Hi there! I haven't posted anything lately, but this kind of drabble was just something that "wrote itself" - I also tried a different style for this, so I hope you like it. (also I'm not quite sure about the title yet, so I'm open for suggestions!)
Comments and critics are always welcome :D
Enjoy!
Home
A light kiss on the forehead.
That one was unexpected. Sherlock closes his eyes, not daring to move as John presses his lips against him, observing the smell that surrounds him. It is warm, the lips soft, and breaking away from him, John leans back. A warm smile on his face, affection visible in his eyes.
"Let's get back to work," he says, motioning to the open case file Sherlock's been working through. Sitting down at the table again, he continues to work himself. "Boring," comes the short answer, followed by an explanation. "Killed by his colleague, more or less on accident, both underestimating the force pressing in on the human neck when you jump backwards through a mirror like he suggested. Idiots" mutters, closing the file of the stuntman they've just started this afternoon.
Looks over to John, already concentrating on his work again, writing up some medical reports for the clinic he started working at.
Wonders, but willing to give it a try. For science research.
Walks over to him, letting a hand rest on the back of his neck, stroking with a thumb, the hand easily resting on his shoulder. John relaxes into the touch, the slight tenseness leaving his body – hasn't noticed, scowls himself for being inattentive – and exhales slowly.
Brushes the hair at the lower neck, fingers wandering to the top of John's head, the other hand circling his body slowly. Feels his friend lean back into the awkward embracement, and asks himself how he couldn't notice. How it was possible to miss the most important thing, the basement of their friendship. Love, it must be. No other way, missing the simplest and deepest part of their companionship.
Because it feels natural, nothing much to think about, unimportant fact that he knows but doesn't care to remember – does he?
Leans down to press a kiss on top of John's head, his arms now resting around his shoulders, fingers intertwined with John's. Must be uncomfortable, so he lets go, wants to give him space.
His hands are still in John's, as he's getting up, turning around and pulling him forward a bit. Stepping into his personal space, feels an arm around him, a chin resting on his shoulder, leans his head against it.
Hugging John, simply breathing with the knowledge that he won't leave. Not again. Couldn't. Resting his hands on the smaller back, pressing their bodies close.
John doesn't seem to mind, instead hugging him tighter, leaning his head back to look at him.
Making a stupid decision, Sherlock bends down, lips pressed softly against lips.
No breaking away, just a chaste kiss but it takes away so much left tension from both of them. It is real. Sherlock came back a month ago, and since then, they haven't been apart for more than 3 hours – an awful long time, needless job to do for Lestrade.
It was real, and they both knew they wouldn't leave each other again. Not if they have a choice.