I've seen quite a few authors/artists take on this 30 day OTP NSFW challenge, and after reading/viewing a few collections, I was inspired to try my hand at it. I will do my best to post regularly, but bear with me if I skip a few days then upload a few chapters all at once. I don't actually have internet capabilities where I live, so I have to take advantage of it when I can track it down.

Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this journey as much as I will. Any and all feedback is appreciated. :)

It was quiet when John woke, glazed eyes snapping to the silent alarm clock perched on the bedside table. 6:02, it read, and John cursed his body's persistent internal clock. After spending the better part of this last week working in the clinic by day and chasing murderers around the streets of London by night, he was completely drained. After Sherlock had wrapped up the case last night, John had been looking forward to having a lie-in, but nope. Like clockwork, he woke up just after his alarm would go off, and at this point- 6:14 his brain supplied- the probability of falling back asleep was slim to none.

With a sigh, John rolled over onto his right shoulder, and was pressed nose to chest with a very warm, very naked, still asleep consulting detective. John took a deep breath and scooted away, distancing himself just enough so he could take in Sherlock's form. He knew, without a doubt, that the sleeping man had spent many nights cataloging John's body while he slept, and now it was John's turn.

It was surprising, John thought, that while asleep, Sherlock looked impossibly young. The usual delicate crinkles around his eyes and the deep furrows streaking across his brow were nowhere to be seen. His expression was relaxed and peaceful, and John decided he wanted to see Sherlock like this more often.

The skin stretched across Sherlock's abdomen was littered with scars. Gently, John lifted a hand and trailed his fingers from silvery, criss-crossing webs, to raised, red trails. The pads of his fingertips dipped into the hollows between Sherlock's bones, and the valleys of healed-over puncture wounds. It was a roadmap of the sacrifice he'd made while dismantling Moriarty's web, a sacrifice that ultimately, was for John.

John froze, his hand resting warmly over one perfect, angular hipbone, when Sherlock stirred beside him, John's own name falling from plush, sleep-slack lips in a whisper. John's blood roared in his ears, pulsing wildly as his heart raced. Sherlock reached for him in his sleep, bone-white fingers wrapping around John's sturdy arms and pulling with a surprising strength. Once more, with a huff, John found himself pressed up against Sherlock, breath hitching when the detective's curls tickled across his sternum, his breath falling in hot puffs across his chest.

Sherlock was snuggling and it surprised John. His head was pressed against John's chest, no doubt subconsciously taking in the erratic tattoo it beat against his ribcage, and his arm was draped across John's chest. The detective's long legs were pressed against his own, both sets only covered by the sheet they were tangled in. Sherlock shifted again, pressing more firmly against John's body, and John's breath hitched as Sherlock's member pressed against his hip, hot, and soft, and hard.

A moan fell from Sherlock's open lips, John's name tumbling out just after. The doctor felt his cheeks burn as his cock twitched in appreciation. Sherlock slowly rubbed his erection against John's hip, a content sigh puffing across John's chest. John couldn't help but stare as each of Sherlock's movements moved the sheet further and further down his body, revealing miles of scar-ridden, porcelain skin.

Sherlock stopped rutting just as the top swell of his arse peeked out of the sheet, curling in tighter against John's chest. John groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, a feeble attempt to reign in his overactive mind as it tried to desperately to complete the picture of a naked Sherlock. He knew, theoretically, what Sherlock would look like naked. All long, lean limbs, not an ounce of body fat anywhere on his trim form. But his arse seemed to defy all known laws of existence and a few unknown ones too. Based on Sherlock's build, his arse should be as thin and flat as the rest of him, but no; not a single thing that made up Sherlock would be defined by something as mundane as rules.

His arse was as plush and full as those plush, cursed, wonderful, cupid-bow lips. Just as Sherlock's lips begged to be kissed, his arse begged to be touched and kneaded, to be explored with fingers and teeth and tongue, to be turned hot and red under John's palm as he bottomed out inside him… John was pulled from his thoughts when Sherlock shifted beside him again, his body going rigid as he finally woke up, some eighty minutes after John.

"John?" the detective mumbled, his voice rough and heavy with sleep.

"Hmmmm?" John hummed, hand ghosting up to rest reassuringly between Sherlock's shoulder blades.

"What are we doing?" Sherlock asked, his body still stiff under John's fingers.

"Cuddling, I think," John replied.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, his body slowly relaxing against John's. "That's so… normal," he murmured, head turning to nuzzle closer into John's side.

John chuckled. "Nothing with you is ever normal." he commented. "So can you tell me why we're naked?"

Sherlock froze again, pausing for a moment before pulling away slightly from John. "I was cold, and you were warm. Figured I could warm up while I slept; you radiate body heat like a furnace, even in those awful jumpers you insist on wearing. I didn't know you were naked," he murmured, fingers pulling the sheet tight around his middle.
John's hands were steady as he reached for Sherlock's shoulders and pulled him back, tangling their legs together as the detective fell on John's chest. "It's fine, Sherlock. It's all fine. Just curious," he murmured, wrapping his arms around milky skin.

"I don't make you uncomfortable?" Sherlock asked.

"Sometimes, yes," John admitted, tightening his hold. "But right now, not at all. I don't know about you, but I'm still knackered from the last case. I'd be more than happy to stay like this all day."

"All day? Really, John, that's impractical," Sherlock huffed.

John chuckled. "Well, maybe not all day. But I wouldn't be opposed to moving this to the couch so we can watch crap telly."

Sherlock was quiet for a heartbeat. "Can we stay here a little longer?" he asked.

John smiled. "Of course. We can stay here as long as you'd like."

There was quite a bit of rustling as Sherlock moved about, rearranging sheets and draping his body so that the only point of contact between the two was where Sherlock's head rested on John's chest. With a sigh, John gripped the sheet and pulled, the soft cotton peeling away from Sherlock's torso as their bodies got closer once more.

"John, what are you doing?" Sherlock asked, grappling for control over the sheet.

"I told you before; cuddling," John replied, wrapping his other arm around Sherlock's waist.

"Yes, but does it have to be naked?" Sherlock huffed, holding tight to the sheet.

"No," John murmured, squeezing the taller man gently, "but it is the best way to do it."

Sherlock laughed and let the sheet go, pressing as close to John as he could. "I guess you'll just have to show me why. Perhaps we can experiment with it?" he offered.

John smirked and winked at his detective. "Oh trust me, I plan to."