They had been working on a case for the last week. It had been an especially difficult one and Sherlock hadn't slowed down since it started. He had spent most of his time at St. Bart's experimenting and after a week of non-stop investigating and deducing he had finally solved it. John had spent most of that time worrying about Sherlock, seeing as the consulting detective had no time for such mindless concerns as to those of his transport. He hadn't slept in the last four days and had barely eaten anything, claiming that digestion slowed him down and he needed to think.
Now, back at 221B Baker Street John had hoped that Sherlock would listen to his pleas and finally slow down; but to no avail. The detective was on his so called post-case high and had decided to start a new experiment. John didn't even want to know what it involved. The more he knew the more compelled he would feel to throw it away and that would only cause trouble. He decided instead to make a cup of tea for each of them and settle down to watch some television. He knew that Sherlock's body would soon give in to exhaustion and he would have to be there to drag him back to bed- their bed.
It had been strange at first to share a bed with Sherlock, but now John could honestly say he had never been happier. From the moment they met the detective had intrigued him, but John daren't push their relationship any further after Sherlock told him he was married to his work. But as the months went on their resolve to deny their feelings for each other started to crumble. Sherlock had come to rely on John more and more, and John found that he couldn't hide his emotions as well as before, and Sherlock was, as always, extremely observant. He noticed John's longing looks, the lingering touches and he found himself wishing John would stop denying them what they both so clearly wanted. And so one day after a particularly exciting case Sherlock had finally given in and pinned the doctor against the wall of their hallway and fervently kissed him, hoping he hadn't misread the signs. As always, his observations had been accurate and so John and Sherlock became what others had already deemed them for a long time; a couple.
It seemed Sherlock had not been the only one in need of some rest. As John awakened from his short slumber on the sofa he glanced over at the kitchen where the detective had been looking down his microscope just moments a go. Now, however, he was stretched across the table, his head resting on his arms, having finally succumbed to sleep. John walked over quietly and leaned over him.
"Sherlock." He shook his shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. "Sherlock, wake up."
The sleeping detective mumbled incoherently and buried his head further down, thus leaving the back of his neck completely exposed, a fact which John quickly took advantage of. Leaning down towards the detective John let go of his shoulder and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and left a trail of soft kisses across the man's neck. Sherlock moaned and shifted in his chair.
He spoke quietly, having just been roused by a very pleasant feeling on his neck. "John, what are you doing?"
John couldn't help but smile at how easy it had been to awaken him this way.
"Come on, let's get you to bed." He said as he attempted to drag Sherlock out of his chair and towards their room.
Sherlock sat up and yawned while stretching his arms over his head. He looked over at John. Hunched shoulders, drooping eyelids, bloodshot eyes, prolonged blinking and a failed attempt at stifling a yawn. Conclusion, John had recently been asleep and going by his posture and stiffness, on the sofa. "Why didn't you go to bed?"
"I was waiting for my idiot boyfriend to realize he needs to sleep like the rest of us." Sherlock's and John's gazes met and they both smiled at the term. John continued, "Besides, I'm tired of going to bed alone."
Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but only go out the words "The cases..." before John cut him off. "Yes, all pressing until they're solved, I know. I just want to go to sleep, I'm tired and so are you, don't even try to deny it."
There was no point in arguing, he really was tired after four consecutive days and nights spent working the case. Sighing, he got up and made his way to their room, John following closely behind him. Once there they both quickly changed into their pyjamas and slipped into bed. It wasn't often that they went to bed together; most nights Sherlock would stay up all night working on a case or simply take a quick nap on the sofa, but in those few occasions when they did John found that sleep dragged him under much more quickly.
Sherlock, as always, had settled himself rather comfortably around John with his head on John's shoulder and his left arm wrapped around his waist. John, in turn, settled his hand on top of Sherlock's and faintly whispered "Goodnight, Sherlock." before delivering a gentle kiss to the detective's temple.
John woke up relatively early the next morning. During the night, he and Sherlock had become even more entangled with one another and John was trying to carefully extricate himself without waking him up. Finally free, he slipped one of Sherlock's dressing gowns over his pyjamas and walked over to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He searched the fridge for something edible and luckily found some sausages, eggs and bacon, ignoring the wide array of experiments that littered the bottom shelves. Not long after that he heard quiet creaking sounds coming from their room; Sherlock must have woken up and gone to the bathroom. John quickly prepared their breakfast and laid the food out in plates which he then placed on a tray along with the two mugs of tea and made his way back.
