Author's Note:

Short chapter compared to most of the other one in this story, but this is a super cute one. Just some more fluffy Johnlockness. Thank you so much to all the kind reviews!


It was sill dark out when Sherlock woke up. He had probably only slept a few hours, but that was all he usually got and he was feeling fine. Maybe he should let John sleep longer. His husband needed to sleep more than he did. He idly wondered if the ballroom was still the way they left it. He wasn't looking forward to the lecture he was certain his mother would give them. John didn't really seem to understand the rules of the house, although he hadn't really bothered to try and explain them either. Maybe Mummy would cut them a break since they had just got married.

Perhaps John needed to get married everyday and be shagged twice within an inch of his life. It was the most peaceful sleep he could remember that wasn't brought on by drugs in or out of a hospital. The only thing that disrupted him was the obvious change in Sherlock's breathing as he woke up. Still dark. And, Christ, he was sore. He winced as he stretched, letting out a small groan at the movement. "You alright?" He asked his husband softly as his hand moved from Sherlock's hair to lightly draw shapes on Sherlock's chest. He hadn't done that in a rather long time.

Damn. He had woken up John anyway. Sherlock had wanted his husband to sleep longer. Oh well. "Yeah. Just thinking. I do that a lot, you know." He turned his head to look at his partner, a smirk crossing his lips as it had so many times before. "How about you? I got…a little carried away that last time…"

"Tad sore," John replied with a sheepish smile. "Don't worry, I told you to. Brought it on myself." Which was true. He had ruined the moment and upset Sherlock when he'd told his husband he couldn't move. The only way he could think of making it up to him was to give him some ounce of control. "I think it might have been the fact that you shagged me twice, really. We have never done that." He closed his eyes and placed several soft kisses on Sherlock's side.

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes in content from the kisses. He was quiet and enjoying the moment for a little while. "Do you want me to get you anything? You didn't eat a lot at the dinner." He turned to look at John once more, eyes opening so he could look at his husband.

John's eyes shot open and he glanced up nervously. Sherlock had seen that? He had tried to hide it the best he could. "W-Would you mind?" He asked softly, ending it with a giggle as he found some stray frosting on his husband's chest. He moved and slowly licked it off, his tongue caught between his lips as he moved his gaze back to Sherlock. "Don't have to if you're tired. You can't even cook, remember?"

"I don't mind. I said I would get food, not cook it." The smirk on Sherlock's face returned. "I grew up in a mansion with servants. There is always at least one of them awake." He sat up slowly, stretching out his limbs. "Anything in particular that you want? Leftovers? Something fresh maybe?"

"Tea?" John whispered as he watched Sherlock sit up owlishly, curling tighter into the blanket. "Um... bread would be nice." He nodded into his pillow and closed his eyes, burrowing into the bed with a small sigh. It was obvious he was still extremely tired. "Maybe some fruit," he muttered into the pillow as he yawned. It was too cold without his husband to curl against and the last thought he had before he fell back asleep was that he wished Sherlock would lay back down.

Sherlock watched John for a moment, a smile on his lips. He put on pants but no shirt and then left, deciding he would take longer than necessary so his husband could sleep longer. He went back to the ballroom first. It was still the way they had left it. He decided to finish cleaning up first and then he would go to the kitchen to get John the food.

It had been a quick argument, really. Lestrade had been hungry and didn't want to move after Mycroft had practically shagged him into the mattress. Given that, he was the one who had to go to the kitchen for food, naturally. As he rounded the corner into the ballroom he froze, glancing at his younger brother and giving a small laugh. "Decided to finally clean up?" He asked softly, bending down to pick up a few cups and toss them in the nearest bin. "Where is your better half?"

Sherlock hadn't expected anyone to find him and it startled him when Mycroft spoke. He turned around to look at his older brother. "I had planned on doing it after John was asleep. I knew Mum wouldn't be happy about it if it wasn't done. We upset her once already, didn't want to do it again. She deserves at least that much after all the effort she put into everything." He gave a slight shrug and continued to pick up the mess.

