John woke up in Sherlock's bed alone. It really wasn't all that surprising or disappointing - he hadn't really expected things to be that much different just because they had shagged - and he was sure that if Sherlock had actually had second thoughts at some point during the night then he would have woken him up to tell him to get the hell out of his bed. So John just smiled to himself and went to take a shower. He had originally planned on making an actual breakfast for the two of them, but considering the fact that Sherlock wasn't anywhere in the flat and probably wasn't planning on returning anytime soon, John decided to just go with his usual tea and toast.
The kitchen was in its usual state of disarray, but the kettle was free of body parts and the toaster was in one piece and relatively working order, so as long as Sherlock hadn't substituted arsenic for the sugar again then he was more than content with the situation. When he got his favorite mug down from the cupboard he saw that someone (re: Sherlock) had stuck a post-it note to the handle.
Went to Bart's to observe an autopsy of an aneurysm victim, followed by several possibly
explosive experiments. I should be back by seven if you want dinner. Breakfast is in the oven. - SH
John smiled to himself as he retrieved the plate that had been kept warm in the oven - maybe things had changed after all.
Sherlock stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to 221b and tried to calm his pounding heart. It's just John, he told himself. Beautiful, wonderful amazing John who would never mock or taunt or hurt. He stared at the seventeen steps to their flat and tried not to panic. It didn't really work, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to move if for no other reason than that he had told John that he would be back by seven. He recognized that it probably wasn't the best idea to leave John to wake up alone, but unfortunately he hadn't even thought about that when he rushed off that morning at the offer of an autopsy and a lab. He had, however, made breakfast, and he hoped that that would at least count for something.
When he first walked through the door the flat was silent and Sherlock was convinced, even if just for a moment, that John had packed his things and moved out. Then there was a blessedly John-like clatter from the kitchen and he started breathing again. Sherlock hoped that his nervousness didn't show has he made his way into the kitchen - he really hated in when he appeared to be anything less than completely self-assured.
John heard Sherlock walk into the kitchen and he met him with a quick kiss and smile before turning back to the stove to dish up two plates, "Your note said dinner, and since you made me breakfast I figured it was my turn to cook for you. I cleared off the desk in the sitting room; I thought that it would be easier for us to just eat in there, rather than try and tamper with your chemistry set." He finished serving their food and led the way into the sitting room. Sherlock discarded his suit jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows before sitting down across from John.
It wasn't until they were seated across from each other that John really looked at Sherlock. He immediately noticed the look of almost abject terror on the other man's face and tried to smile reassuringly, "Sherlock, relax, it's just dinner, not a firing squad. I promise I didn't poison it, unless of course you decided to hide some sort of chemical in the garlic powder." Sherlock attempted a smile, which failed miserably, and John laughed, "Sherlock, you do realize that I can tell when you're shamming, and that wasn't even a good attempt. Seriously though, calm down. How was your day?" Sherlock froze, wondering if this was some sort of set up about him leaving that morning. John noticed and smiled again, "It's not a trick question, love, I'm just curious."
The endearment was startling, but it was unexpectedly comforting enough for Sherlock to relax and answer, "The autopsy was really fascinating. I've never seen the autopsy of someone who died as a result of an aneurysm, and I wanted to be able to see tell the difference between that as a cause of death and something more nefarious. And the director of the chemistry department finally realized that she owed me a favor and offered me the use of one of her labs. It was nice not to have to break in for once."
John rolled his eyes, "Oh come on, you know you like breaking in. It keeps you entertained."
"True," Sherlock smiled before turning nervous again, "I didn't mean to run out on you this morning, I just got excited. I made you breakfast, though; I hope you liked it."
John smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry about it, and breakfast was very good. I've always thought that you'd be a good cook; it's merely chemistry after all."
Sherlock preened under the compliment but tried not to show it, "Thank you, but I've always thought that your cooking was better."
"That," John said with a chuckle, "is pure sentiment. But thank you anyway." After a few more quietly comfortable moments Sherlock realized that John wasn't about to bite his head off and they relaxed into their normal companionable routine. And if the was a bit more physical contact than was strictly necessary or usual, then neither man was complaining.
When they finished eating, John took their dishes into the kitchen and started the washing up. Sherlock followed him, not wanting to be separated from his (boy?)friend, but he really didn't want to just hover creepily, so he sat at the table and started putting slides at random under his microscope, although he was definitely paying more attention to a certain army doctor than the month old mould cultures he'd been meaning to throw out for the past week.
