John and Sherlock like going to Angelo's for dinner and not only because it's free. They always get the best of service, which keeps Sherlock's impatient whining down and the view of the street gives Sherlock things to focus on if he gets bored. John likes the excellent lasagne and the fact that Angelo's is theirs. They only come here together, alone.
"Wine," Angelo said, pouring them each a glass and leaving the bottle at the table with a wink. John and Sherlock nodded their thanks, but were quickly absorbed back into the conversation they were having.
"No, no, no, John. The TARDIS can't be real. It just doesn't work that way. It can't be bigger on the inside. Scien-"
John interrupted rather loudly. "SCIENCE, Sherlock, has only come so far and if you keep talking like this about my favourite bloody show I won't watch it with you anymore." The effect John's threat had on Sherlock was immediate.
"No, John. We must find out what happens in the next episode. They left on a cliffhanger and my mind won't stop thinking about it." John smiled triumphantly and took a swig of his wine while Sherlock looked miserable.
"Why did they have to kill them?" he asked.
"Who?" John asked in return.
"All of them." John sighed sympathetically and said, "I know, Sherlock. I understand." John patted Sherlock's thigh. "Have some wine. It'll help. Analgesic," he said, pushing Sherlock's glass toward him.
John and Sherlock managed to get a little sloshed on the free flowing wine.
"Just one more," John argued.
"No," Sherlock said and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed.
"Oh come on. Just the one," John said.
"No! I won't eat another potato, and that is final." Sherlock seemed very decided. Very decided indeed. But John knew his way around his Sherlock and so he leaned in and flattered him.
"I've never met someone as smart as you. And clever. Smart and clever are not the same thing. But you know that, because as well as being smart and clever, you're intelligent too. And gorgeous. And that thing you did last night with your tongue to my right testicle... Well, I had to wank in the shower this morning."
Sherlock's eyes had closed and a little humming sound was being emitted. He was purring, soaking up his John's praise.
"Have another potato," John said, pushing the plate toward Sherlock.
"Yes, alright. But I'll want cake after," Sherlock said, spearing the smallest potato he could find with his fork. John hid his smirk in another sip of his wine. If Sherlock wanted cake, then cake Sherlock would have. John caught Angelo's eye and nodded. Angelo winked at him and disappeared into the kitchen. Soon after, he reappeared again to give John a thumbs up.
"Happy Birthday to you," John sang, standing up.
"John, no," Sherlock said urgently, looking around in disgust. Every person in the restaurant had got to their feet automatically and they were singing as Angelo wheeled a cake out that was covered in sparklers. "Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear Sherlock. Happy Birthday to you!" The restaurant clapped and there was much scraping of chairs as the other patrons sat back down. Sherlock was a little pink around the cheeks from the pleasure he wrought from attention, but he looked thunderous.
"I need to stay anonymous for work, John." John looked around at the people surrounding them. They were no longer paying them any mind, apart from a few who were greedily eyeing the cake.
"Oh, don't worry, half the people here are too drunk to even know who they just sang for, and the rest are too busy trying to get their leg over by impressing on their dates that they are up for anything – including singing enthusiastically to a stranger - to care. Now eat some cake." John knew really very many things about his Sherlock and his big sweet tooth was one of them. Sherlock would much rather eat pastries than something with vitamins, minerals and lasting energy. He was much like Mycroft in that respect.
Stony faced, Sherlock accepted the piece of cake John had cut for him and started eating it with much more enthusiasm than he had his actual meal. He finished his piece before John was even half way through his. "John," he said, and that was all it took for John to know what he wanted. John cut another piece and held his hand out for the plate.