When he entered the room he noticed that Sherlock had gone back to sleep. He was curled up right in the middle of the bed and had wrapped the sheets around himself. John set the tray down on the bedside table and quietly laughed to himself. He no longer found this particular sight surprising seeing as the detective often elected to sleep naked, a fact which John was most definitely not complaining about, and ended up stealing all the bedding for himself.
Wait. John quickly thought back to last night when he and Sherlock had left the living room after their quick nap. They had each put their pyjamas on before finally going to bed, so why exactly was Sherlock so wrapped up? Deciding to explore this peculiarity for himself John climbed onto the bed and straddled Sherlock. He placed his hands on his shoulders and slowly pulled the sheets down, noticing that no shred of fabric was forthcoming. At some point during John's absence Sherlock must have disposed of his clothing. It was unlikely that he had felt too hot given the fact that he was currently cocooned in bed. It was equally unlikely that he was uncomfortable because he had only just disposed of his pyjamas. John's conclusion was that Sherlock was trying to tell him something, and so he nuzzled Sherlock's hair and ran his hands up and down the detective's now exposed body.
Sherlock was awoken once again by a warm presence behind him. He shifted so that he was laying on his back to find John looming over him.
"Good morning." said John, with a teasing smile on his face. Clearly he'd gotten Sherlock's message.
Before Sherlock could reply with his own greeting John softly cupped the detective's face, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's in an intense gaze that spoke more than words. He gently lowered himself until their lips met in a deep passionate kiss. If this was what Sherlock would wake up to every morning he would be more than happy to adapt his sleeping habits accordingly. As his brain clicked back into gear, having been momentarily stunned by the intensity of John's gaze, he returned the kiss with equal fervour; the all-consuming kiss becoming more pleasurable by the second. Sherlock's hands moved of their own accord and roamed his partner's body until they settled on his hips. After what seemed like forever they broke apart- Sherlock had never thought breathing was so dull- and he rolled them both over so that he was positioned over John; an ideal spot for what he was about to do. Before John could protest, which he seemed more than ready to do, Sherlock brought his lips down on John's exposed neck.
It was a habit they had both gotten into, cutting each other off before anything could be said, because they no longer needed words to communicate. For a long time they had used simple looks to convey entire conversations. Now, they used their touch to convey their feelings. The need, the fear, the desire. It seemed wrong to break the spell with words- useless words- because they both knew how unquestionably they relied on each other and how they complemented each other. And though neither of them had said it yet they knew they loved each other. Perhaps they never would said it, not in those exact terms at least, but the sentiment was there, in every look and every touch and every silent request. Sentiment. Feelings. Something Sherlock had always been opposed to. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.
Sherlock had been worried at first that he would not be able to convey his feelings for John in an acceptable manner. He'd always loathed sentiment, but perhaps that was because it had never been directed at the right people. He remembered a past conversation with John, "Not much cop this caring lark.", and now realised how mistaken he had been. He hadn't understood back then, the blustering bone-deep need to make sure someone else knew how loved they were, how amazing they were. And John was amazing. And Sherlock did love him. And so he often found himself giving in to sentiment and doing things that were very much unexpected such as making tea for John in the mornings, playing soft melodies on the violin at night when he knew John was trying to sleep or simply going to bed at night to make sure John wasn't alone.
There were times when he tried to articulate his feelings. He succeeded on occasion but more often than not he simply enveloped John in his arms, as if he could transfer all his feelings for the man by touch. He used his lips, his hands, every part of his body to ensure John knew he was treasured and loved. He wanted him to know how grateful he was for having John in his life. John who always followed, John who always worried about how little he'd eaten and slept, much like he had last night, and so Sherlock decided to show his appreciation as best as he could.
He started leaving a trail of kisses down John's neck, taking special care when he reached his pulse point. John squirmed under his ministrations and tried to control his breathing, but the detective was making short work of his composure and soon John was struggling to contain a moan as Sherlock nipped and sucked at his neck.
"Sherlock," he whispered, sounding haggard. "How about we do this later, you need to eat. I brought you breakfast."
But Sherlock was not deterred. In between kisses he said, "Yes, I can see that." and started slipping his own dressing gown off of John when it became an obstruction to hot wet trail he was leaving down his body.
"Not me, you idiot!"
John tried to pull Sherlock off, but it only served to assist in the removal of his pyjama top when he lifted his arms. His pants soon followed suit as Sherlock's hands travelled lower and lower, as did his lips, and John couldn't help a yelp of surprise at their current placement. John tried once again to control the cacophony of lustful sounds from escaping but an especially well placed kiss by Sherlock ensured that all his self-control went out the window and John gasped in pleasure.
