The September leaves coloured the streets in gold and red and danced along the pavements as cold winds swept by. They drifted along the busy streets of London and rustled past small cafes and shops, showing off their bright colours to anyone who'd notice. When they reached Baker Street they softly fluttered to the ground, and stayed there. Waiting for another wind to come get them.
The shy morning light slipped it's way past the thin curtains to one of the two bedrooms at 221B Baker Street. There were two bedrooms for two men, but a second bedroom was never needed.
Curled up in the warmth of eachothers arms, one's head resting against the other one's chest, tangled in the sheets together they slept, both unconscious of the dawning sun greeting the new day as it rose higher on the sky, smiling brightly down at London.
The sun's rays carefully reached out to touch John's face and gently brushed against his left cheek. It was Saturday and no need to give him a harsh wakeup.
Sleepily he opened his eyes, or tried to at least, the right part of his face was trapped between Sherlocks torso and the mattress which lead to his right eye remaining shut. He yawned, careful not to wake the detective and nestled himself even closer to him. He took a deep breath. Sherlock smelled like tea, morning dew, warmth and faintly of tobacco. He smelled like home. John closed his eye, focusing on his face so close to Sherlock's heart. He could hear it beat in a calm rhythm against his chest, thump, thump, thump. John sighed. He was so lucky. So lucky to be in Sherlock's bed, together with him. Being able to hold his hand whenever he wanted, being able to kiss him, to spend the rest of his life together with him. With this silly silly man. His silly man. His best friend. His lover.
He heard Sherlocks heartbeats in the distance as he drifted off to sleep again.
Sherlock opened his eyes and looked down on the warm body he held close. John, breathing calmly against Sherlock's chest. He could feel John's hot breath through his T-shirt. He shuddered, slightly moving closer to John, wanting to feel him closer and to never let go. He pressed a light kiss to John's forehead and for the first time in years he felt safe. When he was close to John he was safe, he was home. He loosened his right arm which was trapped underneath John's body and place his hand on the back of his head, fingers buried deep in the blond's hair, trying to get him even closer. The light hairs felt soft against his fingers. John. His John. Only his. Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on John in his arms. His John.