I have to admit, this is my first fanfiction in years, and I'm quite sure it's easy to see... It's not beta'ed, but I have been through it a few times, so the most embarrassing mistakes should be gone by now. Have fun, and please enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock in any way, if I did, Sarah would not exist...
Johns p.o.v.:
It was just another day as 221B Baker Street, an early Tuesday morning in the warm summer. John woke up, as any other morning in his anything but ordinary life, with the anything but ordinary Sherlock Holmes cuddling around him, his long form entangled in him, finding himself warm and safe, very warm in fact, to warm for comfort. He had been in the scoring heat of Afghanistan, but nothing could beat the sultry summer in London, where the boiling heat was interrupted by heavy downpours in a matter of minutes, and with Sherlock emitting warm like a heater on a bad day, it couldn't get much hotter. John shifted a bit, trying to remove a bit of the cover, then trying to free himself from Sherlocks arms, just a little bit, but it didn't help, Sherlock held him, and not even in his sleep would he let go. He sighed, since Sherlock wouldn't let go, he would at least get as much out of the situation as possible and mannered to free himself enough to turn around and pull Sherlock closer to him again and went back to sleep.
When he wakes up again, it's to Sherlock kissing him along the jaw, just soft butterfly kisses.
"Good morning Sherlock." He turns to give Sherlock a soft kiss on the lips, which gladly was accepted.
"3 minutes and 12 seconds, your best time to date." John doesn't answer, just keeping a stern eye on Sherlock, whom is lien beside him, sharing the same pillow, his hair even more unruly then normally and clearly showing the previous nights fun.
"Not good?" Sherlock's expression is somewhere between curious and concerned. John sighed, somewhat happy, before grapping Sherlock by the waist, and flipping unto his back, pulling Sherlock on top of him.
"Its fine, but I would have preferred a good morning first." He slides a hand into Sherlocks curly mob of hair, and pulled him down for a kiss, a bit deeper and more passionate than a normal good morning kiss.
"No case today?" John asked when they parted again, Sherlock laying his head on John's chest, listening to his heart.
"Finished it yesterday." Sherlock ran his hand along Johns well developed muscles, it has been less than a year since they meet, but john was just as fit as before he had to leave Afghanistan.
"Yes, Lestrade wants a statement at some point today." He gasped slightly, when he felt Sherlocks hand running lower.
"Later." Sherlock answered, and started kissing his way over John's chest, making John moan in delight.
After John had stopped working at the surgery and broken up with Sarah, shortly after their encounter with Moriarty, and started working full time with Sherlock, the mutual trust and friendship had developed into a strong, new, relationship. They matched each other perfectly, and Lestrade had even started referring to them as 'the pair' and started calling them in earlier on cases, which looked interesting. John had even started working forensics for the police, when there was nothing else to do. Sherlock didn't mind, since it gave him an excuse to visit the morgue more often. It didn't, however, stop Donavan and Anderson from disliking them.
John entered the kitchen after a short bath, to find the kettle already boiling, and two mugs standing ready on the table. Even if Sherlock wasn't fond of making tea, he didn't mind doing this little gesture once in the while. John quickly found the tea, poured sugar and milk in the right amounts in the mugs, made the tea, before taking them into the living room, handling one of them to Sherlock, whom, again, was working on Johns laptop. He didn't bother to comment on it anymore, he just sat down in his chair, and looked out the window while enjoying his tea. The traffic on Baker Street was as dull as always, and he was about to leave his chair in favour of the sofa, when a car pulled up, and stopped in front of 221B. It was a plain car, nothing fancy which Mycroft would have sent for them, and the men that stepped out of the car, were ratter plain as well. They took a few boxes and some dress bags and walked to the door, which Mrs. Hudson must have opened for them.
"Has somebody moved into 221C?" He couldn't hear the men downstairs.
"Yes, last week in fact." Sherlock had moved to stand behind him, when he had asked.
"But the tenant itself hasn't shown up yet." He laid his arms around John, supported himself against the chair.
"It's not those guys then?" The two men had walked out again, entered the car and driven away.
"No. Those were just paid to move the stuff into the apartment, and make it ready for the tenant."
"How..?" John sat up, making himself comfortable against Sherlock and the chair.
"Simple, a tenant would have a key; they had to wait for Mrs. Hudson to open, so they can't be the tenant. And the tenant is a woman, judged by the dress bags, they was far too long for it to be a man's cloth."
It was just about midday before anything else happened. John had moved to the sofa, taking his computer with him, and was updating his blog, when Sherlock got a call from Lestrade: there was a new case for them.