It was a Saturday morning and London was surprisingly quiet. The bedroom window had been left open overnight and a light breeze toyed with the curtain. The sun shone in through the window. John's eyes flickered open. He yawned and stretched his arm over his head. His elbow brushed against the soft curls of dark hair. Blinking a few times, he then turned his head, eyes falling down on a still sleeping Sherlock. His breathing was soft, chest slowly rising and falling, and his arms were still wrapped around John's waist. A blush crept its way over John's cheeks. The sheets of the bed covered the other man completely, but only part way over John's bare chest. He wanted to get up, go make himself a cup of tea, read the newspaper, but he didn't want to disturb Sherlock. He laid there silently for a few minutes more, breathing in the cool morning air, listening as only a few cars made their way down the street. It was a strangely silent morning. John stretched his legs down through the covers; his cold toes brushing gently over Sherlock's calf. The other man made a small groan in his sleep, shifted, and pulled an arm free from around John.
"Aw, come on, get up," John said in a sleepy voice. Sherlock grunted in defiance, shifting once again.
"Don't be like that, come on now," he said, brushing his foot against the other's again.
"No," grumbled Sherlock, now pulling the covers up over his face. John exhaled deeply, sitting up and moving Sherlock's other arm out of the way. He rolled his head back, then to the sides, and rubbed his eyes with his hands. Another yawn escaped him. Sherlock's arms found John's arm.
"Stay," he said sleepily, half-heartedly pulling John back down. With a sigh, John laid back down. Sherlock pulled himself closer to the other back, tangling his long thing legs with the other's. He buried his face in the spacing between John's arm and chest.
John reached over and delicately moved a stray curl from Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock leaned into John's hand, pressing his cheek against his palm. Gently he turned and placed a kiss on John's wrist.
"Okay, you need to get up now," John chuckled, moving his hand over to his lap as he sat up again. Sherlock groaned again and turned away from John.
"I'll go put on a pot of tea? How about that? Will that get you up?" John coaxed.
"No," Sherlock said again, pulling more of the sheets off of John.
"You don't even need the sheets. You're wearing pajamas," John scolded pulling the sheets back over himself. He was only wearing boxer shorts which were a large contrast to Sherlock's top and bottom pajama set. Another defiant groan came from Sherlock and he pulled all of the sheets off of John.
"Now you're acting like a child," John said, turning himself, hanging his legs off of the side of the bed. "I'm going to go make the tea," he went to stand.
"No," again he said.
"Why?"
"Stay."
John sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Why?" he asked. Sherlock groaned.
"That's not a good enough answer," John said, pushing himself back up, walking around the bed to the door. Sherlock reached his arm out from the covers and grabbed at the air.
"What?" John huffed.
"Stay."
"I'm going to go make the tea."
"No."
"Why?"
"Stay."
John was now at the door, wrapping his hand around the knob. A long exhale was heard from beneath the covers, and Sherlock rolled himself over to take up the middle part of the bed. The door crept open, and John slipped himself out. With the soft close of the door, Sherlock peeked his head out from the covers and looked around the room. A bird landed on the open window sill and chirped a tune. Annoying with the bird, Sherlock wildly kicked him legs beneath the sheets to try and annoy the bird. Continuing the chirp, he got up, pulling the covers to the floor, and closed the window.
Sherlock rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and laid back down in the bed, coverless. John stormed back into the room.
"Sherlock," he said sternly. Sherlock grumbled in response.
"You didn't get the milk again," he crossed his arms. Sherlock rolled over to face John and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, but gave no body language to answer back to John.
"Not that you ever get it anyway, but now I can't have the tea I wanted." John spotted the blanket balled up on the floor. He folded it up nicely and put it on the foot of the bed.
"Come on now, get up," John said, pressing onto Sherlock's shoulder.
"No."
There was no way of getting Sherlock out of bed. John noticed the closed window and sighed. He strode over to the window and opened it up. Sherlock mumbled something.
"What was that?" John asked. Sherlock fell silent.
"Alright, well, I'm going to get dressed and go to the shop for some milk," he headed for the door.
"No."
"Why?"
"Stay."
"I need milk, Sherlock. You can't just make tea without any."
"I'll get the milk," Sherlock spoke in a sleepy voice.
"Wha-wait. You'll get the milk?" John said in a shock.
"Yes." It was a solid confirmation.
John eyed him suspiciously. "What's the catch?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Stay."
A smile stretched over John's mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He climbed back onto the bed, pulling up the sheets with him. Sherlock nuzzled into John's chest, and soon a steady snore was heard until an unruly mop of curls.