Chapter 1
Sherlock awoke with displeasure as he draped his arm across the empty space next to him. It was cold and his partner's imprint was fading, casting soft shadows across the bedspread as the light streamed through the far window. Huddling his arms close to his bare chest, the detective groaned, his usual call for his flatmate.
It took a moment before the floor creaked outside the door as weighted footsteps moved to the door and John peaked his head into view.
"Good morning." The routined gesture meant close to nothing to Sherlock but the wet tousled hair, the faint scent of shampoo, and the broad fingers tightening their grip around the identical tea cups warmed him."You sure slept in late."
Sherlock groaned, running his long fingers through the dark curls. Kicking the sheets off his legs, his lanky figure stumbled into John, balancing a cup on his finger. "Good morning, Doctor John Watson." He murmured into the shorter man's neck, leaning back to take a sip of tea.
"Twat." John snarked from behind him and a smirk tugged at the corner of his thin lips as he strode into the front room, blinking as he stared out the window. Everything was calm. It was a weekend, of course, at this hour everyone's still getting up. Not John though, he was always awake in the early hours, it was the one military thing that bugged Sherlock; he didn't enjoy waking up to a cold bed.
Without turning to face his partner, he took another drink of tea. "Any news on Lestrade's raid last night?" There have been several break-ins and a connected murder in the past month and they had been put on the case. Last night Lestrade and his team were supposed to get into the building Sherlock had lead them to.
"Oh, yes. He texted-" Sherlock turned and took the phone that was handed to him and began scanning through the messages; there was a whole conversation's worth of just Lestrade.
"Well, he sure was excited."
John's face brightened with a grin. "Yeah, pretty much in short they got our guy and he won't be seeing daylight for a while."
Sherlock tossed the device onto the nearby table. "Good." His lips wrapped around the simple word like it was an art.
He scooped up the newspaper and settled into his chair, flipping through the tall pages of fiction. A look of apparent amusement crept onto the detective's face as he skimmed the tiny text.
Sherlock didn't move when he heard John pull himself from his chair and walk into the kitchen, the fridge door swinging open with the sucking sound.
He was barely listening when he heard a murmur come from the other room. "Hm?" His brow lifted.
"I just got a carton yesterday. Where did all of the milk go, Sherlock?" Was he scolding him?
"I had other purposes for it." He answered bluntly.
Sherlock could hear mumbling but he couldn't make it out and he figured he didn't want to know.
He didn't even lift his gaze when John tromped out the door.