John Watson woke with a start to the urgent shout of his flatmate.
"J-JOHN? JOHN!" came the yell.
Ripping himself from blissful sleep, the military man leapt out of bed on red alert. Bounding to his dresser in a single step, he tore the top drawer open and felt around for the sleek, black gun he kept there. He found and yanked it out, threw open the door to his room and sprinted down the stairs.
"I'm coming Sherlock!!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, voice rough from sleep. Disengaging the safety on his weapon, the doctor leapt at full speed into the parlour, gun in front of him, pointed menacingly at…
He lowered the gun. The consulting detective was curled into a ball on the couch, looking over a pillow at his friend. John looked at him, worried.
"Sherlock, what the hell is the matter?!"
The man lowered his eyes, turning bright red. Still not making eyes contact, he mumbled something unintelligible from behind his knees.
John was beginning to suspect he had gotten out of bed for nothing.
"What was that Sherlock?"
Another mumble from the dark haired man.
The army doctor took a deep breath, now certain it had just been Sherlock being… Well, Sherlock.
"Sherlock, you need to speak up, I can't—"
"I SAID, I have a problem!"
"Well, yeah, I gathered that. What I want to know is what I practically flew out of bed for!"
The man turned an even brighter red.
"There's… There's a spider on the wall.", he finished in a tiny voice.
John dropped his gun completely, turning the safety off and dropped it on the table. Trying to hide a smile, he looked down at the detective.
"Sherlock… You're afraid of spiders?"
"No! Not AFRAID! It's…It's… simply a primal instinct lodged in my brain that comes to life when faced with a potential threat. That thing is huge! Of course it sparked the instinctual—"
"So you're afraid of spiders."
Sherlock glared at him. John rolled his eyes.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Where is this thing?"
His friend lifted a hand from beneath the pillow, pointing to a one of the walls. The blonde man followed it, squinting to spot it against the wallpaper. Finally, after several minutes of searching, he saw it. No larger than his pinky nail, it was sitting, unmoving towards the top of the wall.
"THAT thing? How did you even see it there? It's barely a speck!"
"John…" Sherlock's voice was dangerously close to a whine. "Kill it…"
The man gave him a pointed look. "I'm not going to kill it. Really, it's never even done anything to you." He went to the kitchen, grabbing a teacup and an envelope. He brought them back to the parlour, placing the cup over the bug and sliding the paper gently underneath. Sherlock followed him with his eyes as he brought it out the door. John released the poor thing outside, going back upstairs to his flatmate. Putting his hands on his hips, he shook his head at the recovering Sherlock.
"What am I going to do with you?"
The dark haired man raised his face from the Union Jack pillow.
"Keep spiders out of our flat. They… They disrupt my work."
John laughed, sitting on the couch next to his friend.
"They disrupt my sleep, so I guess it's mutual. No spiders."
The detective gave him a small smile; the most adorable thing in the world, according to John. He leaned in to gently place a kiss on the other man's lips, hand going up to tangle ever-so-slightly in those dark locks. Holmes let out a small sigh, letting his muscles relax after the fright. He switched the pillow he had been holding for John's waist, deepening the kiss and closing his eyes. He didn't want another terrifying bug to ruin the moment.