Title: "Sing Me to Sleep";
Prompt: Cuddling;
Pairing: Johnlock;
Word Count: 259.
Sometimes, when he was tired enough, he let himself slip into the familiarity of the touch. He had never truly been a sympatizer of any conctat, whether it was moved by passion or shyly, nor he had, in fact, understood any kind of conctat out of the sphere of the necessary social.
Since he met John Warson, however, the entire thing had slowly started to get a whole different meaning. There where days, precisely, in which he'd find himself too sleepy to get out of the bed, and he would wait for John to come to wake him just to drag him down to the mattress. The doctor's voice would ring like a silver bell, and he would moan excuses about being late to work and try to escape his firm but tender grasp. Those apologies where never meant to be listened, however, and Sherlock never had to make a big effort to ignore them, anyways.
So, John Watson'd eventually let go and slide into the delicacy of the hug, breathing deeply the scent of sunflowers, chests touching, hands holding. At last, after being cuddled for a bit, Sherlock Holmes would finally declare himself satisfied and fall asleep again. Only then, John would raise his chin and leave a single, delicate kiss on his forehead, and Sherlock'd be dreaming so loud he'd almost feel the sun into the detective's head shine on his own cheeks.
Eventually, he would get out of the bed and stare at the sleeping man.
It was not like he even cared about work, anyways.