Quick lovey dovey fluffy Sherlock one shot, Sherlock belongs to the BBC and all of it's lovely creators… etc. If you don't like it don't read it.
"Sherlock?" said John as he entered the flat. From what he could see, the place was a mess. Papers littered across the floor, the skull lying by the telly where it had obviously been thrown in frustration and five or six cups of tea (mostly untouched) were on various surfaces across the sitting room. "Sherlock?" John yelled again to no response.
John had been at Sarah's place for the past two nights, and he was surprised that Sherlock had not called him to come home even once, but he was even more surprised by the vast mess that seemed to expand into every bit of the flat. The idea that Sherlock had gone out crossed John's mind briefly, but it was obvious that this was not the case when he saw Sherlock's phone on the counter top, beside three unfinished experiments.
John reached out to check the phone. Dead. He couldn't remember a time when Sherlock's phone had been dead in the past year of living with the man. Becoming increasingly worried, John called out again. "Sherlock where the hell are you?"
On his way to continue his search for the consulting detective, John pulled his illegal firearm from its hiding place beneath his armchair just incase there was something dangerous going on in 221b. Tucking the gun into his jeans waistband, he pushed open the door to Sherlock's dark room.
The place smelled of formaldehyde, clean clothing, and spearmint, but it was unusually devoid of the dark haired figure that customarily lurked in its dark corners. Calling out again for his flatmate, John quietly searched the bathroom, office and stairway, to no avail. Finally, realizing the only place he had not looked, john snuck up the stairs to his own room.
The room's lights were out and all seemed as usual as John entered through the low doorway. As panic started to creep into John's stomach and throat he pulled his mobile from his pocket and frantically punched in Lestrade's number. One ring, John wondered if Sherlock had run away or gone into hiding, no that was ridiculous he would tell John about something like that. Two rings, had Sherlock been abducted? That was more likely.
"Hello?" Greg's scratchy, sleepy voice came from the other end of the phone.
"Hey, it's John, have you seen Sherlock?"
"It's one in the morning John. Isn't he with you?"
"What? No! I just got back from Sarah's, I haven't seen him for two days."
"Who's Sarah?" Lestrade asked sounding genuinely confused.
"She's my girl…"
"John?" Came a mumble from the bedroom, Cutting John of mid word. John would know that voice anywhere, even though it had been quiet and weak sounding.
"Never mind Greg, Sorry." John said curtly before hanging up and crossing the room to the light switch. As he turned it on, the room became bathed in the dim light from his bedside lamp, and illuminated a large lump beneath his bedding. The bit of Sherlock that was visible was his face, poking out from the cocooned blankets.
"Sherlock." John sighed as he sat down on the bed beside his friend. "What the hell?"
Sherlock just looked up at the doctor, and gently slid closer to him.
"Didn't you hear me calling for you?"
"No, I was asleep." Sherlock sighed as John felt his nimble fingers ghost across his lower back.
"In my bed?"
"I missed you." It was so quiet and brief that John wasn't sure if herlock had said anything at all, but when he looked at the dark haired man's face, he knew that Sherlock was telling the truth.
"I was away for two nights."
"Two nights and three days, if you don't count tonight, which you should because it's already one." Sherlock's hand pressed more firmly against John's back now and the detective propped himself up on an elbow.
"What have you been doing while I was away?" John asked trying to change the subject. He supposed he should make Sherlock move, but the man looked so comfortable.
"I pretty much stayed in." John had a momentary mental image of Sherlock sitting in the darkness of 221b at night, the lights and telly off, and the slow melody of his violin filling the flat. "Did you miss me?" Sherlock asked looking up into John's eyes, with his cloudy grey eyes, that even in the semi darkness seemed to emit their own light.