Sherlock suddenly stopped. He felt dizzy and hot. Too hot even given the circumstances. He sat back of his heels and tried to look at John through his blurred vision.
John, still slightly dazed, was lying on the bed but noting Sherlock's absence balanced himself on his elbows and looked up.
"Sherlock, what's wrong?"
When no response was forthcoming he immediately sat up. His worried gaze settled on the usually pale detective noting how Sherlock seemed completely drained of colour now. His pulse was visibly elevated and he swayed slightly, at which point John grabbed him by the shoulders to make sure he didn't fall off the bed and hurt himself.
John was about to say 'I told you so' but didn't even have time to get the words out before the detective's eyes rolled back in his head and he suddenly went limp. John cursed under his breath and lay Sherlock down gently on the bed, covering him up with his dressing gown. He removed the pillow from underneath his head and placed it instead under his feet. He hoped Sherlock would regain consciousness quickly; he should have given him something to eat the night before, but he looked so tired that John wanted nothing more than to let him sleep and this morning he had been a little too distracted to try to force Sherlock to eat his breakfast.
As soon as Sherlock woke up he was going to eat and take a day off. His body needed to recharge after being neglected for so long and John was going to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. Not only was it extremely worrying that Sherlock's blood sugar had been low enough that he actually passed out, the circumstances under which it happened were rather embarrassing for the detective.
John was extremely relieved when Sherlock slowly opened his eyes. He tried to sit up straight away but John carefully pushed him down, moving the pillow back to its rightful place. He heard Sherlock mutter something under his breath which sounded like 'stupid transport'. John rolled his eyes and took Sherlock's wrist in his hand. He placed two fingers on the inside of his wrist and using his own watch to monitor the time he measured the detective's heart rate noting that, while still slightly elevated, it seemed to have slowed down considerably.
Stubborn as always Sherlock sat up as soon as John let go of his hand. He grabbed the dressing gown that was currently draped over his body and put it on properly before turning to look at John, who was still very much naked.
"Look what you to me, John." he said, with a smile on his face.
But John was clearly not amused. He pulled his pyjama trousers on and got out of bed. Sherlock's brain was still a little fuzzy and so it took him longer than he would care to admit to realize that John was simply picking up the previously discarded breakfast tray. He quickly came back to bed and set the tray down across Sherlock's lap before sitting next to him on the bed.
Though not unheard of the silence in the room was making Sherlock uneasy and he was about to say something just as John turned around. His jaw was set and his expression was serious. He looked Sherlock straight in the eye and spoke.
"Sherlock Holmes, if you ever, ever, show such a blatant disregard for your body and its needs that you pass out again I will personally tie you to a chair every single morning to ensure that you eat a nice big breakfast before your brain can even think about a case. Is that understood?"
Sherlock let the words hang in the air for a moment. He knew that his reply was going to cause uproar, but he also knew that John knew him well enough not to expect Sherlock to back down.
"Do you honestly think that any scenario where you tie me to a chair is going to end with me eating and not with you on your knees?"
John took a deep breath before replying. "Need I remind you what you were doing before you passed out?"
At that Sherlock had the sense to look slightly ashamed. It was never a good time to pass out, but his timing in this particular instance had been rather unfortunate.
"I..." he stammered, not wanting to admit defeat, but knowing that John was right to worry and demand he improve his eating habits, "will keep the outcome of this particular instance in mind."
John narrowed his eyes; clearly this was not going to be enough.
"Fine." Sherlock sighed, "I promise I'll try to pay more attentions to the demands of my transport, no matter how utterly dull they may be."
John didn't want to give in so quickly, Sherlock really had scared him, but he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at Sherlock's declaration. He took his plate from the tray and looked at Sherlock who had not yet made a move towards his own breakfast.
"Get on with it then."
Sherlock ate his breakfast diligently and without complaint. He finished just before John and sat quietly watching him. As John was about to eat his last bite he looked up and was met with a pair of glasz eyes staring intently at him. His hand paused halfway to his mouth and he couldn't help but stare back. It was yet another habit they had both gotten into, but this one had started long before they were together. Whether John was trying to tell Sherlock something was 'a bit not good', or concocting a lie to protect him or trying to figure out whether or not Sherlock was being honest they always shared a look. A look that conveyed everything they couldn't, or simply wouldn't, put into words. It was, as always, a battle of wills; neither one wanting to give in but both knowing that sooner or later one would have to, and in the end, not unpredictably, it was John.
