Author's Note: I was given this prompt on Tumblr and here is the result. If you'd like to give me any Sherlock pairing as a prompt on tumblr for a little ficlet, feel free! The link to my tumblr is on my profile. For some reason can't post the link here...Otherwise I would!
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, sadly.
John trudged up the stairs of 221B, the strap from his bag cutting into shoulder, only made heavier by the torrential downpour happening outside. He was soaked from head to toe because the wind outside was too strong for him to open an umbrella, and every taxi in London seemed to be filled and, or, had some personal vendetta against him.
The day hadn't started out great either. He'd woken up late after having an awful night's sleep from night terrors that had kept him up. Sherlock had been working on an experiment and hadn't come to bed, and his lack of warmth had allowed memories of the war to seep back into John's subconscious. It was particularly bad because it'd been a long time since he'd had them, thanks to Sherlock.
When he arrived at the hospital he'd gotten chewed out by his boss for being late. There'd been a bus crash in central London filled with tourists, and all hands were needed on deck. His day had been chaotic. He was in and out of surgery all day without a moment to stop for lunch.
It was currently three in the morning and John felt like a zombie. He was cold, and hungry, and tired, and he just wanted to yell at the top of his lungs to vent his frustration, but that required energy, and he had none.
He turned the key to the flat and pushed the door open. Warmth enveloped him immediately. The sight of a fire going worked to ease some of his tension. He wondered who'd started it, as Sherlock didn't know how to, and Mrs. Hudson had put her foot down some time ago, repeating to them that she was their landlady, not their house keeper, when Sherlock had texted her asking her to start it when John'd gone out to get the milk.
John glanced around for Sherlock, and then noted that he heard the shower running. Part of him debated getting in the shower with Sherlock, as the heat would be welcoming, while another part of him just wanted to strip down and dive into the bed.
His decision was made for him when he turned his back to living room to take of his shoes and remove his bag. A pair of nimble hands appeared from behind him, deftly undoing the buttons on his jacket. John turned in surprise. Sherlock's hands didn't miss a beat as they continued their way downward.
Sherlock was dressed, he noted, in a plum-colored shirt and black slacks. Confusion fiddled John's already muddled brain as he tried to make sense of the running shower and a perfectly dressed Sherlock. But his questions were silenced when Sherlock pressed a kiss to his lips. John was further surprised to find Sherlock's lips so warm, as he always seemed to be a few degrees cooler than the average human.
Sherlock tugged off John's jacket and made work undoing the buttons of his shirt. As he did so, he began pulling John forward, lightly kissing his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead. John was too tired, his brain too fatigued to make sense of what was going on. While Sherlock had certainly become more "humanized" since they'd met each other, he certainly didn't greet John like this every time he came home from work.
The next thing he knew, John found himself in the bathroom. He actually sighed upon entering it, as it was already steamed-up from the running water. Without realizing it, Sherlock had finished undressing him and was now gently pushing him into the shower. "Join me?" he offered, although he wasn't entirely sure the words came out coherently. Sherlock just smiled, kissed him, and left.
The warmth from the shower was intoxicating. It served its purpose in bringing John's body temperature back up, as well as waking him up and shaking him out of his haze. He stayed in the shower until he felt human again. When he got out, he saw a pair of fleece pajama bottoms and a cream-colored jumper waiting for him. He smiled for the first time all day, and slipped them on.
He padded his way out of the bathroom, determined to find Sherlock and ask him what he was up to now that his mind was clear enough to realize how strange his welcome home had been. However, the smell of food wafting from the kitchen caught him off guard. He walked into the living room to find Sherlock lounging on the couch, his hands steepled together under his chin.
In the kitchen was what appeared to be a small buffet of Chinese food on the table, with a plate already made up. And next to it was a cup of tea.
John turned back to Sherlock, his eyebrows raised. The corners of Sherlock's lips were only just turned up, but you could see it in the way his eyes were shining that he was beaming internally.
His lips straightened and a crease formed between his brow when John didn't move or say anything. "John?" Sherlock said, a hint of confusion evident in his voice, and it was only evident at all because John heard it so rarely that he couldn't miss it.
John strode towards Sherlock, turning his back on the plate of hot food and steaming cup of tea. He watched as the consulting detective followed his every move through slightly wary eyes. Without a word he launched himself onto Sherlock. Sherlock let out a muffled, 'Oof!' at the impact.
John squirmed, snuggling himself as close to Sherlock as possible. Sherlock slung an arm over John, pulling him closer. He was smiling in full now. "How was work?" Sherlock asked, their noses pressed together. It was an unnecessary question for Sherlock to ask. He'd read the answer to it all over John's face and in his body language the second he'd walked through the door. But he asked it nonetheless, because it wasn't about being able to read the answers with a quick glance. It was about two friends, colleagues, lovers, sharing their day together.
Besides, it was obvious that Sherlock knew the answer. John knew now, although he wasn't sure how, that Sherlock had found out he'd had a bad day at work. He knew it was Sherlock who started the fire in the hearth, and the image of him trying to work it out warmed him more than any fire could. That's why Sherlock had started the shower, gotten the bathroom warm and ready for him for when he got home. And why he had dinner and tea waiting for him when he got out.
John pressed his lips to Sherlock's, suddenly feeling like his day hadn't been so bad after all.
What'd you think of the the nice little johnlock fluff? It's the first time I've ever written fluffy Johnlock! Reviews are loved and appreciated :) Don't forget to hit me up on tumblr if you have any prompts!