A pair of bodies lay tightly curled against each other on the bed; basked in darkness. The tall, lean form pressed flush against his sandy-haired counterpart. Not quite asleep, yet not quite awake, but dancing on the fringe of consciousness, they lounged while absorbing each others warmth before the silence was broken by the shorter man.
"Sherlock?"
"Hmm?" The consulting detective rumbled languidly, his cheek gently pressed against John's neck.
The doctor turned slightly towards the figure nestled against him. "Did you know that otters hold hands when they sleep so they won't drift apart?" He inquired softly.
A head covered with an unruly mop of dark, curly hair slightly rose to address this question. Even when he was barely conscious, Sherlock still managed to make a slightly scathing remark. "That is trivial matter, John. Such minutiae take up valuable space in my hard drive. Even if I had known, I would have promptly deleted it." Sherlock brusquely dropped his head.
John would've been disappointed had it not been for the detective's hand that, after this comment, had clasped his own, fingers entwined in a fashion that felt nothing short of natural. John smiled and proceeded to doze off, comforted by the assurance of their hands locked together – bonded.