Most nights, John dreams of a winter's evening spent wrapped in the arms of a man whose face he cannot make out. In dreams he is safe and warm, but when morning comes, he finds himself alone.
Every once and a while, however, things change.
John awakens to blinding sunlight and the sensation of inky black hair tickling his chin. He can feel Sherlock's breath, slow and steady, causing him to shiver with delight. Just as John begins to deliberate over the best way to rouse him, Sherlock's eyes blink open.
"John. My nose is cold."
John chuckles quietly and covers Sherlock's nose with his palm, stroking gently.
"Ah! Dow I cat breathe!"
"Oh, sorry." John grins and stretches, groaning quietly at the dull pain in his lower back. Sherlock lifts his head to glance at him anxiously.
"Not good?"
"Mmm," hums John with a sly smile. "A bit not good. But worth it." Sherlock's face lights up, and he leans down to rub his nose against John's.
"Oi, your nose is still freezing!" gasps John, knowing instantly he has made a grave mistake. Sherlock gives him one mischievous look before ducking his head under the covers to press his icy nose against his torso and drop kisses along his bare stomach. John gives himself over to it, laughing unrestrainedly and tugging Sherlock back into the light when it all becomes too much.
"You bastard!" he pants, breaking into a new fit of giggles as he catches sight of Sherlock's hair. The typically pristine man looks absolutely debauched; pink at the cheeks and rumpled from the previous evening's activities.
"Sherlock," says John solemnly, "I'm not sure we can go anywhere today." Sherlock looks anxious again, and John struggles to keep a straight face. "It's just that, well, it's snowing outside. And your hair looks absolutely ridiculous."
Sherlock laughs in surprise and buries his face in John's neck to hide his blush. "Is that so?" he whispers, his lips against John's neck. "And who, may I ask, is to blame for that?"
John's smile widens as he allows himself one small moment of incredulity. If he is honest with himself, he never imagined that it could be like this. In his arms, Sherlock smiles easily and speaks in hushed tones. He is warm and open, hiding nothing behind his usually piercing eyes. It is here in this little world they have made for themselves that John feels brave enough to speak the words.
"Sherlock? Please don't go away again."
Sherlock meets his eyes, and John prepares himself for excuses. For explanations, reasoning, logic. Sherlock takes a breath.
"Never again, John. I promise."
That night, the snow falls steadily outside 221B. John sleeps well, wrapped in comfort and warmth.
He no longer needs to dream.