a/u: hi! i know i haven't been on in forever. sorry. i've had zero inspiration. anyway! read & review, if you wanna ;)
When John woke up, he woke up like the sun rises: slowly, then all at once. It was gradual. He focused first on the almost uncomfortable pressure on his arm, concentrating on the steady stream of breath landing on his chest, and he opened his eyes and gazed at the man in his bed. Sherlock. John's arm curled up next to his stomach, numbly rubbing his knuckles over the other man's abs. Subtly, Sherlock shivered, asleep. John swallowed hard. A bruise laid over Sherlock's collar bone, a faint reminder of their previous night. The scent of their own bodies hung in the air, and for once, John felt no need to flinch. But he did need a shower.
Sherlock stirred when John reclaimed his arm, and for a moment John froze, half out the bed as Sherlock rolled to his side. He was out in the hallway when he decided to turn back, only to meet Sherlock's surprisingly bright gaze. A blush rose to John's cheeks, and he suddenly felt naked, standing in the hallway in a pair of pajama pants. But Sherlock closed his eyes. Maybe he knew, maybe he didn't, but he rolled to the other side. The blankets got tangled in his legs, and warmth spread through John at the thought of the previous night.
By the time John finished his shower, Sherlock had made himself a cup of tea and was curled up on the couch. It was just like last night.
"Goodmorning," Sherlock said. Cool. Casual. John couldn't quite say that Sherlock was cold.
"Yeah, goodmorning."
Silence. John made himself tea and sat down in his usual chair. His heart picked up. The quiet was uneasy, as if a trick.
"John-"
"Sherlock."
"You first."
"I…"
"Last night."
"Great. Yeah," John said, coughing. His tea quivered in his mug. Shaking. "Uh, that was something else."
"I cannot tell you why I…"
"Hey, you know, what are… friend's for."
"Dammit, John," Sherlock almost hissed, and he stood up.
For a moment John thought that he was going to storm off to his room, but instead he took a step towards John and then paused. His hand hung in the air. To this day, John cannot forget how downright confused Sherlock looked. John was going to say something, but then Sherlock kissed him, almost knocking the tea out of his hand.
He broke it off suddenly, as if he wasn't sure. Sherlock didn't look sure. He looked almost angry, and John did, too, because when he grabbed the edge of Sherlock's robe, there was nothing gentle about it.
"Let's just not mention it," John said in between gasps.
Sherlock's hand gripped at his thigh, sending shivers up John's body.
"Whatever you say."