I growl and roll onto my side, slamming my hand wildly across the bedside table in the hopes of staunching the hideous blare from the alarm. By some slight miracle, they connect and I almost cry with relief. I open my eyes for the first time and glare at the clock beside me. 7.30.

I snuggle back under the duvet, reckoning I can sneak another 15 minutes of rest before someone comes to disturb me. I'm wrong.

Movement in the bed beside me alerts me to the awaking of Sherlock, just seconds before warm arms encircle my waist and a hard body presses against my back.

"Morning, love." His morning voice is adorable, a sleep-filled mutter dripping with affection. I smile at the wall across from me, and suddenly the idea of an extra nap fades, shadowed by a more desirable option. He laughs, clearly knowing what I am thinking.

I roll over to face him and grin sleepily. I reach up and brush a kiss across his stubbly cheek, "You too, Shezza." He pushes me away at the sound of his much-hated nickname, but I can hear the smile in his half-hearted complaint.

Sherlock stretches, his thin tee rising up to flash a pale toned stomach. God knows how he does it, what with spending so much time case-solving, shooting up, and playing violin, but somehow he finds time to work out.

He clambers out of bed and I hear him elephanting down the stairs - most likely 3 at a time if I know him. I'm just beginning to think I might just get that extra now-10 minutes if he's disappearing, when he returns, coffee in hand.

I chuckle and smile. He knows me so well. It's unusual for him to be out of bed first, but since he is, I'm eager to take advantage of it. I reach desperately for the steaming mug, but he pulls it away from me with a cheeky laugh.

"Oh, no you don't! Here," Sherlock hands me a little pink tablet and I stare at it, shooting daggers. "We couldn't have you getting all sick, again, mister!" He smiles, encouraging me.

I roll my eyes. I was fine - just mildly iron deficient. He only has a problem because he had to look after me, instead of me coddling him. "John! You were ill - I was the one seeing you all fainted and pale and bruised," he repeats.

I sigh but accept the glass of water and swallow it, grimcing at the taste and feel of it. It's true. I did faint, but I still insist it was nothing to do with my iron levels - and the bruises were just because I banged my arm.

Sadly, Sherlock disagreed, and because of his intelligence, I'm stuck with this daily routine. Although, normally, it's me making the coffee and 'forgetting' to take my tablet. However, as of late, he has been rising earlier and watching me take it. I think he's noticed that the tablets aren't at all diminishing.

I glare at him and reach again for the coffee. He watches me silently for a few seconds before relenting and handing me the mug. I grin cheekily, pleased at having gotten my own way - even if I did hve to take the tablet - and take a scorching sip. Mmmm, I half-close my eyes as the liquid burns a delicious trail down my throat.

"Okay, come on then, you. Up we get!" Sherlock cajoles. I rise reluctantly, still clutching my mug of coffee and lean towards him, smiling sweetly.

I purse my lips as I near his face - close enough that I can smell the slight scent of sweat clinging to his skin and the coffee on his breath. I inhale softly and he puckers his soft lips, reay to recieve the kiss he anticipates.

And I exhale in a woosh into his face.

I giggle hysterically at his shocked expression and run to the bathroom, careful not to spill the coffee. I can hear his disappointed cries trailing me, grumpy at not recieve the wake-up kiss he wanted, but it only makes me laugh harder.

"John..!" He whines, and lets himself into the bathroom behind me. I smile, the joking apology glinting in my eyes being reflected back to me in his. He kisses me, his soft lips pressing against mine, the taste of coffee and love in our mouths.

My hand - the one without the coffee which I'm still clutching - rises to run my fingers through his gorgeous curls. My body wakes up. And he pulls away.

This time, the joke is on me. The laughter is clear in his eyes, but he has the sophistication not to show it. A slight smile drifts onto his face as he strips off his top and ducks behind the shower curtain, "Good morning, sweetheart."

Hey guys. Please let me know what you think. This is my first-ever attempt at a oneshot so if you have any pointers, please tell me! All the best, loves. :3