The Sound of Falling Cat

Crackle-crackle-monotonevoice-cracke-crackle-hiss-crackle-crackle-crackle-giggle-crackle-crackle-crackle-MRAOW!-crunch-wheezinglaugh-CRACKLE.

Sherlock's brows creased an increment closer together, but his eyes remained closed and he made no move to alter his posture on the sofa in any way. Whatever John was watching would be closed in a few seconds, as soon as he finished laughing, and the grating, tinny sound of a home-made clip – of what he could assume was a cat of some description - through small laptop speakers would cease, leaving him to drift off into silent pondering once again...

Crackle-crackle-monotonevoice-cracke-crackle-hiss...

As the frustratingly terrible sound of the clip ground itself across the room again, Sherlock cracked one eye open lethargically and peered over to the source of the disturbance.
John sat in his armchair with his laptop perched upon his knees, one hand poised over the laptop mouse, the other propping up his head and the ridiculous grin plastered thereon.
Minutely rolling the opened eye, Sherlock closed it and resolved to wait until the clip ended. John wouldn't watch it again – he wasn't that mundane.
Sure enough, the clip came to an end, as all terrible things eventually do, and after John bursting into a fit of giggles that were near enough silent in his mirth –
Giggles? How did a man of John's age pull off giggles?
Sherlock opened both his eyes this time and frowned slightly at the man in the armchair who was now wheezing slightly with laughter. Buggered if he knew.
After he recovered, John's fingers could be heard scraping over the mouse, tapping it soon after.
That's the sound of him closing the window,  Sherlock's brain supplied, and he breathed out in relief.

Crackle-crackle-monotonevoice-cracke-crackle-hiss...

Oh dear God.
"John," Sherlock said, trying not to sound overly venomous. "What intensely annoying drivel are you watching?"
John's manic grin grew wider as the clip progressed toward the crackle-crackle-crackle-MRAOW!!! portion of the clip, and barely spared a glance at the cold glare being sent in his general direction from the prostrate detective on the sofa.
Sherlock sighed as John's shoulders shook with laugher again, then reminded the man that he had just been asked a question.
"John..."
John properly looked up this time, still smiling. "Oh, it's just an attachment in an email that Harry sent me." He smiled again, moving his hand over the mouse again as the clip ended.
"I had no idea that cats were so humorous."
John nodded. "Oh yeah, but I wouldn't say it's the kind of thing that'd appeal to you."
Sherlock knew that this was most likely true, and conceded it with a nonchalant, boneless flop of his hand. "You are most likely correct."
John nodded again, glanced at Sherlock quickly, then tapped the mouse-pad.

Crackle-crackle-monotonevoice-cracke-crackle-hiss...

"Oh, for the love of Christ, John!"
Lifting himself abruptly from the sofa and moving the most he had for hours, Sherlock moved over to where John was and leaned on the armchair behind him, almost as though he were some kind of enormous bat. He closely scanned the laptop screen for anything vaguely humorous as John played the video for the fourth time, folding his arms and leaning back so that his head didn't obscure Sherlock's view.
It appeared to be a cat, as he had already realised.

Crackle-crackle-crackle-giggle-crackle...

It had been filmed in someone's house, and was of a small grey tabby cat which appeared to have an obsession with climbing tall pieces of furniture. In this particular case, a kitchen shelf. The owner, presumably, was filming, and couldn't contain giggles and various comments about the cat that could barely be discerned from the crackle of air passing the camera.
The cat then proceeded to disprove the theory that any member of the species always lands on their feet.

crackle-crackle-crackle-MRAOW!-crunch-wheezinglaugh-CRACKLE.

The owner of the cat, much like John now, couldn't contain themselves as the cat clung to a bag of flour and fell to a rather messy crash onto the floor below. The camera finally zoomed in on the cat, now covered in flour, as it sneezed, and then the video ended with a final crackle as the owner stopped the camera.
There was a rather pregnant pause as John awaited Sherlock's criticism.
Finally, the consulting detective spoke.
"And you saw fit to replay this four times?"
John grinned at his flatmate's expression of disbelief. "Yeah – this is the sort of thing that normal people think funny, Sherlock."
Sherlock shrugged. "Explains why it's so dull."
Sherlock could see a sharp retaliation forming in John's mind, which was quickly forced back down and locked away when he registered the expression on Sherlock's face that clearly said "problem?".
John held his breath and with it his tongue, and then sighed and shrugged.
"Never mind."
Sherlock took this as affirmation that John had realised that it was a ridiculous piece of frustratingly annoying drivel – which it most definitely was – and walked back to his sofa with an air of accomplishment before he flopped back down into the welcoming cushions.
He did not, therefore, see John's downright devious smile before the doctor quietly slid his fingers over the mouse again, clicking on something, and moments later...

Crackle-crackle-monotonevoice-cracke-crackle-hiss...

John wasn't laughing any more. Not at the cat, anyway. No, an effortless grin slid onto his face as Sherlock threw himself from the sofa in a strange parody of a ninja attack, and John dived from his armchair, laptop in hand, executing the complicated "If-I-swirl-around-enough-you-can't-get-what-I'm-holding" dance as Sherlock gave chase, swiping at the laptop every now and then, the speakers still emitting the nose of falling cat.
"John, this is past ridiculous..."
"You obviously haven't looked at yourself lately, then!"
John darted around the sofa and coffee table, laptop held aloft and slightly behind him as Sherlock dived over the coffee table, snagging a handful of John-trouser-leg and toppling the shorter man. John instinctively cradled his precious cargo, still emitting cat noises, as he fell rather heavily and was winded for the precious few seconds it took for Sherlock to crawl up the length of John's body and finally, FINALLY close the video.
There was a moment.
This moment was silent, and consisted of nothing but the panting intake and exhale of breath.
The next moment, however, was a moment in which time seemed suspended in honey, in which they stared at each other from inches apart, both regaining breath with open mouths, pressed against each other, and saying nothing.
In a state where time seemed slowed, Sherlock closed his mouth and swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing agonisingly slowly, and John's gaze dropped to his lips as he licked his own habitually.
There was yet another moment, which neither really instigated, in which their faces began to move together, eyes drifting shut and mouths drifting open. Panting breaths ghosted past each others faces, just testing, drifting and exploring, as their heads twisted, each accommodating the other for the moment when lips would meet...
"BOYS! YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE!"
Startled, much like a wild animal, Sherlock jerked himself away from John, pushing himself to his feet and brushing himself down. John, still unable to process what had just happened, lay there for a few minutes, before Sherlock nodded at his laptop.
"If I hear one more second of that damn clip, I may well shoot it."
John landed back in reality with a bump.
"I've hidden my gun again, and this time you won't -"
"It's locked in your desk drawer again, isn't it?"
John's jaw shut with a snap and a glare.
Sherlock simply smirked, and, with an unfairly graceful turn, he sauntered down the stairs.