John had been reluctant to move at all the next morning.
In fact, John debated whether it would be worth ever moving again.
His head was resting against the flesh of Sherlock's shoulder, his arm thrown carelessly across Sherlock's middle, and every so often Sherlock would twist his head so he could press his lips against John's forehead.
Sighing in content, John stretched his fingers across the planes of Sherlock's chest so he could run the pad of his thumb across the smooth skin.
"Lestrade will be expecting us at some point." Sherlock voice rumbled, his chest vibrating ever so slightly under John's palm.
"Hmmm?" John commented, barely paying attention as he snuggled closer to Sherlock's shoulder.
"Lestrade," Sherlock repeated, rapidly beginning to lose sight of what he was trying to say. "Case. I think…"
John shook his head in general disagreement to the notion of moving, but was forced to the other side of the bed anyway as Sherlock shifted up into a sitting position.
The covers of the bed that had previously been draped across the two bodies was tugged downwards, and John watched with badly disguised interest until he realised, with voiced dissapointment, that Sherlock was still wearing the trousers he had been the night before.
The removal of said trousers was a line they had not yet crossed.
A fond smile spread across John's face as Sherlock struggled apart from the covers that had firmly entwined itself around his legs.
Straightening his trousers as he stood in an attempt to maintain whatever dignity that had been lost in his tussle, Sherlock made his way across the expanse of the room, still shirtless.
John (who was still reclining on the bed) took the opportunity to watch as Sherlock passed through a beam of light that through the left hand side of his body into relief.
Admiring the way his porcelain skin seemed to almost glow in the early morning light, John figured that he too should be beginning to get ready.
Still, that was easier said than done.
His muscles groaned in protest as he exerted all the energy left in his body to swing his feet around the meet the floor beside his bed.
The floor was uncomfortably cold, even to his sock clad feet, and John cast one last longing look at the inviting warmth of the bed, before he took off after Sherlock.
He almost slipped several times on his journey to the kitchen, his sock covered feet proving to be a fatal mistake as he slid across the kitchen tiles.
Regaining his balance at the last moment with a well-aimed hand that clasped onto the table top, John skidded to a halt behind Sherlock, who was furiously searching for something in one of the cupboards
It struck John suddenly that they hadn't really spoken about what had happened, and he figured (if past relationships where any indication) that it was something they would have to do at some point.
John cringed at the thought, and subconsciously began to shuffle away from Sherlock (who still remained ignorant to John's presence) as he thought more on the subject.
John wasn't even sure how one would go about approaching such a subject with Sherlock.
"I'm going to go take a shower." John announced, backtracking out of the kitchen.
Sherlock made a non-committed murmur of approval, and John could still hear the clatter of objects being moved around the cupboard even as he disappeared into the bathroom.
When John emerged from the bathroom much later on, it was to a silent flat.
Frowning, John wondered if (not for the first time) Sherlock had left thinking John was following him.
Sighing audibly, John rounded the next corner into the living room and promptly gave a startled yelp.
Sherlock had not, in fact, left the house and instead appeared to be staging a whispered argument with his brother Mycroft who was sat on the sofa opposite.
The context of said argument was made abundantly clear as John noticed Sherlock's shoulders tense upon his entrance to the room…ah, they were talking about him then.
Or, more likely, Sherlock and him.
The Holmes brothers both turned to face John at almost the same time, Sherlock delaying so as not appear desperate in Mycroft's eyes, who, in turn, took his time to face John in favour of observing Sherlock with an amused smile tugging at his lips.
It was then that John really took into account his state of undress.
Only a towel was wrapped loosely around his waist, and even then John was frightened that the material would slip at the most inopportune of moments.
It was far too late to leave now, but he had plenty of time to reflect on the awkwardness that was bound to follow.
John could feel a blush rise to his face as Sherlock's eyes skimmed across his bare torso, and even more so when he noticed that Mycroft was determinedly looking anywhere but at him.
Coughing awkwardly in an attempt to break the silence, John shifted his weight onto his back leg as he ran through a list of possible conversation starters in his head.
In the end the best he could come up with was: "This is awkward." As it turned out this did not have the same effect as the acclaimed 'awkward turtle' and so he went on "and a little uncomfortable." Again, the other two occupants showed no signs of adding to the conversation and so John rounded of his statement with; "and I think I should put some clothes on."
Despite this announcement, John found his feet unwilling to move and so, quite unintentionally, John found himself enduring a further few minutes of uncomfortable staring and forced coughing.
Eventually, his feet kicked back into motion and much to his gratitude began to carry him out of the living room.
This utopia of Holmes-free ness was short lived however, as no sooner had he taken a breath of figurative 'hall-way air' a hand was pulling on his shoulder forcing him to turn back around.
Lips where upon his immediately and John almost collapsed backwards in shock (and probably would have done if it wasn't for the arm that was wrapped around his back supporting him.).
As John pulled away slightly, he was eternally grateful to see the face of the younger of the Holmes duo staring back at him.
Relaxing into the embrace, John allowed Sherlock's head to rest against his own as the taller man explained what was going on.
"Mycroft," Sherlock began, pausing only to press his lips against John's temple "He knows, as you probably gathered." John nodded "He just wanted to make sure…"
"Make sure?" John repeated his forehead creasing as he contemplated the meaning of his words.
"Make sure I know what I'm doing I suppose." Sherlock suggested, his arms tightening around John "If he is still sitting in our living room by the time we return, it would be safe to assume that he wants to talk to you also. Although, I think it may be a good idea to cloth yourself if you do intend on speaking to my brother, as if your reaction to him seeing you half-naked earlier was anything to go by, you'll be struggling to form a sentence."
To punctuate his point, Sherlock let his hand brush across the skin on John's shoulder which caused the smaller man to shudder ever so slightly.
"And If he's not there?"
"Lestrade's been ringing my phone continuously for the past hour, so I believe our next stop would be Scotland Yard."