'Gorgeous..' 'Gorgeous…' 'Gorgeous…' no matter how much John tried to think
Repeating, enthralling, the only thing he could conjure, watching Sherlock sleep, his head resting,
Easily, calmly forgotten of all the world in all its dullness, reposing, beautiful… 'Mine,' John found.
Easing his hand beneath Sherlock's shirt, John found Sherlock's nipple, caressing it, simply because.
Nature taking over, John shifted, feeling Sherlock tense, his mouth curving cunningly in his slumber.
With his mind occupied with tenderness, John, palm against Sherlock's chest, feeling his heartbeat,
Imagined, remembered, reminisced those grey eyes looking at him, cold turned into fire, unslaked.
Nary a breath away, John leaned forth and brushed his lips close to Sherlock's forehead with a sigh,
Granted the price of the eyes opening, the light bright, alight, watching the once soldier, thinking…'Gorgeous.'