"Sherlock," John said, startling Sherlock out of his silent, apparently-not-so-secret vigil, "if you're not going to do something useful why don't you come help me dry. And before you claim that you're working on some vitally important experiment, remember that I know you've been meaning to throw those cultures out for at least a week."
Sherlock smirked as he took the dish towel that John offered him, "Good observation."
John responded with the dazzling smile that had always made Sherlock's knees feel a bit weak, "Well, I should hope that I've at least picked up something living here." Sherlock just returned his grin.
After a few minutes of companionable silence John cleared his throat and said, "So, I was thinking that we should talk about this thing we're doing." Sherlock nodded, not sure what to say, and John took that as a sign to keep talking, "So, I thought we could start by specifying monogamy."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and answered quickly, "Obviously." He froze. What if it's not obvious? What if John doesn't want that? What if that's not normal this early in a relationship?
John chuckled and nudged the detective with his shoulder to bring him out of his head, "I know it's obvious, I just think that it's one of those things that should be said out loud. Now, what do you want to call this: boyfriends, partners, some other word of your choosing?"
"I don't think I really care as long as it's not ridiculous," Sherlock answered with a shrug. "But," he added cautiously, "I think that it might be best if we didn't go public with this. I'd rather keep our private lives private."
The doctor nodded, still smiling, "Alright, that makes sense. I can't say that I'm thrilled at the idea of Anderson and Donovan taking shots at our relationship."
Sherlock returned his smile, "So, what are your conditions?"
"Conditions?" John asked with a frown. "What do you mean conditions?"
"You know conditions, like no body parts in the house," he answered, trying to sound flippant rather than panicked.
John shook his head, "Sherlock, I love you; I'm not going to give you these ridiculous conditions that have nothing to do with our relationship. Yeah, your experiments drive me crazy sometimes, but I honestly wouldn't change you for anything." Sherlock stared at him for a moment, completely stunned, before lunging forward and kissing him. John chuckled against his lips before returning the kiss with equal fervor.
Later that night the boys of 221b had fallen happily into their usual routine. Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa writing up his experiments, and John was in his chair with a novel. At around ten thirty John started yawning and within twenty minutes he was ready to head upstairs to bed. He placed an only somewhat awkward kiss in Sherlock's hair and wished him goodnight without a response. John was halfway up the stairs when Sherlock called his name.
"Hmm?" he asked, turning around.
Sherlock cleared his throat nervously, "I, uh, I love you."
"I love you too," John replied with a smile.
Sherlock nodded, smiling back, "Good night John."
"Goodnight Sherlock," John replied before continuing up the stairs.
John woke up with a start. 3:19 am. The flat was silent, eerily so. He lay quietly, his breathing calm, and tried to figure out why he was awake. After a few sleepy moments he realized that he wasn't the only one in his bed. Sherlock was curled on his side, his back to John. He was pressed against the wall, obviously trying to make himself as small as possible. John wasn't sure how long he had been there, but he knew that he wasn't asleep - there was no way that someone could be asleep and still be that completely rigid.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" He asked, trying to wake up sufficiently to follow any sort of conversation with Sherlock (who had apparently decided that if he didn't move then John couldn't see him; he even stopped breathing to achieve that goal). John sighed, "Sherlock, I know you're awake. Now, why don't you tell me what you're doing in my bed?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Sherlock finally mumbled, "I'll leave now. Sorry."
He moved to get up and John grabbed him by the shoulder, "Wait, that's not what I meant. I was just wondering what you're doing?"
Sherlock still didn't look at him, but he did stop trying to escape, "I was tired and couldn't sleep. I generally sleep better when you're around, so..."
John smiled, "Okay then, what are you doing way over there? That can't be comfortable. Come on over here; there's plenty of room." He turned onto his back, leaving space for his partner.
"Are you sure? I don't want to bother you," he said, slowly rolling over.
The doctor rolled his eyes, "You're not bothering me. I thought that it was implied that you now have an open invitation to my bed."
He nodded, "Well yes, but I didn't know if that extended to just sleeping."
John smiled, pulling the detective closer, "That invitation always includes just sleeping. Now, since at least one of us actually has to get up and go to work in the morning, we should probably get back to the actual sleeping part of that." Sherlock hummed in agreement and snuggled closer to his doctor. John took a moment to arrange the lanky detective in the most comfortable position before falling back asleep.