"Feeling better?" He asked, and downed the last of his breakfast.
"I felt fine."
John narrowed his eyes and shot him a stern look. "Oh yeah, of course, what was I thinking? Just out of curiosity, was that before or after you passed out?"
Sherlock promptly replied, "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, John, did you know that?"
"You're one to talk. Everything that comes out of your mouth is whether a deduction, an insult or sarcasm. Sometimes all three."
"Irrelevant." Sherlock remarked, before gathering the plates in the tray and carrying it all into the kitchen, but before he could make it to the door John interrupted him.
"Where are you going?"
Sherlock looked back and shot him a look; his infamous 'you do see, you just don't observe' look.
"Look at what I'm doing and make a deduction. Honestly, John, do you use your brain at all?"
"I do, on occasion, but I think it disintegrated when it realised it looked like you were going to do the dishes."
In true Sherlock Holmes fashion he stalked out of the room with a swish of his dressing gown leaving a giggling John Watson behind.
Since John and Sherlock had started living together he had grown accustomed to the detective's every disposition, and each disposition had a different manner of handling. Sometimes it was best to leave him alone, sometimes it was best to distract him and sometimes all that could be done was to keep an eye on him. John didn't like any of Sherlock's darker moods, but his danger nights scared him the most. He'd first had a glimpse at Sherlock's mysterious past on the day Lestrade had carried out his pretend drugs bust and not long after the events at the pool Mycroft had spoken to John and explained everything. Well, everything he deemed necessary, which really wasn't much at all, but it did give John an understanding of how important it was to watch out for Sherlock.
It was unwise to smother him with concern; Sherlock was always wary of sentiment, and so John had learnt ways to keep an eye on him without Sherlock feeling trapped. It didn't always work though. There were times when Sherlock would become sullen and spend whole days locked in his room without making any noise, something that John had previously relied upon to assure him Sherlock was still breathing. In those times John would be climbing the walls, worried sick that Sherlock was lying on the floor unconscious and needed his help, so no matter how annoyed Sherlock might be he always found an excuse to weave into the room and check on him.
No matter how bad those times had been it had brought them closer together, and John had learnt a lot about Sherlock because of them; one of the most important lessons being to not mess up his sock index. Certain things could be easily deduced if one paid close enough attention. How Sherlock took sugar in his coffee but not in his tea, how he never ate during a case but could always be persuaded by a cup of tea and some toast and how he always spent an extra ten minutes in the bathroom when he washed his hair. There were other, more subtle, distinct traits that John had figured out over time. The fact that Sherlock's mood was often translated into his music, how he hid behind his label of sociopathy in order to not have to explain his eccentric behaviour, a fact which John figured out due to his previous discovery of how affected Sherlock truly was by what he deemed failure whenever a life was lost in a case he was working on. He may claim that he found it easy to simply not care for those involved but John had seen the shock, and later on the anger, on his face when Moriarty had killed the old lady and subsequently another eleven innocent people, even after Sherlock had solved his puzzle.
It wasn't all bad though. After the transition their relationship had taken John had discovered a completely new side to Sherlock; it turned out he could be romantic after all. Though as with anything Sherlock Holmes's idea of romanticism was very different to everyone else's. Romance for Sherlock was holding the crime scene tape up so John could pass, stopping during an investigation so John could eat or bringing John's gun along when he had forgotten it. It didn't take long for John to realise that Sherlock had been doing that for a long time, since the very beginning even. The signs had all been there but he had been too afraid to act on his feelings. Aside from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock never cared what anyone else thought or even acknowledged their existence beyond necessity, but not with John. He was always conscious of John, and John was always by his side.
Many of the things he had learnt would probably be deemed unimportant by most, but to John they meant everything. Sherlock Holmes, the most reserved and mysterious man he knew had chosen to share his life with him in every way possible and he was grateful. No matter how unconventional Sherlock could be John had grown rather fond of his idiosyncrasies. In fact, he intended to explore one of his favourite ones this morning. As it turned out Sherlock was completely unable to resist an invitation to have sex in the shower. This had often become a vital distraction when Sherlock didn't have any cases to keep him occupied, and John was about to test how effective it still was.
Right on cue, Sherlock walked back into the room, his sleeves slightly damp from the washing up.
"Are you done sulking?" John asked.
"I wasn't sulking, I was trying to be helpful."