After another glass of wine to wash down his second piece of cake, Sherlock was ready to go home and get to what he considered the main event of the night: the unspoken promise of whatever sex he wanted. John made birthdays good that way. "Home," he said simply and he stood up and left the restaurant with a wave at Angelo. John followed dutifully, abandoning his last few bites of cake and half a cup of coffee. The night was cold, but the touches between them were warm going on hot. Soft rubs across backs and little squeezes of waists soon turned into snogging in the middle of Haymarket. Sherlock steered them into an alleyway that he'd always liked after a case long before he'd met John. It had been a lonely time. Time had had an ugly habit of dragging on and on before Sherlock met John.
"I'll give you a birthday treat, Sherlock," John murmured, his lips coming off of Sherlock's with a little smacking sound. He pushed Sherlock up against the wall and John started to massage Sherlock's cock until it grew hard in his pants and then undid his trousers. He then slid down to his knees.
"Tell me why you picked this alley," John said and took Sherlock into his mouth.
"There was a case," Sherlock breathed. John made an encouraging noise while he sucked and looked up at Sherlock. "Was, ahh John, a good case. A four and a half. Woman gone missing." Sherlock stopped to breathe and to observe his erection sliding between John's lips. John shaved between six to eight hours ago, he last had a hair cut five weeks ago, he had a good night's sleep last night (well he would have after the amount of running we did to solve that case and the thing he'd had done to his right testicle by me), there was only the smallest hint of blue left around his eye from the punch he got eight days ago, and obviously he was well hydrated considering how wet his mouth was around his cock.
"Focus, Sherlock," John said, bringing Sherlock out of his deductions and back to sensation and what he was supposed to be talking about. "Woman gone missing," John reminded him. Sherlock nodded down at John and John, with a rather sexy smirk, took Sherlock back into his wet mouth. Sherlock dropped his head against the brick wall behind him and let out an indulgent, loud moan.
"She'd been gone thirty-eight hours when Lestrade finally contacted me and asked for help. Stupid. Should have been quicker and saved that woman thirty-six hours of torture," Sherlock said with a little huff.
John popped off Sherlock's cock and said, "ah, you arrogant sexy sod, keep going." John started pressing open mouthed kisses on Sherlock's balls and the length of his cock while massaging the head with his eager hand.
"John," Sherlock moaned, pleased both by the attention on his cock and John's comments that he, quite rightly, took as praise. "They didn't know where exactly she'd been taken - oh God – so they couldn't find any leads to go on." Sherlock was starting to push his cock into John's lips, eager to enter there again. John smiled up at Sherlock.
"I bet you found the leads, didn't you?" he said, and rubbed the head of Sherlock's cock over his lips. Sherlock rutted his hips, trying to gain entrance to his partner's mouth but his partner was being especially stubborn. Sherlock let out a frustrated moan.
"Yes I did, John, suck me," he said, gripping John's hair. John almost, almost, brought his hand down to start wanking but reminded himself that it was Sherlock's birthday and Sherlock was going to have all John's attention tonight. Instead, John flattened his tongue against that beautifully pink tip and rubbed circles into it. "The leads," Sherlock quickly continued, convinced that if he impressed John enough he would get what he wanted, "they were easy enough to find if they had just thought. She had been seeing a therapist. Anyone who saw her workspace should have known what for, it was so obvious. Everything in neat rows, colour coordinated and after size. She suffered from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. She'd seen her therapist earlier that day, John," Sherlock looked down at John expectantly, thinking he had just spelled it out to him as clear as day.
"You're making the face," John said, frowning up at Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't going to get sucked if he insisted on making John feel stupid and half blind.
"Her therapist's. He would have wanted her to change her habits. He wanted her to take a different route home from work. I checked her comp- John!" The cause of Sherlock's outburst of his lover's name was that his lover had decided it was far, far too easy for Sherlock to talk and had taken his cock back into his mouth. Sherlock's long fingers had tangled themselves completely in John's hair and were tugging on it. "Best birthday," Sherlock panted, and John expressed his agreement by taking Sherlock in deeper. "John JohnJohn John." Sherlock's passionate verbal eruption was interrupted by the ding of a text message and because Sherlock was Sherlock, he had to look.
