Sherlock's arms were clasped around John whilst John's own arms were winding around the detective's torso. They clung tight, as though they feared letting go. The doctor's head rested against the chest of his partner as they slept. The rise and fall of Sherlock's chest only aiding to pulling John asleep.

Legs entwined, the boys breathing was the only sound to break the silence in 221B Baker Street. The smaller man's breath tickled at Sherlock's chest but over the years he'd grown accustomed to the sensation. Occasionally, Sherlock let out a slight muffled snore but it was rare; his sleep was simply too heavy.

The tall man shifted but his arms subconsciously pulled his partner closer to him, wanting to feel the heat against his cool skin. His head dropped down slightly so his cheekbone rested on the top of John's salt and pepper hair. Their height difference meant nothing when John had the leverage he gained in lying down.

The doctor would mumble in his sleep. Probably because he could never usually get enough time speaking when he accompanied the consulting detective around town. Even in sleep, his body was trying to make up for his limited communication; not that the man minded, he enjoyed listening to his partner.

They clung to each other like a lift raft as they'd faced one too many cases that came close to ending in disaster over the past months. Loosing Sherlock for the two years after the fall kept John close and holding tight.

Sherlock buried his nose into John's hair and breathed in his scent. It always comforted him and it guided his dreams into pleasantness.

The flat was quiet and the boys were cosy. Their embrace was tight and love flowed within their home. They remained close as they needed each other; they balanced each other and they both knew that