"Let me help," Mycroft said with a bit of a smile, cleaning off a table and tugging a bin closer to Sherlock. "We have got a couple of hours until Mum wakes up." He threw a few more cups away before noticing the red marks around Sherlock's wrists. "Didn't think John had it in him," he whispered with a smirk toward his younger brother. He lifted his eyes and couldn't help the warm smile that overtook his face. "I'm proud of you, Sherlock. I am so happy that everything worked out."

Sherlock dumped the trash into the bin next to him. "I kind of talked him into it," he replied as he looked down to his wrists with a smirk. He shrugged off the last part. "I guess it has. Only time will tell really." He continued to throw things away. "What are you doing up so late? Thought for sure you would be sharing a room with Gregory." The smirk returned as he glanced up to Mycroft.

"Gregory got hungry," Mycroft replied with a smirk of his own, moving to a new table and collecting as much trash as he could in his arms. "We are, in fact, sharing a room. I imagine that by now he is asleep. Ordinary man, he is. Sleeps at such regular hours." He shrugged as he dumped everything in his arms, leaning against the trash bin and tilting his head. "It will work out, Sherlock. I don't doubt for a moment that you two will ever want to end this. You are perfect for each other, it's just that sometimes you have trouble seeing it."

"Yeah, John was hungry as well but he fell back asleep before I left. So, thought I would take a little while so he could sleep longer," Sherlock explained as he threw more trash away. "Probably. I don't know. We fight a lot…at least lately we have been. I guess that is normal? Obviously I don't have anything to base that off of."

"You are the most stubborn man I have ever met. Of course you're going to fight, Sherlock." Mycroft tossed a few more things into the trash before looking around. At this point he could manage the rest himself. "Why don't you go get John's food? Spend time with him. I will finish cleaning up." He motioned his head toward the kitchen and smiled. "Don't think about the future or fights or any of that, dear brother. Think about how much time you get to spend with him now. He is retired from the Army, you're married. Take advantage of it."

Sherlock smirked a bit and nodded. He left the ballroom and went into the kitchen. There were a few servants milling about. He was asked if he could be helped with anything but he declined. He may not be much of a cook, but he could still put together simple things like tea, fruit and bread. He put the kettle on and while he waited, he cut up various fruits. Watermelon, strawberries, oranges, and apples. Once they were diced up, he put them all in a bowl. He cut some slices of bread and put them on a plate. The water was ready by then and he made two cups. He put them all on tray and headed back upstairs. He entered the room quietly, incase John was still sleeping.

John had managed to fall asleep but without the warmth and comfort of Sherlock near him the nightmares had returned. He shot up in the bed, panting and looking around frantically before he remembered everything. Awake. Food. Tea. Sherlock had left. He curled back into the covers with a small sob. Blasted nightmares. He wanted to go back to normal, to sleep calmly and not worry about anything. When the door opened he poked his head out from the covers, looking at his husband before burrowing himself back into the blankets. Deep breaths. Calm down. He took a deep shaky breath. "Tea, then?" He bit his bottom lip and ran the blanket across his eyes roughly.

Sherlock moved over to the bed, setting the tray down on the bed carefully. "You okay my dear doctor?" He reached over and turned on the lamp next to the bed and then sat down next to John. He scrutinized his husband, with a bit of a frown. Nightmares, he concluded silently. He picked up a cup and began sipping from it slowly.

John didn't move for a moment, his head moving slightly from under the blankets as his red eyes lifted to look at Sherlock. "Nightmare," he whispered softly. It was the first time he had admitted that he'd actually had a nightmare to his husband. Usually he would ignore it, not tell Sherlock, or let the man deduce it himself. "Worst one I have had in a while." He cleared his throat and shifted to burrow his face into the pillow beneath him. "'S stupid. Sorry." He lifted his head slightly, his blonde hair askew, and examined the tray. Suddenly the thought of food made him sick to his stomach and he let his head drop back on to the bed.

Sherlock frowned a bit, set down the tea on the tray and then moved the tray over onto the nightstand. He moved closer to John and snuggled into him gently. "Do you want to talk about it?" He wasn't sure if his husband would want to. His partner didn't really discuss the nightmares with him. Really, only that one time when John had first admitted to having them in the first place.