Please take your shows of affections home. My staff are paid well but not well enough to watch that. - MH
Go away, – SH
"It's Mycroft," Sherlock said to John's raised and questioning eyebrows, "apparently we're being watched." John shrugged and kept going. They could look away if they didn't want to see. Sherlock smirked down at him. "This is going on my list of reasons why I love you," he said. His phone dinged again.
Incorrect punctuation. You must really be enjoying yourself. Go home. I have connections in the police that will come pick you up if you are unable to comply with my request. - MH
I know about your connections. Do give Lestrade my love. Unless he's too busy with yours. - SH
You have exactly one minute to zip yourself up before I put in a call. - MH
Sherlock frowned up at the nearest CCTV camera and John popped of his dick. "We going home 'Lock?" he said, his lips a little numb. Sherlock gave a nod and John sighed. "Shame. I was really enjoying that." He zipped and buttoned Sherlock back up and stood. "We're not walking. It'll take too long. Closest tube station?"
Sherlock scrunched his nose up for a moment before answering. "Piccadilly Circus. Approximately 150 feet. Why can't we take a cab?"
John smiled rather wickedly at him. "Because I want to inappropriately snog you on the train for the five minutes it takes to get to Baker Street station," he said. "Six. On average it takes six minutes," Sherlock said. John rolled his eyes and tugged Sherlock by the hand out of the alley and toward the tube station.
John kept his promise and inappropriately snogged Sherlock for the entire six minute journey. His hands wandered up the front of Sherlock's shirt and groped at the belly that was just a little swollen from eating two slices of cake. Sherlock's hands were planted firmly on John's arse to keep him from being pushed away by Sherlock's rather aggressive rolls of hip. Another angry text from Mycroft asking them to "act their age" went ignored and their embrace ended only when the doors opened to let them off at Baker Street station. They hurried home, Sherlock unbuttoning his shirt as they jogged and, after a little encouragement from his lover, John started unbuttoning his too.
They tumbled in to the downstairs hall of 221b and began kissing against the wall where Sherlock had, so long ago now, giggled with his John after fixing his limp. "What of hers did you check?" John breathed, his hips pinning Sherlock to the wall as he got to work on the last remaining buttoned buttons.
"Hers? Oh. Computer. Oh, get it off," Sherlock said, twisting his torso in annoyance at his shirt.
"Why?" John asked, getting the last button undone and pulling the shirt tails free and spreading it wide open. John flattened his hands against the stomach and roughly rubbed up towards Sherlock's chest.
"She had OCD, John, and her therapist had told her to break her routines. She had to pick another way to work so I checked her internet hi- Oh, yes!" Sherlock drew his shoulder blades back and arched his chest forward into John's mouth which had closed itself around Sherlock's right nipple. John sucked and flicked his tongue against it, just as he knew his Sherlock liked it.
"Her internet what?" John mumbled as he dragged his lips across from one nipple to the other.
"Internet history. She'd gone on Google Maps. She took her directions from there. I just followed the alternate route it mapped out and went through the alleys and it didn't take me long to find evidence of her and evidence of who had taken her," Sherlock said, slowly running his hands over John's shoulders and cupping the back of his neck and head. John unbuckled his lovers belt and undid his trousers. He stuck his finger into Sherlock's mouth, who responded automatically by wetting it and sucking on it.
"You'll never cease to amaze me with how obvious things are to your brain," John whispered, watching intently as his finger moved in and out of those inordinately big lips. "A little more saliva. There you go," he said and pulled his finger out into the cool air. It didn't stay there for long as John quickly stuck his hand down the back of Sherlock's trousers and down his pants. John's hand didn't stop there, but kept going down the cleft of Sherlock's bottom and his finger started circling the little entrance to Sherlock's body that had brought him so much joy in their time together. "What did you find?" John asked, raising his voice just a little so Sherlock would hear him through his moans and rather loud breathing.
