"Sherlock, I'm thinking that maybe we should…"
John let the sentence hang in the air.
He wanted to finish it, he really did.
It's just that there was the problem that Sherlock was asleep and naked on his bed and he was not quite sure how to breach that topic.
"Sherlock, I..." John felt it difficult to even poke the skin that he had touched and cradled and learned every inch of barely hours before. He started to stir, and John braced himself for the worst.
Sherlock looked around, unpuzzled by his surroundings but looked uncomfortable being stared at.
"Hello, John."
It was static and normal and forced.
"Uh, hi. You're aware of what happened last night, the fact that you currently, um, do you, you mind putting some pants on?"
Sherlock very matter of factly got up from the bed and wrapped his robe around him.
John stared at him. "How do you not have a headache?"
Sherlock smiled. "After the events of last night, you're concerned because I'm not exhibiting the factors of a hangover? Please, John. Have a little more faith."