A/N: Enjoy this spur-of-the-moment 221B drabble, and please feel free to review!

Warning: Cute Johnlockery is afoot!


II. "Honey-Bees Live in Your Hair"

The touching-thing started almost two months after John had moved in.

Neither knew why, neither really discussed it, but sometimes Sherlock's foot touched Johns under the table at breakfast, sometimes Johns hand ran over Sherlock's shoulder on the way upstairs, sometimes with the light of the telly screen casting an artful glow over those sharp cheekbones and that strong jaw, complimenting both so well, both men let their knees touch.

Neither of them mentioned it until that day when John Watson ran his fingers through Sherlock Holmes' hair like a lover.

He hadn't meant to, not really, but as he set the detectives tea down, offhandedly ruffling the erratic curls, he wasn't anticipating the man sitting in the leather chair to look up with those silver-green cat's eyes, that cupids-bow upper lip. He hadn't anticipated that hair being so warm and soft, like some nest made for his hand. He hadn't anticipated getting shivers in his fingertips.

So when John leaned down and Sherlock leaned up, and their lips brushed and parted, the shared oxygen between them vibrating, both stopped caring about the touching-thing. When Sherlock brushed his violinists-fingers across the gentle slope of John's jaw, when he let his tongue slip on the chapped bottom lip held between his own, they just let themselves feel it, like a thousand honey-bees.