"Evidence, John. Let's go upstairs and have sex now." John smirked and was about to answer when the door opened at the end of the hall and Mrs. Hudson emerged. John tried to pull Sherlock's coat over to cover what was quite the impressive erection but it was no use.
Mrs. Hudson took the scene in with a little blush. "Oh, boys. I am much too old to be walking in on scenes like this. I was going to ask if you wanted cake now but I see that tomorrow might be better," she said, a smile in her eyes. She loved her boys. They were as good as her children and when they had finally stopped playing coy with furtive looks and finally started shagging nobody had been happier than her.
"Cake?" Sherlock said, his sweet tooth exacerbated by his alcohol intake. John frowned and pushed his finger directly against his arsehole.
Sherlock made a funny high-pitched noise and his eyes widened. "Cake tomorrow, Mrs. Hudson, thank you," he said after clearing his throat.
"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. We'll be heading upstairs now. See you tomorrow," John said, a little hint of Captain-Watson-dismissing-a-soldier seeping into his voice. Mrs. Hudson tutted something as she turned and walked back into her flat. "You were going to give up sex for /cake/," John said, rounding on Sherlock and pushing him up the wall.
"No, I... I wasn't!" Sherlock protested rather meekly.
"For cake!" John growled and pushed the tip of his finger inside his lover.
Sherlock exhaled and dropped his head to John's shoulder. "Sorry. Please don't stop the sex," he whined, grabbing at John's arse. John let out a low chuckle and shook his head.
"It's your birthday. You'll get what you want. Even if it is Mrs. Hudson's bloody cake. You pick what you want." John removed his finger and started the stairs. Sherlock followed. The only thing that could delay this sex was if a particularly puzzling murder case was offered to him.
On the first floor landing they started kissing again. John's hands were eager on Sherlock's body, and Sherlock's even more so on John's. John pushed the door to kitchen open and led his Sherlock through it, tugging his long coat off his shoulders and down his arms. "And off it comes," John murmured, letting it fall to a heap on the floor. "Suit jacket now," he said, tugging it off and throwing it in the direction of where he knew a chair to be. He took a step back and scanned Sherlock's appearance. His shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing his flat, pale stomach with little ripples of muscle, and his trousers were in danger of slipping down his hips. They would have fallen if there hadn't been an erection stretching the material ever so slightly and keeping it in place, John was sure of it. He shrugged off his own jacket and let it drop to the floor. "Your bedroom or mine?" John said with a grin and Sherlock grinned back. Sure, there was still a bed in John's old room but, although the science equipment still managed to trickle it's way back down into the living room and kitchen (Sherlock got lonely up there by himself), it was now a designated lab. John had been sleeping in Sherlock's room for a very long time.
"Ours, John," Sherlock murmured as he took control of the situation and pressed their bodies together, leading and pushing and shoving John to their bed.
"Shirt," Sherlock commanded as he started removing John's trousers. John obeyed quickly and tugged his shirt off as Sherlock pulled his trousers and pants down his legs. "Sit." Sherlock was commanding again so John obeyed. Sherlock knelt in front of his favourite person in the whole world and started very gently untying and slipping off John's shoes and socks. He kissed the top of each foot before pulling those pesky trousers off completely. John was sitting naked on the edge of the bed and Sherlock scanned him over. His eyes lingered at the jutting erection and John smiled down at him. He knew that Sherlock loved his cock and that he would show it. A low growling sound indicated that the love was about to come, and sure enough, John found himself curling his fingers into the sheet he was sitting on as his cock was suddenly enveloped by Sherlock's lips. The only thing that could beat the feeling of Sherlock's plump lips around his cock was the feeling of Sherlock's plump arse around it, and John had no doubt he was going to experience both before the night was over.
