Sherlock lay on his side in his cold, single, empty bed. He wished that John would appear out of nowhere and curl up next to him.
John was at Sarah's house. He hasn't had the heart to tell her he and Sherlock were serious, so Sherlock had to sleep alone most nights. Well, every night. John sleeps in his own bed, because if he needs to leave for work suddenly, he doesn't want to wake Sherlock from what little sleep he has.
Sherlock pauses upon footsteps entering his room. John.
Sherlock closes his eyes, smiling softly, feigning sleep so as not to make the moment awkward. John slides into the bed behind him, arms circling completely round Sherlock's waist to cage him into John's warmth, and soft lips touch the back of his neck, causing an unstoppable shiver that Sherlock has decided to put down to contentment.
John rests his face in Sherlock's curls, laying flush against Sherlock, one leg draped over Sherlock's as he settled.
A noise awoke Sherlock, causing him to sit up suddenly in bed, expecting John to roll away from him. But the bed was empty, and cold, and Sherlock realised John had never been there. It was all just a bloody, stupid dream. Sherlock slowly lain back down again, the air cold and taunting his back.
XxXxXxX
A/N: A 221B fic for you, based on my dream last night. I was Sherlock obviously…and John? Well, I know who 'John' was… *enigmatic smile*
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