Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.
I'm back! I didn't get much writing done these past couple of days because everything's been so chaotic (with the graduation, celebrations and such), but I wanted to leave a small chappie anyway, to show you how devoted I am to this fic. A bit of fluff ahead.
Chapter 8
John was woken from a pleasant dream by the direct sunlight on his face.
-Wait, the sun?
John struggled to get out of Sherlock's deadly tentacle grasp. He managed to glance at the clock on his bedside drawer. He groaned.
-Sherlock, did you tamper with my alarm while I was asleep?
The detective waved at John and nuzzled his neck. John wouldn't go anywhere that day.
Or so Sherlock intended, but John had other plans.
-You can't just do that, Jesus. He sounded genuinely upset.
Sherlock whined.
-Let it go, John. Let's go back to sleep.
He was awoken by a forceful (and ungraceful) shove.
-I have to go deal with the grown-ups now. Thanks a lot, Sherlock! My day's off to a bad start.
John ended up calling Sarah to ask if she could cover for him. Her response was a tad moodier than John expected.
-I'm already dealing with it, John. Of course I'm delighted to add your patients into my already busy schedule.
-I'll make it up to you, I promise.
-Yeah, yeah.
John was heading up to his room when he felt Sherlock dashing downstairs.
-We've got a case, John! –beamed the detective, shoving a text from Lestrade to John's tired face.
He grabbed Sherlock's phone from his hand and threw it out the window. Sherlock was just starting to complain, but John silenced him with a glare, grabbing him by his shirt collar.
-You can't go do your stuff if I can't go to work.
-But—
-No. Fair is fair.
-You usually love cases, and—
-Not when I'm this tired and annoyed.
-But the thrill, John… You and I both know you're an adrenaline junkie!
-I've got pretty intense things in my mind now, Sherlock.
The taller man blushed at John's choice of words.
-Now, let's go back to bed. I've got the day off.
All the signs were there. John's cardiac rate, his pupils, the hair at the back of his neck (standing on end). Sherlock wondered if things would go farther than what they'd come to last night, judging by John's physical reactions… He was curious, but a bit uncertain to take that extra step (although that was hard to admit, even to himself).
-John…
He didn't respond. The only sound in the room was that of John's stable breathing.
Sherlock stayed even though he knew John was asleep. He kept still, avoiding to disturb John's precious sleep. So he lay his head on the pillow next to John and observed.
There were so many things he could deduct from John's face alone, but somehow it wasn't enough anymore. Sherlock realized he wanted to hear John tell the story behind every freckle, scar or wrinkle (he had started to get those too).
-It's scary, John. I never knew I could feel this vulnerable.
The doctor didn't budge –he was far off in Stage 2 already- so Sherlock moved closer to him and rested his head on John's (good) shoulder.
It was about four o'clock when John woke up. Sherlock was nowhere in sight. After a quick visit to the bathroom, he snuck around to the kitchen to fix something up for lunch, even though it was almost time for tea.
He found a tray with lunch already laid out. It was some sort of pancake with his name written in (what seemed like) tomato sauce or ketchup or blood.
It was Sherlock's way of apologizing, John figured.
-Well, it looks edible enough.
John would regret those words the rest of his life.
Note: I shall be updating soon, I just need to get them to do more cute/sexy stuff together!
