A/N: Hello! This is my first fanfiction, and I wrote it at one in the morning, so please don't be too harsh. I'll probably continue this story, but my update schedule will be pretty erratic.
Sherlock and John were in tears from laughing so hard. They had been having a movie marathon, a celebration of another "impossible" case solved. John quickly realized that putting Sherlock into a room with the products of people's imagination who weren't as smart as him was NOT a good idea. Sherlock sat in front of the telly and pointed out flaws, inconsistencies, and general plot holes until John couldn't help but laugh at the obviousness of it all once Sherlock had explained it. They were laughing, and as they both turned to each other to say something, their laughter died. They stared at each other much longer than is normally considered acceptable.
It was getting along to the creepy level of length when they both leaned in and then they were kissing. John and Sherlock. Sherlock and John. They laughed as they kissed, and it was all so wonderful, the whole thing so new and beautiful that they forgot their own names. They managed to stumble to Sherlock's bedroom without pulling apart, and they fell onto the bed still locked in each other's arms. John fumbled with the buttons of Sherlock's dress shirt, while Sherlock pulled John's jumper over his head and tossed it aside. Their movements turned slower, and Sherlock began kissing John's back and running those long musician's fingers up and down his stomach and chest. John sighed and fell asleep, a goofy grin on his face. Long after his breathing had slowed, Sherlock lay with his face buried in John's shoulder, inhaling the scent of the army doctor and thinking to himself that he never wanted to let go.
John awoke in an unfamiliar room. It smelled dusty yet pleasant, like old books and strong tea. His thoughts were slowly becoming clearer, as if the sun was rising in his memory, waking everything up. "Sherlock." John hadn't meant to say anything, the name escaped his lips out of pure instinct. "John?" replied a muffled voice from behind him. He suddenly became aware of the arms wrapped around his chest; strong and wiry, squeezing so hard it hurt. As John's eyes adjusted, Sherlock began to stir, but John lay back down next to him, arms around Sherlock's neck and face in his raven hair. He wasn't sure what there future would be like, but he wanted to make this moment last forever.
Thanks for reading! Please review so I can improve.