"How are you going to tell me the rest of the case with your mouth full like this?" John asked. His legs were spread wide and he was gently rolling his hips while Sherlock loudly slurped and sucked on his dick. Sherlock looked up at his John and was clearly conflicted. Did he want to impress John with his blow job or with how he solved a case? He whined in frustration and John soothingly stroked his hair. "Oh, Sherlock. It must be so hard being brilliant at everything and not knowing which skill to exercise," he said sympathetically with only the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice. Sherlock nodded his agreement and sucked passionately on his lover to thank him for understanding his plight.
"But, John," Sherlock said, removing his lips from John's cock to John's dismay, "I found a tissue with her shade of lipstick on and two wrappers from the same candy she kept on her desk. There were no signs of struggle. She'd followed her kidnapper in and out of the alley willingly. There were signs of struggle on the pavement so she hadn't willingly got into the car that took her away." John nodded his interest while he threw the duvet on the floor followed by a pillow. "It was easy to figure out the rest," Sherlock said as John gently pushed him to lie down on the floor. "Are we doing it on the floor, John?" he asked and he smiled when the response was a nod. "Oh good."
John smiled back at Sherlock and took their favourite brand of lube out of the bedside table while Sherlock quickly tugged his trousers, pants, shoes and socks off. "Spread," John said and he knelt between Sherlock's legs as the suddenly very compliant man did as he was told. John lubricated his hand and stroked it down Sherlock's cock, down his balls, past his perineum and back to the hole he hoped soon to enter. Sherlock closed his eyes with a smile and settled his head deep into the pillow. His John was a doctor and had never had a problem finding all the best ways to touch him and his prostate. John fingered the little inlet until he felt Sherlock relax. He slid his finger in and Sherlock gasped and squirmed his hips down and moaned.
"More. Another one," he breathed and John acceded.
"Looks so good," John exhaled, watching his fingers repeatedly disappear in and come back out. He straddled Sherlock's left leg and leaned down to kiss the birthday boy. The happy little hums that Sherlock was making sent vibrations of pleasure through John and he started to rut against Sherlock's hip. "Mm, Sherlock. Finish your story and I'll fuck you," John said, starting to become a little desperate to get to it.
It took Sherlock a few seconds to process what John had said as his prostate had been very agreeably disturbed by the passing of John's fingers. "Easy to figure out," he said between heavy breaths. "She had OCD and was taking another route home from work? She would never steer from her preplanned route, John. Especially not into a dirty alley." John hummed in agreement and wiggled his fingers to further open Sherlock up for him.
"Unless what?" John asked, seeing that there must have been an exception to the rule as she had done just that.
"Unless someone she trusted encouraged her to do it. And who did she trust to help her with her OCD? Her therapist. It took me an hour and a half to prove what I had suspected from the beginning. The Yard hadn't been able to work it out in a day and a half. They found her twenty minutes later in the basement of her therapist's house." Sherlock looked expectantly at John and John stared back at him.
"What?" John asked, stilling his fingers.
Sherlock made a noise of frustration. "I believe the colloquialism commonly used for what I want is fuck me!" he snapped, grinding down on John's fingers. John half laughed, half moaned in response and quickly reached for the bottle of lube again and coated his cock with a healthy amount.
"Righteo, Sherlock," he said, positioning himself between those long legs.
"John, wait," Sherlock said, putting a halting hand on John's arm.
"What's wrong?" John asked, a surprised look on his face.
"Didn't you like my story?" Sherlock asked shyly. He was looking for praise from his John. The edges of John's mouth twitched into a smile.
He rubbed the head of his cock around the entrance to Sherlock's arse and said, "you're fucking brilliant, you are. I could never have figured it out like you did. There's a reason why you're the world's only consulting detective. I'm just lucky enough to get to fuck you." At the last two words John slid his cock in with a grunt of pleasure.
Sherlock's reaction was to pull his knees up and then wrap his legs around John's waist. "Yeth!" he called out.