"I know, thank you." John said as he walked over to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his neck. Sherlock placed his own hands on John's hips just as John reached up and kissed him. It was a gentle and soft brush of lips which ended much too quickly and left Sherlock longing for more.
John moved up further until his mouth was lined up to Sherlock's ear. He moved his hands to the front of Sherlock's dressing gown, which had been knotted at some point, and started undoing it whilst whispering softly.
"Join me in the shower. I'll show you just how grateful I am."
Sherlock closed his eyes and gulped, then nodded his consent.
After undoing the belt John's hands moved up to the detective's shoulders and slowly travelled down his arms, taking the dressing gown with them. He removed his own trousers and they both stood in the middle of their room completely naked, their arousal evident.
No longer being able to restrain themselves they each wrapped their arms around the other as they progressed to the bathroom. The battle for control was evident in the intensity of their kisses. Their tongues entwined and fighting for dominance until they finally stumbled into the bathroom. They managed to get into the shower and turn the tap on without suffering any major injuries, though a few choice words were uttered as the boiling hot water hit Sherlock's exposed back. After John regulated the temperature the two settled into the pretence of a shower and John concluded, once again, that this was definitely his favourite method of distracting Sherlock.
After their exhilarating and tiring session in the shower they found themselves lying comfortably under the covers of their bed. John had taken advantage of the fact that Sherlock's head was settled on his chest and kept running his hands through the detective's still damp curls. Sherlock seemed to love this, if the quiet satisfied sounds he was making were anything to go by.
Apart from the quiet sounds the detective was emitting a comfortable silence had settled in the room once again, which set Sherlock's mind whirling. If anyone had ever told him that he would be satisfied with spending the day in bed being cuddled by his partner he would have rolled his eyes and stalked off. It seemed many things had changed since John Watson had walked into his life, even more so after they finally admitted their feelings for each other, something Sherlock was still not quite sure how he had managed. He had never been an insecure person, but he always found sentiment extremely tedious to deal with, but John had changed even that.
Sherlock had not only made the first step but he had since then taken extra precautions to ensure he never neglected John. He was always very much aware of where John was. He tried to take better care of himself, though that didn't always go the way he wanted it to, so that John wouldn't have to worry as much. And most of all he tried to make sure John knew how Sherlock felt about him. That was the most important thing. John had to know that Sherlock was better now that he had him in his life. A better detective, but most importantly a better person.
John was always there to ground him. He wasn't afraid to talk to Sherlock and tell him he had done something wrong, he wasn't afraid to show his true self to the detective and most of all he was always there when Sherlock needed him, regardless of whether or not he wanted to admit it. Loyal John, always a warm and comfortable presence. He had now taken up permanent residence in Sherlock's mind palace and Sherlock had no intention of letting him go. After all, he'd be lost without his blogger.
He was snapped out of his reverie by the warm pressure of John's lips on his forehead and a slight nudge. Sherlock took the hint quickly enough and maneuverer himself within reach of John's mouth. He then pulled John down for a long languid kiss. They stayed like that for a long time; Sherlock embraced by John, their mouths moving together as one in a comfortable cadence. Sherlock had cupped John's face with his left hand and John was rubbing soothing circles on Sherlock's back. After a while they broke apart, once again interrupted by their bodies' tedious need of oxygen. Sherlock lay his head gently back down on John's chest and felt the oscillation created when he spoke.
"You're quiet." he said with a soft voice, not wanting to disrupt the tranquil mood that had settled over them.
"Just thinking."
John chuckled, and Sherlock's curls bounced lightly. "Do you ever stop?"
"I've been known to every once in a while, given that the right distraction is provided."
"What were you thinking about?" John asked. He had always been curious to explore Sherlock's mind, and it was times like these when the detective was calm that he liked to try and gain an insight.
The response was quick and simple, "You."
"Oh." he was slightly taken aback. He wasn't expecting that answer at all. Perhaps something about murder or strange experiments that fascinated Sherlock, but definitely not him. John was about to ask him what about him when he felt Sherlock shift. The detective was now laying on his front, still draped half over John, and was staring intently into his eyes.
When he spoke his voice was clear and his deep baritone voice reverberated off the walls.
"I love you."
There, the words they had never spoken. Never spoken, but always thought. Everything they felt for each other melted down into three simple little words. Three simple words that made John's heart clench. He'd never realised how much he had wanted to hear those words until this very second, and how important it was that he return them.
"I love you too." he said, and promptly dropped his lips to Sherlock's once again, but just before they met he heard Sherlock mutter under his breath.
"Obviously."