~One~
John awoke in the middle of the night, gripped with a bewildering desire for tea. He felt pleasantly delirious as he padded softly down the stairs, doubting that Sherlock was asleep, but not wanting to rouse him if he was. The flat was unusually still; there were no impatient violin melodies, no explosives, and no angry mutterings from Sherlock as he sought to solve a case. Everything was magnificently still. John moved quietly into the dark kitchen and flicked the overhead light on, bathing the steel appliances in a soft florescent glow. He filled the kettle with water and set it to boil, humming under his breath. As he turned from the stove in search of sugar cubes, he saw something beautiful.
There, sprawled gracefully on the sofa, was Sherlock. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, the light from the kitchen catching his hair and turning it to silver. John forgot his tea and stepped into the dark sitting room, chest inexplicably tight. Sherlock hadn't removed his coat, so the hem drooped over the sofa's edge and flirted with the floor. He looked so quiet, so wonderfully young. John felt equally intrusive and privileged to witness Sherlock in his unconscious moments, for the sheer sight of the sleeping detective sent hot little strokes of affection skittering through his body.
The kettle whistled. John left Sherlock to his dreams.
Hello everyone! Well, I said I had nothing more to write for the Sherlock fandom, but apparently I was wrong. :) I have very little time to write anymore, so I want to work on drabbles that are 221 words long (I know, everyone has done them) to give me manageable writing projects. I will post when I can, and I'm so glad to be writing more Sherlock! Incidentally, this drabble is actually 231 words long, but I will do my best to end at 221 in the future. Thanks for reading and tell me what you think! ;D
With love,
-Spark Writer-