Work comes first
'You have been sitting in that chair for three days on end!' John complained, shoving Sherlock's shoulder. The consulting detective did not even bother to open his eyes.
'Back in your bloody Mind Palace, hm?' John went on, 'Meanwhile, I have cleaned up the flat five times over, went to work, got back home and had dinner on my own two nights in a row. And you still haven't moved! This isn't human!'
Sherlock drew in a deep, annoyed breath. 'Just because you can't entertain yourself, that doesn't mean I have stop thinking.'
'You don't have to stop thinking,' John exclaimed, raising his hands towards the sky, 'All I'm saying is that you could actually, you know, move or talk or- Really, though. For once, would it kill you?'
Sherlock groaned. 'It might. Now please shut up and leave me to my deductions.'
John held the bridge of his nose, while muttering something along the lines of 'unbelievable', then left the living room.
He checked his watch when he sat down on their bed. Eleven o'clock. Not exactly late, but enough to use as an excuse for going to bed. He loved Sherlock to death, but, damn, the man could get on his nerves! Especially on days like these, when he worked as hard as he possibly could and Sherlock just sat there.
He knew his love was focusing on three important cases, but still he could not help but to be more than annoyed. 'I think you should know, I consider myself married to my work,' Sherlock had told him once. So it would seem, indeed…
The door creaked when it opened. 'John?' Sherlock's voice muttered. John, already in bed, pretended to be fast asleep. 'John? I can tell by your unsteady breaths and the way you're positioned that you are awake. Don't ignore me, please.'
The hint of sadness in his voice always instantly got to John, and so the man sat up and opened his eyes. He was wearing his grey t-shirt and shorts in which he always slept and his hair was sticking up in several directions. He ruffled it carefully.
'John,' Sherlock began as he sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully placed a cold hand on John's bare knee.
'It's fine,' John reassured him, expecting an apology.
'No, let me say it. I'm sorry. And I want you to know that I mean it.'
He leaned closer, his fingers brushing John's leg. Sherlock's breath blew past John's mouth before he brushed their lips together. 'I love you,' he whispered against John's lips, 'More than my work. You, are all that matters to me.'
John pulled back. 'I love you too. But you know that, you stupid idiot.'
'Hardly a difficult deduction,' Sherlock grinned before leaning in again.