Didn't people typically discuss things like this with their significant others? John looked up at Sherlock for a moment and curled into a tighter ball when he snuggled against him. "I was in the field," his voice broke and he closed his eyes for a long moment. "And the soldier in front of me just went down. Shot. So I did what I was supposed to." His eyes opened and searched Sherlock's desperately. "All he was doing was shouting and telling me to let his Mum know he loved her. And I just kept putting pressure on his leg and talking." It was too much now and his eyes slammed shut. "When he finally stopped talking, stopped moving, I looked at his face. And... it was you." He pressed his face into Sherlock's chest with a weak sob, clutching the blanket tighter around his body.

Sherlock listened quietly and wrapped an arm around John, to pull his husband into a sideways hug. He really wasn't sure what to say or do to comfort his husband. He wished there was a way to make John stop having the damned nightmares period. "Try not to think about. Think of something else. Think of when we shagged in that secret room. Think of little Sandi." He hoped giving his husband something else to think about would help. He tilted his head down and kissed the top of his partner's head.

Happy. Think happy. John relaxed fractionally and managed to slowly open his eyes. His eyes stayed forward, looking intently at Sherlock's chest, before he decided to speak. "I love you," he whispered shakily, pressing the tip of his nose against his husband's chest. One hand snaked out of the blanket and ran gently up and down the other man's side. "What did you bring to eat?" He managed a watery smile as he lifted his head to meet Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock gave a small smile. "I know you do. I love you too." He ran a hand through John's hair soothingly for a few moments. "Exactly what you asked for. Tea, bread and fruit. I sliced up different kinds of fruit and made into a salad of sorts...I guess... I did something domestic. Go ahead and laugh at me." Hopefully he would get his husband to at least smile.

John grinned and chuckled slightly. "Look at you," he said softly, closing his eyes at the hand in his hair before moving to meet his husband's lips. He pressed against Sherlock before pulling away, reaching across him and grabbing out of the bowl. "Apple," he said as he popped the fruit in his mouth. "I am the luckiest man alive. My husband made me a fruit salad." He laughed again and reached into the bowl, pulling out an orange piece and holding it against Sherlock's lips.

Good. It had worked. Sherlock couldn't help but laugh too. He ate the orange, taking a moment to suck on John's fingers afterward. He smirked as he pulled away. Being fed food should not be such a damn turn on. He leaned into his husband and kissed his lips, the tongue taking no time at all to explore his partner's mouth.

Good Lord. John closed his eyes as Sherlock sucked at his fingers, caught off guard when the man met his lips. He eagerly returned it, moaning softly as his tongue tangled with his husband's. Every night should be their wedding night if it was going to be this wonderful. His hand shifted to tug at the dog tags around Sherlock's neck as he ran his tongue across the roof of his husband's mouth.

Sherlock moved with the tug anxiously, settling so he could straddle John. He continued the kiss, his hand scratching lightly though his husband's hair. He pressed his body into his partner's, so their chests were touching. He wiggled into John, enjoying the friction the pants caused.

John moaned and arched into Sherlock. The friction the pants caused against his bare body was driving him mad. It was perfect. He didn't care if Sherlock was in his pants, it felt wonderful and it wasn't going to stop. He pressed his hips up again, tearing away from the kiss to throw his head back with a shout. One hand moved to scratch at his husband's shoulder while the other moved down to grab Sherlock's ass through his pants, pushing his hips forward.

When the kiss broke, Sherlock took a moment to breathe and then began kissing, sucking and nibbling along John's neck. He growled from the scratching, his body writhing excitedly into the man below him response. His lips eventually found his partner's ear, and his tongue danced along it lightly.

