Oneword: ApronJohn slowly wandered downstairs at the smell of something burnt wafting around 221B. Peeking his head around the corner into the kitchen, he was amused to find Sherlock, dressed in Mrs. Hudson's apron (probably stolen), meticulously inspecting a pan of what would seem to be the scalded remains of eggs. The furrowed brow on the detective's face made John chuckle, as Sherlock inspected the eggs as though trying to find a cause of death.
Oneword: ThornsJohn shook his head at the state of Sherlock's trench coat. It had several rips in it, the hem was soaking wet, and there were burrs and thorns stuck in all along the sleeves. "It'll take a tailor more talented than me to fix this, Sherlock," John sighed, placing the near-ruined coat on the couch next to him. "The next time you think it's absolutely necessary to go running through briars, remember that I'm only experienced in sewing sutures."
Oneword: TrunkJohn was rather frustrated with Sherlock's uninterested request for help. How had he gotten himself wrangled into unpacking his flatmate's trunk? He hadn't had any of the fun on the trip to
wherever it was Sherlock had gone. John's musings on a revolt against the lazy man-child detective were cut short when his hand withdrew a black, lacy piece of lingerie.
Oneword: CompassionSherlock had never really seen the point of "compassion." It just seemed like another one of those useless emotions that only got in the way of seeing the truth. But when he found himself staring down John's neck and wishing he could trail his fingers down the veteran's back, he caught a glimmer of understanding
Oneword: VioletDavid blushed softly as his makeup artist oggled over the bruises on his neck, which had started to turn a dusky shade of violet. She pursed her lips and made up her mind to keep her questions to herself, instead trying to figure out what shades she could use to hide the marks from the camera. A pity this Doctor didn't still wear a scarf.
Oneword: ViolentDavid didn't entirely mind this small violent streak that John seemed to be going through lately. He peered at his reflection in the mirror, gingerly poking at the rough bite-marks on his neck, the flays across his back and shoulders, and the chafing around his wrists
And smiled a bit. It had been worth it.