Sherlock crept up to John's bedroom door. He carefully turned to knob and made sure to miss the squeaky floorboard on his left. He stood next to John's four poster bed; John sprawled out in the middle of it, bare-chested and snoring loudly. He gazed down fondly at the lax sleeping face of John Watson, his John Watson.
Sherlock had returned seven months ago; showing up at Le Bistro in front of John. He was greeted angrily by an irate John, and a punch in the jaw. Then, once he had pulled himself off the ground John had crushed their bodies together and sobbed as he kissed every inch of Sherlock's skin he could reach, causing quite a scene at the restaurant, but neither of them cared.
Mary had taken it spectacularly well, saying she knew she could never compete with Sherlock Holmes and telling John that, as long as he was happy, she was happy. They had been inseparable since. He had even heard that as of late she was seeing a particularly younger man called Sam.
Sherlock allowed himself a loving smile as he looked at the sleeping form of the doctor, almost forgetting about the two items he was holding. He breathed lightly as he sat on the bed next to John. He knew that after all those years surrounded by snoring men and being blown up, that John was a heavy sleeper. He told Sherlock that he had even slept through a tornado once.
Sherlock pet John's hair before grabbing the shaving cream he had brought and carefully applying a thick coating before grabbing the razor and stifling a giggle.
"Sherlock Bloody Holmes!" Sherlock heard John yell from the bathroom, and he smiled to himself; his plan was executed perfectly.
John stomped into the kitchen in just his pants where Sherlock was reading the paper. "What the fuck have you done to me?" He shouted at Sherlock, while pointing at his now bare upper lip.
Sherlock turned to John with an innocent smile. "I have simply rid your upper lip of the dead animal that had grown on your face." John's face had turned an unappealing shade of red as he spluttered angrily at Sherlock.
"Can't believe you bloody well did it! I know you said you wouldn't kiss me on the mouth until I shaved, but I didn't actually believe you would really do this!" John was shout and touching his bare lip mournfully.
"I told you; shave it or I will," Sherlock shrugged as he stood up and turned toward the distraught man.
John pouted and folded his arms, and Sherlock didn't try to hide his smile at how adorable he was. He walked over to John and pulled him forward, crushing their mouths together, and John groaned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's slim hips. Sherlock pulled back and looked down at John. "God, I've missed this," Sherlock whispered just before John stood on his toes to kiss Sherlock again. Sherlock leaned down and let John deepen the kiss. Sherlock sucked John's upper lip into his mouth and nibbled on it causing the shorter man to shudder.
Sherlock pulled back, his voice rough with lust, "If you grow that blasted thing back, don't think I won't withhold sex."
"Yes, sir," John groaned, dragging Sherlock over to the couch where he sat down and Sherlock straddled him, and proceeded to show him exactly why his moustache won't be making another appearance.