Sometimes, if we're very lucky, we both manage to sleep a whole 8 hours with no nightmares, no screaming, no experiments and no violin practice. It makes for a rare peaceful morning. Today is one of those mornings.
I wake to the usual noise of traffic and his heavy breathing. The inn keepers on the Baskerville case were wrong, I'm definitely not the snorer. Glancing over at the clock I start rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Not that I have to go anywhere, but I always get up to have breakfast with him and walk him to the tube. if there's no case that is. I told you, this domestic bliss of a morning is very rare.
The alarm's just about to go off so I quickly stop it before the piercing ringing can shatter the peace and quiet. Usually I hate peace and quiet, but if i havent got a case then almost all of my efforts are focused on John and I know how much he hates that clock. It ticks loudly and he's been nagging me to buy a new one or about two months. He likes calm mornings and stress free work days; I have no control over what happens at te surgery but at least i can attempt the former. Having completed step one of my 'calm morning' plan I turn back to face him.
When he manages to get a full, good nights sleep, he looks so tranquil. Face half buried in the pillow, sheets drawn right up to his nose, eyes screwed up like a hedgehog hiding from the bright sunlight. It's adorable (but I'm not going to say that to him...) and I'm almost tempted just to let him sleep. I mean it's so rare that he ever gets his full 8 hours nightmare free, even since we started sharing a bed. But I know better, he's got work, I've hopefully got a case... That and he'd kill me.
"John..." I say softly, gently stroking the side of his face with the back of my fingers. He groans and buries his face even deeper into pillow. I smile, it's even more (tempting) just to leave him. But if I turn off the alarm I've got to do it myself. "John, John you have to wake up..." I'm talking at a normal volume now, running my fingers though his hair.
Eventually his eyes start to open, lids peeling back to reveal warm grey irises. "Morning." I say, planting a kiss on his forehead.
"What time is it?" he mutters.
"Seven thirty-eight."
At my words John grins and shuffles closer to me, "you mean I'm not late?"
"No."
"And you haven't got a case?"
"Not yet."
"Wow."
That makes me laugh. He can always make me laugh, he turns the most normal and boring things into something to smile about. I pull myself even closer so that our foreheads are touching, his hair tickles my brow. We're so close now I can feel his breathing on my face, but I don't mind.
Eventually though, he has to get up. I will follow, but for now I stay huddled in the blankets, watching him search the dresser in his boxers. I'm a person who is easily bored I admit, but I will never get tiered of watching him get dressed. It's only been a few weeks so it's still difficult to stop myself staring. I try not to though, because he's quite self conscious, especially about the scar on his left shoulder.
"What you looking at?" oops, I suppose I'm not as good at not staring as I thought...
I smirk at him (John says I blush when I do that but I don't believe him) and throw the covers back, padding across the room towards him. When I'm close enough I slip my arms around his waist and up his back under the still unbuttoned shirt.
"You." I answer softly.
An exasperated groan escapes him but he chuckles all the same.
"You've still got a bit..." he says, reaches up to gently wipe sleep out of the corner of my eye with his thumb.
"Do you want coffee?" I ask, flicking the kettle switch up.
"Not if you're going to put sugar or drugs in it."
"That was only..!"
"Yeah I know, it was one time /for science/." he mimics my voice with the last words.
I roll my eyes and raise an eyebrow "John do you want coffee or not?"
"Yes please..."
Surprisingly, we manage to struggle through the morning crowds down to the tube on time. It's not exactly calm though, London never is. It's why I wanted to be here, in the thick of the action. But it does make Monday mornings that extra bit difficult.
We don't usually go for PDA, but he grabs my hand on the escalator to avoid being swept away by commuters. I nearly fall forwards off the the step, but i don't care. This morning is going rather well.
It gets even better though; by the time he's fussed with oyster cards and timetables and got down to the platform it's five past nine and the trains already standing expectantly, people crushing and pushing but in a civil, British way.
"Crap..." he does his little half jog to the painted yellow line, joining the back of the throng. Checking his watch, again, he turns bak to be and starts reeling off my long list of dull duties. "Remember, Lestrade wants you at the station at three - "
"I know - "
" - and Mrs Hudson says she wants those fingers moved out of the fridge - "
"I know, John - "
" - and we need milk - "
"I know!" It is irritating and if it where anyone but John I'd lose my patience, but somehow he always makes me laugh. The whistle sounds. "Go, go!" I urge, pushing him forward onto the train. He half trips up the step in his haste. "Go, you're going to be late after I tried to get you up on time!"
"Alright alright!" There's a short pause as the speaker system announces the Jubilee 9:07 is closing its doors and preparing to leaving the station. Then he kisses me right in front of an entire platform and packed tube train. It's nothing, less than a second, hardly worth mentioning. Except that, though no one even looks like they've noticed, or care, it's in public and it leaves my cheeks burning.
"I love you." he grins as the door starts to close and the smell of diesel fuel fills my nostrils.
I've heard it 27 times before but I'm still so shocked I can barely manage "I love you too..." before the train starts to move.
I may be an adult, I may have my own flat and a job and a relationship but that doesn't stop me running like a child beside the train as it speeds out of the station. Even though it's Monday morning, even though it's just a tube to work, even though it's a flooded platform. When someone says 'I love you', you don't just stand and watch them go, you chase after that train like you're five years old again and no one's watching.
hey, thanks for reading everyone and please review :) i'm very sorry for the mix up before, my link is broken so if i didn't reply or had a rant at getting no reviews, it's my fault.
until next time lovelies, and remember you can check out 'nothing personal' for more of my johnlock writing and my tumblr (whatdoyoumeanionlygetoneotp) xx
