Sherlock heard familiar footsteps coming up the stairs and didn't break his gaze from the novel he was reading. John set a single noisy paper grocery bag on the stuffy counter.
"You know Sherlock, it would be nice to have less clutter," John said as he picked up a graduated cylinder full of some sort of acidic liquid, "Perhaps more space for things that actually belong on kitchen counters." John didn't expect a response. When Sherlock got a new book from this particular author he never really set it down. John busied himself with making two cups of hot tea. After he finished he set one on the table next to Sherlock and continued to sit on the opposite side of the couch while holding his own warm cup.
John felt how warm the cup was and realized the room was cold, winter was approaching and they still hadn't gotten their heater repaired. He slightly shifted his body in Sherlock's direction and watched his eyes skim the page, absorbing all the information. He wouldn't really admit it but, John liked to watch Sherlock read. 221b Baker's Street was serene when Sherlock was reading as his tea went cold. The only sound was occasionally a page being flipped and the sound of their breathing.
"You're staring," Sherlock said plainly. Although John liked the silence, he didn't mind Sherlock's voice breaking it.
"Yes," John simply replied. John could tell that Sherlock was falling back into the fictional storyline of the novel by the way his breath settled in the air.
John continued, "Yes. I like this. Just calm and quiet." Sherlock slightly acknowledged John by nodding and sipping his tea, not breaking his sight from the book once. Sherlock turned the page and saw the chapter was over, it was the beginning of another chapter. John new if he wanted a conversation this was his chance for the next couple hours at least. John went to say something then realized he could see his breath like smoke when he exhaled.
"Sherlock, our home is cold," John explained, "Really cold."
"You are warm blooded John, your body is 37 degrees. You will live," Sherlock said.
"Then why is my body telling my brain that I feel uncomfortable and cold right now?" Watson saw that Sherlock had goose bumps too.
"Body heat, John." Sherlock mumbled. John sat there for a few more moments. He quickly got fed up with the cold. The sun went down minutes ago and the temperature of the air was only decreasing.
John scooted closer to Sherlock until their thighs were touching as John matched Sherlock's position with his feat on the coffee table. Sherlock glanced at the places where their legs met from the corner of his eye, breaking eye contact with the novel for the first moment in probably a couple of set the empty cup on the table next to Sherlock's and then let his arms fall to his lap. His shoulder was also grazing Sherlock's. John looked at Sherlock's face trying to read for signs expression emotion, no luck. A few quiet moments passed and Watson realized how exhausted he was from the past few days, plus he hardly slept last night because of Sherlock's violin. John loves Sherlock's music, just not at all hours of the evenings.
John felt the warmth of Sherlock's skin through their clothing and the rhythm of his breathing, he felt quite comfortable in this current place and had zero desires to move. Sherlock didn't seem to mind either. John's eyes got heavy and he should've gone off to bed, but his legs felt heavy and he never once felt inclined to move. He sat for a few moments in comfort and serenity then dozed off.
John awoke to his pleasant house but he looked glanced around quickly before remember why he was on the couch, then realized he fell asleep on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock fell asleep leaning on him to. Sherlock's novel finished and sitting closed on the table next to them. John sat up and slowly let Sherlock slide into a lying down position on the couch then fetched a warm blanket for Sherlock. The house was remained freezing.
John placed a fuzzy red blanket over Sherlock and smiled. He was happy about last night's events, even if it wasn't much.