John shifted the bags in his arms as he climbed the stairs in 221B. As he neared the door he could make out the voices of the two Holmes brothers.
"I'm too busy for your petty affairs!"
"Busy doing what? If you weren't running around London, dragging that fat blogger around with you-!"
"John is NOT fat, Mycroft! He's ... plush, like a teddy bear."
"Plush?!"
"Yes, plush! John's plush, he's the cuddly type."
"Is that what you're busy doing?"
"Oh we both know you'd know if we were. You've got the whole flat bugged."
"Exactly. I know you're not busy!"
"Well, I will be."
"Doing what?"
"Well, when John gets home we're going to... cuddle."
"Lying is beneath you, brother."
"Check the cameras then! We're going to cuddle. Just wait and watch. Good night Mycroft."
The door swung open and Mycroft swept out of the room and down the stairs without noticing John.
"So I'm plush am I?"
Sherlock actually jumped as John entered the flat.
"Oh, are you finally back? How much of that drivel did you hear?"
"Everything from, "I'm too busy for your petty affairs.""
"Oh."
"So not only am I plush, but you and I are going to cuddle?"
"Well for once I wasn't thinking and I said the first thing that came to mind."
John's eyebrows raised and he put the groceries away.
"Us cuddling was the first thing that came to mind? Think about it often, do you?" John was only teasing, so he was surprised when Sherlock caught his eye and murmured, "It crosses my mind from time to time."
John nearly dropped the carton of eggs he'd been holding so he quickly put them in the designated food only section of the refrigerator.
"How often is 'time to time'?"
"Oh fine, the conversation you've been waiting for."
John felt his stomach flip but forced his feelings aside.
"The thought of us cuddling crosses my mind on average six times a day."
Despite the fact that Sherlock said it as if he were describing the results of an experiment his answer had come as a total shock.
"SIX?! You think about us cuddling six times a day?"
"On average."
"Six times?"
"Yes, John. During an average day when you wake up and lounge on the couch watching the news I want to cuddle with you and whisper into your ear everything the news gets wrong. Approximately an hour later, as you're leaving for work that cuddling crosses my mind again. I want to pull you back to me and make you forget about work. You're only at work fourteen minutes before I'm bored and missing you and I regret not cuddling with you. So then I'm thinking about it again. That's three times. Sick of impending boredom I take a cab to St. Bart's and help Molly in the mortuary. While I inspect the bodies Molly finds somewhere to slip in her, "bad day, was it" joke, which now includes the tag line "does someone need a hug?" And I say, "Of course not, no one needs a hug." But then I think that I really want a hug, a John hug. The thought of anyone else hugging me is revolting but if you were to hug me I'd hug back. I'd even prolong the experience. Her awful joke has me eager for home and I usually arrive a half hour before you do. You're always freezing when you get home. Your cheeks and ears are pink, your lip trembles, and your hands shake, and I just want to hold you until you stop shaking, longer actually. But instead you light the fire, put another sweater on, and make tea. And when you go to bed I stay up and wonder if I'd sleep better with you in my arms. That's six, I believe.
"Uh yeah that was six. You mean all that?"
"Do I ever say anything I don't mean?"
"No, no you don't. I- wha- we-I'm...going to bed I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight Sherlock."
John fled to his room to process what Sherlock had said. Sherlock's confession was hardly platonic but Sherlock didn't do sentiment. John shed his clothes and crawled under the covers.
And just like every night he wished Sherlock was underneath the covers with him.
It gets better I promise. Fluffy JOHNLOCK coming up. R&R.