All of the attention to his body made a small shiver run through John's body, his hand moving from Sherlock's shoulder to tangle in his hair. It had been oddly quiet, just the occasional moan. The only real thing he could hear was their harsh breathing and the slide of Sherlock's pants against his own bare body. Suddenly, John decided he liked it much better than the words that usually flowed from his mouth. He wiggled slightly to kick the blanket away from his legs, keeping a slow and steady rhythm with his hips as he pressed into the man above him. He couldn't help the soft moan that escaped his lips as Sherlock's mouth and tongue worked at his ear. The hand on his husband's as tugged him forward roughly again

The wiggling from his body became so intense, Sherlock had to grip the headboard for support with his hand. He moaned from the tug. Panting slightly, he lifted his head from John's ear and move his lips to his husband's chest and began to suck on it a bit aggressively. He made sure to pick a spot he hadn't scratched to hell the night before.

While normal sex was quite enjoyable, John suddenly decided that this was just as wonderful. Honestly, he found it more erotic. Sherlock still in his pants above him... it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. He never wanted this to stop. He took a sharp intake of air as Sherlock moved his mouth to his chest, arching into it as his hands tightened in his husband's hair. Shit, were they really going to get off like this? With Sherlock in the pants to his tuxedo? It had been one of his fantasies for a while and now that it was happening, he couldn't contain himself. His hips arched up roughly and John was suddenly thankful that Sherlock had grabbed the headboard.

Originally Sherlock had only intended to make out with John, but the turn of events were quite pleasing. The hand on the headboard almost lost its grip, as something between a moan and growl escaped his lips from the thrusting hips below. He continued to squirm with wild intent and desire, practically unable to contain himself...not that he really wanted to anyway. Once satisfied there was a proper mark on his husband's chest, he began sucking on his partner's good shoulder.

Good. Very good. Sherlock's mouth on his shoulder made John moan softly, his hips slowly losing the set rhythm. He took a deep breath and yanked his hand from Sherlock's unruly hair, moving quickly to hold his husband's hips as he thrust against him in quicker movements. He turned his head slightly to watch Sherlock's mouth work on his shoulder, his mouth ajar as he took on deep gasps of air.

After this, Sherlock was certain he would need another nap. He was running out of places to mark, so he returned his lips to John's. It was sloppy, due to his ragged breaths but he didn't seem to care. He hadn't thought something like this would be so arousing, but he was certain he was going to get off soon.

John eagerly returned the sloppy kiss, nipping at Sherlock's bottom lip. He took a moment to suck in a deep breath before his entire body tensed, a soft moan and Sherlock's name slipping from his lips. He came roughly, jerking into his husband several times before he collapsed on to the mattress and closed his eyes, whimpering slightly as he struggled to catch his breath. Shit. That was... he couldn't think straight.

The grip tightened on the headboard, from the last few rough thrusts. He came shortly after John, his body tense for a moment before it relaxed and collapsed to the side of his husband. He would have told John how amazing that had been, but he was having trouble just breathing normally. He grabbed a sheet and cleaned them both up as best he could and took the pants off. He snuggled into his partner, taking the other man's hand in his. His mother was going to kill him, his pants were a mess.

John squeezed his husband's hand with a small smile, letting his eyes slip closed. "That was." He took a deep breath and giggled, turning his head to look at the tray of food and tea. "Well, our tea is cold," he muttered as he reached over Sherlock and grabbed a slice of bread, taking a bite and smirking at the other man. "Wanted to do that for such a long time. Thank you." He took another bite of bread and pressed the slice against Sherlock's lips with a wry grin.

Sherlock snuggled a little closer to John, resting his head on his husband's shoulder. His breathing gradually evened out. "Should have told me, could have done it sooner." He shook his head at the offered bread. "Not hungry. Tired," he admitted. He pressed closer to his partner still, his eyes drifting close and it didn't take long for sleep to overtake him.

If all it took was a really good shag to knock Sherlock out then John would put his skills to good use in the future. He finished the slice of bread and glanced down at his husband with a smile. Sherlock looked so much younger in his sleep, relaxed. Awake, the consulting detective looked constantly upset, eyebrows knitted together constantly. But now, curled against his side, his partner looked like a young adult, happy beyond belief. And he had done that. John Watson. A grin overtook his face and he let his head fall back. He wasn't tired at all but Sherlock needed to sleep.