Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, the BBC do. And I do not own the characters or general story, Arthur Conan Doyle does. The only thing I own is what I've written here and I don't profit from it in any way except the sheer enjoyment of writing it
Story: Set shortly after the first episode of Sherlock entitled "A Study in Pink". Holmes/Watson slash.
NB: After receiving many positive reviews for my first chapter, I thought I'd write some more. I don't have a particular story outlined in my mind, it's really just what I imagine Holmes and Watson would be like as a couple. And to personally imagine being with gorgeous Sherlock/Benedict Cumberbatch.
As John Watson slowly awoke that morning, he became aware of a long pale arm around his waist from behind, and couldn't figure out who it belonged to at first. Was he back in the army...sharing a bed with a guy...who slept topless? Finally it came back to him, but he rolled over to confirm it.
"Hello."
John's mouth twitched into an awkward but pleased smile, it was disconcerting to have Sherlock Holmes so close to him (thought he'd been much closer the previous night), partially because there was still so much he didn't know about the man, and partially because he was a man, and John had never been so close to a man before, albeit an unusually androgynously beautiful one.
"Good morning," he managed in return.
"Sleep well?" Sherlock's mouth quirked up in a small smile in a way that John was quickly becoming used to.
"Yes...thank you."
"We'd better get up. Busy day." Sherlock sat up, and turned away from John to find his boxers and slide them on. John hesitated, watching him, before following suit. He didn't want to get up, dress, go through the motions of a mundane day. He wanted to stay with Sherlock, while away the day with kisses. It was an unfamiliar prospect, being with a man, and he wanted to get used to it.
John dressed more slowly than Sherlock, and by the time he had come down the stairs the other man was already laying out breakfast.
"Toast?" He offered casually.
"Sherlock." John let out a sigh. "What are we doing...exactly?"
"To the best of my knowledge, we're having breakfast, John," Sherlock smiled, screwing the lid back onto the Tropicana he had just poured into a glass. He set it on the table as John shook his head.
"No, I mean, us. What are we doing?"
"What do you want to be doing?" Sherlock replied. His expression was light, but his tone serious, and his eyes intently fixed on his partner.
"Well...I suppose I want us to be together..."
"That's what I want too, then," Sherlock said lightly as if it were that simple.
"But it's not exactly professional, is it? I mean, we're meant to be partners," John pointed out, using hand gestures in an attempt to emphasise the extent of the inappropriateness.
Sherlock pursed his lips a moment, then walked over; took John's hand. When John looked up at him, he was smiling again.
"I don't do things the way others do."
"So I noticed," John murmured.
"Which means that I don't care what other people think," he continued as though he hadn't heard John. And looking in his eyes, John realised he meant it. "And so..."
"So?" John echoed faintly.
"So I suppose dating would be what we're doing...if you want to."
"Even though technically we've done it all the wrong way round," John smiled.
"Didn't you hear me when I said I don't do things the way other people do, Watson?"
"Oh so, it's Watson now is it?" John said, but his grin only widened at Sherlock's own smile. "Right, so, breakfast," he said, trying to bring himself back to reality.
"In a minute," Sherlock said, and was already leaning in to kiss him before the other man could get a word in edgeways.
'Typical Sherlock,' was the last thing John thought before the man's lips captured his. 'Always has to have the last word.'