"Sorry, what?" John asked, beginning to administer gentle thrusts.
"Yes," Sherlock corrected himself. He cursed inwardly. He'd been doing so well keeping his drunken lisp under control. No matter how much John professed to loving it, and that one time actually wanking to the sound of it, Sherlock couldn't accept that he had a lisp when he was drunk.
"I thaid yes, John," Sherlock adamantly said. John nodded in agreement. His thrusts came in harder, spurred on by the sound of Sherlock's lispy tongue.
"You certainly did. Now stroke yourself," John said, his voice showing signs of his enjoyment by becoming low, heavy and cracking slightly.
"John!" Sherlock's hand had scrambled between their bodies and was tugging on his cock. John knew that voice. It meant that Sherlock was getting close.
"Already?" he asked, a grin forming on his face.
"I've been waiting all day, and you almost made me come in the alley and John please," Sherlock rambled.
"You know the rules, Sherlock. You don't get to come until you've incorrectly recited the Periodic Table," John said, grazing his cock past his Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock's body tensed and he moaned out a mixture of discontent and extreme contentedness.
"Hydrogen," he said.
"Yes," John replied, picking up the speed of his thrusts. Sherlock slapped his free hand on John's shoulder blade.
"Helium," he said. "Yes," John replied, starting to pant from the effort. "Lithium," Sherlock said, his voice starting to sound a little pinched.
"Yes," John replied.
"Beryllium, John!" Sherlock said. He lifted his hips off the ground so he was hanging off John's body by his legs.
"God yes," John moaned as Sherlock's arse bounced against him.
"Boron," Sherlock said breathlessly, his eyes starting to roll back in his head.
"Yes," John said, his fingers digging in to the duvet beneath them.
"Carbon," Sherlock whispered, his forehead drawn together in a frown of pleasure.
"Yes, fuck, yes," John said.
Sherlock was silent, besides his moaning, for many long seconds before he remembered the next one. "Nitrogen." The hand on his cock was pumping furiously and the hand on John's back would have been clawing deep gashes if the nails had been long enough.
"Yes, oh God, your arse, Sherlock!" John moaned, his eyes shut tight and his control over his hips failing. He pounded hard, the slapping noise of his balls against Sherlock's bottom only driving him on. Sherlock didn't say an intelligible word for sixteen thrusts, and John was coming so close to orgasm that he had to ask: "What's next, Sherlock? What's after nitrogen?"
Sherlock was squeezing his eyes shut, trying valiantly to remember. "I don't know!" he shouted.
"You better come then," John said, opening his eyes. He liked watching the pained look of orgasm on Sherlock's face.
He didn't have to wait long. "Jo-!" Sherlock called out as the orgasm slammed through his body and seduced his brain into the temporary oblivion that only drugs had provided him with before his John had shown him another way to achieve it. His legs around John tensed violently and he threw his head back and exposed his long neck. John didn't know how he held on through Sherlock's orgasm, but then again he never knew how he managed, but as soon as Sherlock had passed the zenith John buried his cock deep and let his own orgasm come in pulsing bursts that were mirrored by his moaning outbursts. Sherlock's hand rather limply stroked John's back and John collapsed on him.
"Fucking fantastic," John mumbled, taking deep sniffs of the smell of Sherlock after sex. It was always so good, that smell. Sherlock hummed in agreement.
A few minutes passed in a satiated cuddled there on the floor before Sherlock recovered enough to be Sherlock again. "It's oxygen, John," he said.
John smiled. "Yes, I know," he said, giving Sherlock's shoulder a kiss.
"I wanted you to know I know too," Sherlock said. He was starting to stir and nudged John to get up.
"Bed?" John asked and Sherlock nodded. Sherlock sat up and pulled his shirt off and used it to wipe the semen off his belly and chest. They situated themselves back in a more comfortable cuddle on the bed, under their blanket and wrapped up in each other. There were a couple of sleepy minutes of silence before Sherlock spoke again. "John?" he asked.
