John
Before I open my eyes I feel his arms around me, his hands rest on my heart. My heart is his. His lips on the back of my head, his breath on my neck. I roll over and open my eyes.
"Morning, John."
"Good Morning." I say sleepily, stretching. Even in this light I can see the different shades in his eyes. Starting with flecks of hazel at his pupil, the shades slowly blend from blue to green, mixing and moulding into a combination that shouldn't work, but casts off a look that can mesmerise you and hypnotise you at a glance.
My toes are poking out from under the duvet, I curl them up and rub them along his bare legs to warm them.
"Suggesting something, John?" He says in a purr.
"Not at all." I lean forward and press my lips to his. It's the sweetest sensation you could ever feel. Pulling away and pressing my face into his neck, his taste still lingers on my lips. I breathe him in, I wish it was all I could ever breathe. He is my oxygen, my only way of living. A trail of my kisses lead down his neck to his chest, lower and lower.
Stepping out of bed, I realise how cold it actually is. Sherlock kept the bed so warm... Pulling on my underwear, I walk to the window and draw the curtains. Snow rests on the ledge, flakes flurry through the air, a cliché blanket of snow covers everything for the eye to see.
"Sherlock." I whisper to see if he's awake. After our... He feel asleep in my arms. Sometimes I like to be the big spoon.
"Mmm?" This comes from under the duvet somewhere.
"It's snowing."
He wriggles around under the duvet and then his head emerges, I little frown on his face.
"That means no cases today." He mutters like a child denied sweets. He forces himself out of the bed and walks to the window where I stand. His arms around my waist, he whispers in my ear.
"You know what that means."
"No, I don't, Sherlock." I say in my usual sarcastic tone.
"What is it like to be in your funny little head?" He says in his regular obnoxious tone. Then he whispers "It means we get a cuddle day."
After showering, I sit by the living room window and blog whilst waiting for Sherlock to get out of the shower. Kids are playing in the streets, snowball fights, snow angels, all that stuff. I don't understand exactly what a 'cuddle day' is (it's sounds warm and romantic, I hope I'm right), but let's just say I'm looking forward to it. When Sherlock comes into the living room (wearing a hoodie and jeans, of all the things I've seen him wearing, this is the most ordinary).
"A hoodie and jeans. Where's Sherlock gone?" I say cheekily. He ignores me and pours himself a cup of tea.
"Morning tea's cold, John." He says after he takes a sip.
"Well Mrs Hudson probably put it there over and hour ago."
"...Mrs Hudson?"
I laugh, he has always seems to think that the morning tea just appears out of thin air.
"Anyway, this 'cuddle day'?" Sherlock said he would explain after his shower.
"Ahhh, yes, cuddle day." He says absent-mindedly.
"Sherlock?" I ask, to see if he's still with me.
"Yes, John?" He replies, snapping out of his daze. He does this a lot.
"What exactly is a cuddle day?"
"Oh dear, John. I knew you didn't think like me, but to think that you've missed out on cuddle days, all your life, you poor thing. Cuddle days involve blanket forts, netflix, tea, and of course cuddling."
"I see." I smile.
"Stay where you are." He says in his bossy voice. I do love his bossy voice, particularly in the bedroom. He turns fast and skips out of the room.
I go back to my blogging, but I can see through the doorway Sherlock's putting on a pot of tea, he's humming one of his own compositions, he's skipping around the kitchen gathering what we'll need, all in a very haphazard manner. Then he's waddling into the living room with a huge pile of blankets and pillows, he couldn't possibly have carried more. He throws them down and sighs happily.
"This is the part where you come in." He says.
"Okay, what do I do?" I ask.
"We're going to make a fort. I'm sure you've done stuff like this in the army, haven't you? I'll start."
After about ten minutes of knotting, securing, disagreeing (because even though I was in the army, Sherlock is always right) and fluffing, our fort is done.
"I feel like a child." I tell Sherlock.
"But sometimes that's exactly what you need. One day away from the world, one day to have innocence again."He pulls me into a hug and kisses my forehead.
Then he snapped out of Philosophical Sherlock mode and pranced to the window. He drew the curtains, and then clicked a switch on the floor. Fairy lights in the fort let off an angelic glow.
I stand almost in awe at our creation. Sherlock goes to the kitchen to get the tea he brewed and what looks like Jammie Dodgers (of course). He climbs into the fort and opens his laptop.
"Well, come on then!" He demands.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming." I crawl into the fort and snuggle up to him. It's weird seeing him in jeans and a hoodie, you know I'm used to just seeing him in something smart, a sheet, or, you know, naked. But the fabric is soft as I lean against his chest and watch what he's doing on the laptop.
"Doctor Who or Supernatural?" He asks.
"Doctor Who." I decide.
He loads the program up on Netflix, gets comfy and leans into our cuddle. The show starts, the Doctor's off on another adventure, although the adventure always seems to go wrong.
"I'll be the Doctor and you can be my companion. All of Time and Space, what do you want to see, John?" Sherlock asks.
I look into his eyes and feel longing in my heart. If that was all we could do, for all our lives, travel time and space; fight battles, discover amazing things and most importantly run, there's nothing I could want more. Me and Sherlock, together for all our lives.