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They were sharing food now.
Okay, sort-of sharing food. The two of them had just started splitting the grocery bill, and they went out on one trip now. Given, Sherlock hardly actually went shopping before. Most of the time he just ordered takeout. Most of the time, so did John.
But, Sherlock would give him his list of “acceptable” food, and John would shop for the both of them, then they’d split the bill. Sometimes Sherlock came along, sometimes he didn’t.
John gave up on dividing the fridge ages ago. It wasn’t working out, Sherlock had been such a pain about it, so he’d decided to scrap the idea entirely. As long as nobody touched something that was strictly the others- which, in all honesty, Sherlock still toes the line of- then peace was kept.
All this to say, he’d just walked in on Sherlock eating his leftover egg rolls, and the man was not getting off scot free this time. They stared at each other for a long time. Eventually, John spoke.
“Sherlock.” He said, voice eerily calm.
“Watson.” Sherlock replied, straightening up and placing the box of John's leftovers on the coffee table. His voice was neutral, and spring-loaded to run.
“What are those?”
Sherlock cleared his throat, glancing over at, again, John's egg rolls, then looking back to his dearest friend and companion, whom he trusted with his life in all moments except for this one.
“Egg Rolls. You have eyes, do you not, Watson?”
“Sherlock, I suggest you refrain from being a smartarse right now.”
“Yup.”
It was silent again. Sherlock's hand twitched toward the box of leftovers and John's eyes snapped to it.
“...Sherlock.”
Then, chaos.
The egg rolls were barely out of the box before they were on the floor. John heard Archie barking, then come scrambling up from his spot on his dog bed. In the mayhem that ensued, he didn’t really realize what was happening until it was too late, and Sherlock had turned his head, shouted, “ARCHIE!” in a voice higher than Johns ever heard him speak, and the egg rolls had gone from the floor and into Archies’ stomach.
The next few minutes were filled with anxious google searches and vet calls, sat on the floor of the apartment, Sherlock peering over John's shoulder as they read an article, looking partially guilty-partially annoyed.
“Can’t believe- he could’ve died or something, had it been something worse!”
“Hey, it's not all my fault.”
“‘Not all your fault’ my arse-”
“ You were the one who attacked me.”
“You were eating my egg rolls!” John sent him a withering glare that, unfortunately, didn’t affect Sherlock at all.
“Maybe you should’ve labeled them..” Sherlock muttered, looking away.
“You knew they were mine. Accept your consequences.”
A beat passed, and then John sighed, looking back to his phone.
“..So, he should be fine. He didn’t have a lot so it’s probably okay- let's still keep an eye out, in case he gets sick.”
Sherlock mumbled some incoherent agreement, and they sat there for a while, adrenaline fading. Then, Sherlock said something about still being hungry, and John rolled his eyes and they not-really argued for little until they finally ordered food, getting two different sides of egg rolls because he’ll be damned if Sherlock tries to eat his leftovers again.