The first time Sherlock Holmes kissed him, it was soft and sweet and gentle, and that fact surprised him. Until it happened, he'd have expected either nothing or something awkward and heated in the rush of the moment. Instead, it was as natural as breathing.
He'd been reading at the time, half-asleep, and thoroughly relaxed. For once, he'd chosen to lie down on the sofa, head on the arm-rest, one leg crooked against the back cushions. A cup of tea steamed cheerfully on the coffee table across from him and a soft snowfall was coming down outside. Sherlock had been playing his violin for the last two hours and showed no sign of even realizing he was still in the room; but the music was pleasant, and Sherlock hadn't started squawking across the strings as he often did when he wanted to be left alone. It was unusually domestic for them, and John basked in the comfortable warmth of it all.
He'd been dozing off and on for the last hour or so, and he suspected it was the soft, meandering concerto flowing out of the violin that was doing it. He didn't notice that the music had trilled into stillness at first, but he felt fairly sure it was the absence of the warm, gentle notes that woke him as he blinked up into Sherlock's hovering face - still feeling lazy and a bit bleary. The expression regarding him was neutral, but John knew the man well enough to recognize 'relaxed' in the way the skinny detective held himself. He smiled.
"Done playing?"
Sherlock didn't answer, but tilted his head slightly, regarding him with an idle curiosity. Then he smiled back, lowering his head until his breath danced gently across John's face. It was intimate and comfortable and wonderful. He could think of nothing more natural when the detective closed the tiny distance between them and pressed a very gentle kiss against his lips.
Sherlock's eyes were, as usual, watching for a reaction as he pulled back slightly. Judging if he'd gone too far. John reached up, lazily, and brushed a hand down the side of the younger man's face, pleased to see Sherlock's eyes drift closed as he leaned into the touch. The other hand slid through Sherlock's curly hair and gently drew him back in. He kissed the man's forehead first, then the bridge of his nose, and finally ended at the lips, mirroring the same gentle kiss he'd received a few moments before.
Through it all, Sherlock was unusually relaxed. There was a timidity, an uncertainty, but for once Sherlock Holmes wasn't trying to be aloof or detached. He wasn't pulling back, sarcasm and cruel comments at the ready. He was submitting to the attention and the affection gladly. And that was perhaps the most intimate part of it all.