Jo's lips are soft, precise. Careful as if she might miss a sliver of skin, trailing across Sherlock's forehead. Each kiss a murmur, a promise, a prayer.
I love you.
You are precious, wonderful, amazing.
There is no one in this world that I love more than you.
I will keep you safe, and protect you, I swear.
Sherlock sighs in answer, sleep heavy and languid, her fingers reaching to ghost over Jo's cheek. No need for words, answers caressed in fingertips.
I know.
I love you too.
You are my world, my light, my music.
No harm will come to you so long as I am here.
Wrapped together, a world of blankets and kisses and soft touches, the words that they could not speak in daylight or darkness whispered against skin. They need nothing more than this, each other, safe and close, two bodies curled together.
Jo pushes herself up, balanced on the palms of her hand, each pressed into the pillow and Sherlock between them, smiling softly, a lock of dark hair escaping to snake around her neck and lie in a dark curl around her breast. If she could capture this moment forever and hold it safe, she would. Paint Sherlock just like this, her skin pale and eyes half-closed, pale violet lips. So perfect, so beautiful.