"Mm?" John hummed.
"Thank you for the microscope cleaning set," Sherlock said, kissing the top of John's head. Sherlock was sometimes more affectionate after sex.
"You're welcome. It was a good gift then?" John asked, kissing Sherlock's chest.
"Yes. I like it very much," Sherlock replied, nodding. John pushed himself up on an elbow so he could see Sherlock's reaction to the next thing he was going to say.
"And tomorrow we're going out to get a dog."
Sherlock smiled. "Yes, I know," he said.
"You do?" Of course he does, John thought.
"Of course I do, John. Your browser history gives everything away." Sherlock closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh. He liked one-upping people.
"I need to start deleting things," John said, fondly looking at his best friend's face, which was surprisingly angelic when he was relaxed.
"No, don't," Sherlock said, opening his eyes with a worried expression. How then would he know things that John didn't tell him?
"Stalker," John said.
"You have a name for him too." Sherlock's eyes closed again as he spoke.
"How the hell do you know that?" John said, but he suspected he already knew the answer. Sherlock smirked and began talking.
"You changed your computer password to H-"
John interrupted, eager and nervous. "Hamish. Yes. Do you like it?"
Sherlock opened his eyes and saw that John was genuinely nervous. "It's my second favourite name in the world. After John, John," he said, smiling.
"That's rather sentimental," John said, smiling back at him.
"You won't tell anyone will you?" Sherlock asked, his smile faltering a little at the thought of being found out.
"No, I won't. Darling," John said and his smile widened.
"No. No pet names. Just a pet," Sherlock said firmly. John laughed and fell back on the pillow.
Sherlock reached over to his bedside table, opened the drawer and pulled out a brown leather collar and held it up for John to see. "I got a collar," he said.
John felt a little melted and his eyes stung ever so slightly. "I can see that. It has a bone on it," he whispered.
"Yes, it has his name and address if he's stupid enough to get lost," Sherlock said, twisting the tag.
"A bone, though," John said in a very amused tone.
"Yes, a bone, John. Problem?" Sherlock asked, wondering if he'd missed something.
"It seems a little... ordinary for you," John said, trying to keep himself from giggling.
"He's a dog, John. Dogs like bones," Sherlock said insistingly.
"When you're right, you're right. It's beautiful. I think he'll like it," John said, relaxing back into Sherlock's chest. They were quiet for another few minutes, both thinking about what it would be like to have a dog come into their life. John was imagining long walks through parks, throwing sticks and a warm little body sleeping over his feet in front of the fireplace. Sherlock was thinking about the ability dogs had to smell and hear things humans couldn't. He'd harness and train those senses in Hamish to help with cases. And to his surprise, he thought it might be nice to have a little puppy sleeping across his chest. Just thinking about it made him sleepy.
"Hamish is a good name for a dog," he mumbled.
"Yes. Yes it is," John mumbled back. He gave Sherlock's chest a few strokes before his hand stilled and he started drifting off to sleep.
"John?" Sherlock asked, a sudden worried feeling in his heart.
"Mm?" John hummed.
Sherlock shifted a little uncomfortably, the antsy feeling getting worse. "You'll help me take care of Hamish won't you?"
John smiled and nodded into his chest and said, "yes."
But the reassurance wasn't enough for Sherlock. "You won't let me accidentally... hurt him?" he asked, his voice small.
"I won't," John said, stroking Sherlock's chest to comfort him, "but I think you'll take good care of him without me watching over you."
The anxiety in Sherlock faded. If John thought he could, then he trusted his judgement. "Okay. Good." There was a long silence. "John?" Sherlock whispered, not quite sure if John was still awake, but it was urgent that he told him what he had to say.
"Mm?" John mumbled, well on his way to falling asleep.
"I love you."
John smiled. "And I love you. Happy birthday."