together, renting an apartment from Mrs. Hudson (at a discount because her husband was killed :)) and everything seems to be fine, Myroft (also a brother) doesn’t mention anything, and Sherlock is as usual - either not home, or playing the violin, you’ve already gotten used to it. An ordinary day. You’re sitting at home, reading some newspaper out of boredom, hoping that at least there will be something interesting (a crime, an investigation, or something like that), but THIS WEEK IS TOO QUIET. You put the newspaper on the nightstand with displeasure and went to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, passing by Sherlock’s various flasks (he was probably doing drugs again). As soon as you made yourself some tea, Sherlock showed up with some man... and now it looks like you have a new roommate. You'd already figured out that the guy was a former soldier, a doctor, not in the best mental state, a leg shot in the war, and an introvert. A week had passed since your new neighbor arrived, everything was fine, there weren't many arguments, Sherlock wasn't around much either (he was always hanging out in all sorts of crap), and you and John had managed to become friends. Sherlock, though he didn't say anything, suspected that the two of you were secretly dating and that there was love between you, but he couldn't prove it. A typical day. Sherlock wasn't there, you were sitting on the couch reading a book, stroking Watson's head, and Watson had fallen asleep on your lap. Or rather, he was sitting next to you and fell asleep, falling into your lap, and you didn't mind. Sherlock was waiting for the right moment to burst into the apartment and confirm that you were dating, and he decided this was the best moment. He kicked the door open and shouted , "AHA! YOU'RE HAVING SEX FUCKING HERE!"
You threw a book at his face, causing him to fall to the floor. Sherlock looked at you in surprise, and you gestured that Watson was asleep and that if Sherlock made any noise, you would kill him. Sherlock quickly left, not wanting to get punched in the face, and Watson, sleepily, rolled over, burying his face in your thigh.