John thought about it, at the time he had not realized he was missing Sherlock. Occasionally when Sarah would make tea, or sit with him on the sofa, John would inexplicably think of Sherlock. And it was only as he was making his way up the stairs to 221b did he feel the need to see his friend, then the panic that had overcome him when he couldn't find him, that was odd, John thought.
"Yeah Sherlock." John mumbled, "But why are you in my bed?"
"When your upset you go to your room. When you need a good cry or you're angry with me you come here." Sherlock motioned to their surroundings.
"I don't cry that much."
"Well, not that much, but when you do you come here. So I was conducting an experiment."
"Sherlock!" John whined, "The kitchen and your bedroom are the designated experimenting areas. My room is most definitely off limits."
"It wasn't that kind. I was lonely, and I missed you, and I wanted to see what it was that comforted you about this room." Sherlock said pulling the blankets up to his face and inhaling.
"It's my room, my get away from mostly you. That's what is comforting about it."
"Do you know why it's comforting to me?" Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.
"No I most definitely do not know why my room is comforting to you." John laughed, as if he ever knew why Sherlock did anything…
"Because it's yours"
"You are being awfully sentimental tonight." John noted, and looked away, trying to hide the blush that he felt creeping up his neck.
"No, I'm merely letting you know what I've observed. I like being here, because it reminds me of you, and earlier, I missed your company, so I came here."
"Sherlock," John said looking back at the other man.
"What?"
"Nothing." John felt himself twisting to face Sherlock as he looked at his hand resting on the bed beside his legs. Slowly John brought his own hand up and clasped it over Sherlock's.
"John?"
"What?"
"Nothing." Sherlock said quietly, curling his fingers around John's. Sherlock's fingers were long, and cold against John's short warm calloused hands.
"I'm sorry Sherlock." John whispered as his forehead collided with Sherlock's gently.
"What for?" the detective whispered squeezing his doctor's hand. His breath smelled of tea and minty toothpaste.
"Leaving you alone." John breathed against Sherlock's face. "I know you're lonely Sherlock, I shouldn't be leaving you like that."
"You're not responsible for my well being John."
John laughed a little, "Of course I am Sherlock. Not only am I your doctor, I'm your best friend." Sherlock tilted his head against John's curiously.
"I never said you were my best friend." Sherlock laughed.
"Well you're mine, and that makes me at least partially responsible for you." John felt Sherlock's lips brush his cheek, and thought that he should pull away, kick Sherlock out of his bed, and get some sleep. But part of him wanted to curl up next to his lonely best friend and comfort him, and keep him safe.
His hands slowly found their way up Sherlock's arms and into his dark waves.
"Stay here tonight will you?" John asked as Sherlock breathed heavily in his ear.
"I wasn't planning on going anywhere."
"Move over then." John urged, nudging Sherlock in the ribs lightly. The other man complied, and quickly slid over, making room for john who quickly kicked off his shoes and climbed in. Almost immediately Sherlock's arms were around John's smaller body, and his face was pressed into his neck.
"Go to sleep Sherlock." John whispered as Sherlock's hands clutched possessively at John's shirt. "I'm here."
"I know." Sherlock sighed serenely and looked up at John.
Without thinking or planning it, John found himself kissing Sherlock Holmes gently. Sherlock's lips like his hands were cool, and soft. Momentarily john contemplated deepening the kiss, pulling Sherlock to him, and putting his hands all over the taller man's body, but his modesty and a brief thought of Sarah stopped him. Finally after what felt like ages, John pulled away with reluctance.
"Goodnight Sherlock."
"mmmhhh" Sherlock moaned comfortably as he pressed his lips quickly against John's jaw, then curled up atop the doctor, his long limbs caging John to the bed. But John found that he didn't mind at all, as a matter of fact, there was no place he would rather be.
-okay guys this was just a one shot. But I've also got a chapter fic for Sherlock called New Message, if you liked this. I just needed to get some feelings out, and a quick one shot seemed like a great way of doing it.
I'd love a review or two, thanks for reading. Love you all!