So this is a new project. Whenever I don't have the motivation to work on anything else, I'll write in this. Already, I have several ideas. Anyways, I listen to one song on repeat until I come up with and finish a piece. This is the first and it illustrates one thing I want to make a note of. Sometimes, the song will seem to have nothing to do with what's written. It's just what comes to mind first.
Song: Selah "You Raise Me Up."
John Watson considered himself a man that rarely waxed poetic. But the sight that awaited him that cool London morning would have given even the most bumbling illiterate man words to rival those of the greatest bards.
The grey light shone in from the window, soft from the rain that filtered it. It made the room seem to glow with an otherworldly light and the unclothed man lying on his side in John's bed seem ethereal in his perfection.
The sheets only covered him from his waist down, draping around him to conceal the features that John had only just become familiar with the night before. John's eyes roamed up the man's body, inspecting it properly now that his mind wasn't addled by passion and lust.
Sherlock was clearly too thin. John could count his ribs by sight alone and his waist narrowed almost too femininely. His features, which often seemed so sharp, were softened in slumber. His long eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks with every movement of his eyes beneath the lids. His hair, usually stylishly mussed, was now chaotic in a way that only many rounds of fervent love making could produce. But John couldn't not admit that the consulting detective in his bed, so clearly debauched, was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
John smiled down at his lover before making himself comfortable against his pillows once more. On a whim he shifted one of his hands till his fingers were brushing Sherlock's. They twitched and enfolded around John's hand, but the man slept on, unaware of the awe that he was inspiring.
John watched Sherlock sleep. There would be time to discuss all that was needed later. For now, this time was fleeting. The sun would rise, the rain would slow, and Sherlock would wake. But the quiet serenity of that moment would stay with John. Even when the icebox would fill with severed body parts, the table be cluttered by Sherlock's ever-growing array of laboratory equipment, and the consulting detective himself would be at his maddest.
Well, that was interesting. Sorry it's so short, but I have a longer one planned to write tonight.