Cafuné (Brazilian Portuguese)—The act of tenderly running your fingers through someone's hair
Sherlock and John stumbled back into Baker Street, panting and exhausted. They had just gone on a chase through northern London that ended with the criminal falling to his death between two buildings after a failed jump to the next rooftop and Sherlock remarking, "Well, that was tedious."
John had slightly twisted his ankle after stepping in a pothole, and Sherlock had whacked his head on a fire escape. "Well if you weren't built like a bloody giraffe," John had remarked.
So they were currently sitting on their couch, John elevating his hurt ankle on the coffee table while Sherlock rested his head in John's lap. "You should really put some ice on that," he mumbled into John's thigh.
"Mmm," John acknowledged. "It's not so bad. I'm more worried about your head," he continued as he started to let Sherlock's hair curl around his fingers.
"It's not my fault I have a long neck."
"It's not a fault at all." Sherlock looked up at John. "Your neck is fucking elegant, Sherlock. Gorgeous." Sherlock ran his fingers over the spot that John and paid special attention to the night before as John started stroking his hand through Sherlock's hair.
"That feels nice."
John smiled. "How's your head?"
"A lot better with your hand on it," Sherlock replied.
"Really?"
"Yes. I should do an experiment. I wonder if it would feel the same if I didn't have a headache. Maybe you should use your right hand. Maybe—."
"Sherlock!"
"But if-."
"Sherlock!" John tried again.
"What, John?" he asked, irritated.
"If you want me to do this more often, just say so."
Sherlock just huffed. "It's not that good." A few minutes later he was asleep.
