Sherlock opened his eyes and immediately zoned in on the fact that he was not in his own bedroom. He slowly sat up and gazed around sleepily and discovered that he was in John's room. Not only his room but also his bed. What was he doing there? Sherlock couldn't recall for the life of him how he managed to find his way there. He should leave the room before John came back: he had a feeling the doctor would not be too pleased if he discovered his flatmate was loitering in his bed.
Before the consulting detective could even remove the blankets John walked in. Sherlock froze and swiftly glanced at his friend. What punishment must he endure for this? Knowing the doctor, it was most likely going to be a lecture about respecting other people's personal space. How could Sherlock explain to him that he had no idea what he was doing there in the first place? John wouldn't believe him.
"Already here, I see," John said with a smile. "I didn't know you were so eager."
Eager? Eager for what? Sherlock tried to deduce John's meaning but he failed to do so. Everything about the doctor was unreadable: there was a light in his eyes that Sherlock did not recognize and it made the consulting detective slightly nervous. Where was the data? John was usually an abundant source for them. Why was he so undecipherable tonight? Sherlock resisted the temptation to back away.
John climbed on the bed and looked at Sherlock deep into his eyes. "You're incredible," John whispered into Sherlock's ear. "Absolutely beautiful."
The consulting detective shivered as he felt his friend's breath tickle him ever so slightly. He suddenly felt the need to press himself against John, to hold and embrace him. What was this feeling? It was powerful; it was foreign. Sherlock never knew he was capable of having such emotions. If only he knew how to identify what they were.
Sherlock jumped a little as he felt John's lips graze his collarbone. "Shh," John whispered soothingly. "It's okay; I won't hurt you. If you feel uncomfortable, let me know and I'll stop."
The problem was that Sherlock wasn't sure if he was uncomfortable. He let John kiss his neck and jaw line while wondering where this was going. John then pressed his lips against Sherlock's, making the consulting detective gasp with both shock and pleasure. He felt a little frightened but he didn't want to move away: the sensation that was starting to overwhelm him felt extremely good in a strange kind of way. He should probably stop what was happening but Sherlock quickly discovered that he didn't have the willpower to do so.
John leaned forward, forcing Sherlock to lean back. They fell onto the bed, their bodies entwined, and the embrace, Sherlock briefly noted, was becoming fiercely passionate. The consulting detective moaned as the doctor found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. Whatever was happening felt absolutely amazing, but the trouble Sherlock was having with producing a single coherent thought was worrying him slightly. Was that supposed to happen? Being unable to think properly was never a good thing in his book.
John never broke the kiss once as he began to multitask. Sherlock became acutely aware of his friend undressing him, undoing the buttons of his shirt with a single hand. The consulting detective then felt that hand travel down his body, feeling every exposed bit of skin it could reach, towards a very intimate part of his anatomy –
Sherlock Holmes woke up with a start and sat up abruptly. His heart was racing, he was sweating profusely, breathing hard and trembling like a leaf but he was at least, he noticed with intense relief, in his own bed within his own bedroom and he was very much alone. What kind of dream was that? Who had such dreams about their flatmates, about their friends? Sherlock hadn't had dreams of that nature since he was a teenager and even then they were quite scarce. What did it mean? Was he falling ill and was now suffering from some sort of hallucinations? Normally, he would have John examine him if he believed he had anything remotely serious (something else that seldom occurred) but Sherlock didn't think he wanted to have John around for this. It would just be too awkward.
The consulting detective took a deep breath. It was just a dream; it meant nothing. He repeated that thought to himself until he at least semi-believed it and sunk back into his pillows. Hopefully things will look better in the morning.