Sherlock frowned and scrolled back up, rereading the comment on his website he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to before.
His eyes darted across the screen, and his frown deepened when a third and even fourth reading failed to make sense of it.
“John?” he called out into the flat without taking his eyes from the screen.
“What?” John’s voice was faint, and Sherlock realized, with some annoyance, that his flatmate was upstairs.
“John, what is ‘pound sign johnlock’?”
There was a brief pause, and then footsteps sounded from upstairs, and John’s voice was louder when he responded.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and waited.
When John finally entered the sitting room, he flung himself quite unnecessarily down onto the sofa beside Sherlock.
“Pound sign Sherlock?” he questioned, his voice sceptical, and Sherlock huffed in impatience, tilting the screen towards John and pointing.
John leaned forward, squinting slightly. His shoulder pressed against Sherlock’s, and the scent of John’s shampoo drifted over.
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