It was an early morning at 221B. The warm sunshine was flitting gracefully over the skull on the mantle piece, the hoards of books, and the so-called kitchen that was full of science equipment.
The whole flat was warm with summer sun. Tiny dust particles were dancing in the ribbons of fluttering, ethereal light.
Sherlock was in the bathroom shaving; his black curls were damp and he had a simple white towel fastened around his waist.
He was still half asleep, unlike John who was already dressed and busy making breakfast. His deep blue eyes were fully awake and alert, unlike the detective's, whose were still groggy and sluggish.
John was admiring the way the flat looked in this early morning light. He never really payed attention to it, but this morning he really looked, and noticed the way the sofa cushions sank where the two men regularly sat. He noticed the way it smelt of Sherlock, and how much that comforted John. He noticed all the unexplained marks, and dents in things that he'd never had the heart to ask about.
John was perfectly lost in his own thoughts when he heard a curse come from the bathroom.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" John called.
"I've just cut my cheek with the razor, nothing to worry about." Sherlock replied, although following his statement of it being nothing to worry about were a series of hushed expletives.
John decided, on impulse to go into the bathroom and make sure everything was ok.
There was blood trickling from Sherlock's otherwise flawless cheek. It was mixing with shaving foam and water to create a deep red mess.
"Here," John said softly "let me do it."
John felt a sudden rush of warmth and affection at the sight of the bedraggled, slim man. The thought of him being helpless like this made John want to look after him.
John carefully covered the cut in tissue to stop the bleeding and gently shaved the rest of Sherlock's face.
Just before he had finished Sherlock began to lean in, this startled John and he recoiled slightly, only to realise that he had made a mistake, whispered an apology and closed his eyes.
Their lips were barely touching; soft breaths were flying over smooth skin.
John looked into Sherlock's ice blue eyes, he had never looked so closely and realised that they were flecked with gold and light green.
Sherlock hesitated for a moment and then plunged his perfect mouth onto John's.
The usually steady doctor was loosing the strength from his legs; he had never imagined the detective's lips to be so soft, he had never imagined this would actually happen. Things like this only occurred in his head, didn't they?
John subtly pinched himself, just to make sure it wasn't a dream.
When he realised it was, in fact, real life his legs almost gave way completely; John, the steady army doctor was literally weak at the knees for this tall, slim, beautiful man.
Sherlock felt John going weak and quickly scooped him up into his long, strong arms. John's helpless limbs wrapping around Sherlock's surprisingly grounded frame.
The gentle detective nuzzled into John's soft neck, breathing him in. John, in return pressed kisses to his ear working his way over those perfectly sculpted cheekbones and onto Sherlock's jaw, only to realise that his lips were coated in shaving foam, and the taste wasn't great.
Sherlock laughed his low, purring laugh, kissing John on the lips to take away some of the awful, bitter, soapy taste that was infecting his mouth.
"There, we're equal now." Sherlock said with a playful smile. He pushed his forehead towards John's, so they were touching.
John breathed heavily through his nose and Sherlock set him down onto the tiled bathroom floor.
The doctor was still weak, so the detective wrapped his arms gently around John's waist, and in return, John rested his hands on Sherlock's bare hips. Foreheads still touching, and hearts beating faster than ever before, faster then when they were getting chased, or when they were about to be shot at. Running away with themselves because this was their first proper kiss, obviously there had been soft, innocent kisses on cheeks and foreheads, even noses once or twice.
This kiss, although, included innocence, of course, but also an air of promise.
Sherlock raised his head and kissed John lightly on the top of his soft, blonde hair.
John laid his head on Sherlock's bare chest and heard a beating heart, and two lungs breathing; he heard words being whispered inside of Sherlock's veins, and he heard subconscious thoughts.
John was so glad that Sherlock was finally his; this was made apparent by a small huff of breath and a kiss on Sherlock's nose.
The contented, little man, or little in comparison to Sherlock, shooed the detective out of the bathroom to go and get dressed. John admired the smooth, muscular back as Sherlock glided out of the door; he admired the dimples at the base of the detective's spine.
Suddenly Sherlock turned his head and gave John a mischievous smile. He had a glint in his eye, and before John could question anything, Sherlock dropped his towel, chuckled and strutted away.
All that was going through John's mind was "What a perfect bum."