Deleted and re-uploaded in one chapter. Enjoy.
I could feel the heat of his breath, surfacing my skin and erecting goose bumps in doing so. The longing was slowly building inside of me and I felt the uncontrollable desire to touch him. But I knew him all too well, with his autistic manners, and thus I stayed hesitant, my fingers lingering just inches away from his hips. I lied completely still in bed as my flatmate slowly and with glistening eyes crawled on top of me, still that heat between both our chests as a pulsing magnetic force field. I nervously stretched my fingers and curled them in a fist right after. My lips parted and I swallowed with effort in an attempt to make my mouth feel less dry. He noticed. Of course he noticed. And he smiled. That smile made my heart beat again before I even noted it had stopped. 'It's okay, John', his voice low and deep and his eyes now full of lust and desire, behind just a slight haze of uncertainty about the whole situation. I breathed a sigh of relief and laughed shortly. 'You don't worry, I know how this is done.' I tried to comfort him. 'I won't hurt you.' Sherlock averted his eyes in a way that could almost be considered bashful, as I stretched my hands out to rest on his narrow, cream-coloured hipbones. 'Trust me.' I whispered to him. 'John,' he moaned softly, 'John.' Just a few inches more now, before I could finally feel that silky smooth skin. 'Trust me.' I repeated. 'John. John.' He said, each time my name growing louder and more urgent. 'John. John! John!'
THUD.
I sat up in bed, alone. Panting. My heated skin was now rapidly being cooled by the chilly air of the winter morning, despite my woollen sweater. I rubbed my eyes and grunted. Then I heard another loud thud, which seemed to come from somewhere underneath the wooden floorboards of my room. 'John!' I heard, coming from the same direction. 'Oh, this is just…' I growled, stifling the rest in my pillow. I then threw it across the room and stamped my feet on the ground to let Sherlock know I got the message. I knew he'd wake up the entire street if I didn't come down there quickly to sort the matter out. Too bothered to even put some pants on, I headed down in the sweater and my briefs.
'What?' I hissed, after throwing the door open to find my flatmate comfortably stretched out on the couch. He was holding a document and the floor around the sofa was covered with various pictures and sheets with text. He had absolutely no idea what he had just ruined. I had waited for so long to finally get a dream like that, and now the same person I secretly and desperately longed for had shattered that dream by waking me up. This better be friggin' good.
He looked at me with a standard unreadable expression.
'I'm cold, John.'
I gave him a blank stare. He stared back at me and blinked two, three times. My eyes scanned his clothing: a grey wifebeater and checkered pajama pants. I bit my lip before giving him an answer. 'Yes, Sherlock,' the tone of my voice reminding me of a kindergarten teacher trying to reason with an impossible child. 'It is winter now. Winters can be cold where we live.' 'Give me your sweater.' He responded swiftly. 'I'm sorry?' He ran his pale fngers through his hair before stretching out his hand towards me. 'Your sweater. Gimme.'
I stood there, god smacked. Sherlock simply stared back at me. I could spot the slight interest in his eyes, as if I played the role of a lab rat and he was curious about the outcome of his experiment. I tried to keep myself calm. 'This,' I breathed out steadily, 'This is why you woke me up?' He smirked. 'I can't afford to burn precious calories by keeping my body temperature up. Not when they should be used solving this case.' He gestured at the scattered sheets of paper. 'Well,' I replied, 'I might have an idea on how to fix that problem. What you need is' a slap across the face 'an increase of your calorie intake.' He cocked his head to the side. 'You're a STICK, Sherlock,' I continued, 'a walking stick. It's WINTER. Of course you're bloody cold. You need to build up some fat tissue in order to keep all your vital functions running. I'm surprised, actually, you haven't dropped dead yet. No sleep, no food, no heat-' That key word reminded me of my dream and I stopped talking, feeling slightly flushed by the memory. Sherlock took his chance to speak. 'So… you'll make me a sandwich then?' I gave him a death glare. As if we had any food in the house. My flatmate sighed and stretched his lean, pale limbs. 'Fine. I'll have the sweater then.' he concluded. Snort. 'Fine.' I gave in after realising there was no way for me to win this. In irritation and defeat I almost ripped the thing off my body and tossed it at him. 'Happy now?' He gave a slight purr as his affirmative response before carefully pulling the clothing item over his head. The sleeves were a tad short for him and the sweater seemed a bit loose around his waist area, but all by all he seemed content.
'I am currently most satisfied, indeed,' he assured me, now eyeing me down as I stood there in just my briefs. 'Unlike you seem to be, John. I get the feeling that just a few minutes back, I have woken you -' 'How DO you do it, Holmes?' I interrupted, but he continued the sentence anyway. '- from quite a pleasant dream, it seems.' I froze, my sarcastic wit now completely gone. He looked at me with that self-satisfied smile he'd always get when he's right about something. 'What are you implying?' I finally uttered. The smug grin grew even wider, almost as if he was the Cheshire Cat. 'What… I mean, you… how?' 'How could I have possibly known that?' he finally helped me out. I nodded once in response. 'Well, apart from the disgruntled attitude, the scruffy appearance and the slightly drowsy look in your eyes combined with the faint blush on your cheeks… I suppose the rather impressive erection you've got there could be considered my exhibit A.'
For a short moment, I just stood there, too baffled to move. Then I slowly let my gaze slide from Sherlock's pleased face to my own lower abdomen. It was only now that I realized I was, indeed, fully erect and it was painfully obvious to see. I could almost feel how all the blood that wasn't yet drained to my member rushed to my face. I could feel the hot pressure building on my ears as an indication I now had a serious blush to deal with as well – as if I hadn't received enough humiliation in the past few minutes. I focused my look on Sherlock again, who seemed to be amused, mostly. 'Have I… Has it… For how long…' He raised one eyebrow, slowly. I decided that perhaps I didn't want that question answered. It seemed like a better idea to either sink into the ground or slowly back away. 'I'm going back upstairs now,' I muttered. My flatmate juts nodded in response. 'Bye now.' With those words I turned around and practically ran upstairs to hide in shame. 'Bye, John!' came from the living room. 'And have fun!' I didn't bother to try and come up with some witty answer. I just didn't.
It wasn't until he was completely sure John had gone when Sherlock pulled the turtleneck up a bit to smell the fabric. He shot another glance at the doorway before he closed his eyelids and snuggled with John's sweater.
Myeah. I had written that last part and somehow wanted it in, even though it wasn't from John's perspective anymore. Ah well.