The morning greeted a very uncomfortable John laying atop a snoring Sherlock.
He was sore, his skin was tight with sweat and dried cum, yet he couldn't bring himself to ove away from the detective who was cuddling him like an over-stuffed bear.
Really, life could be so cruel.
After nearly fifteen minutes of deliberating between going back to sleep and getting up, the doctor was finally overcome with is discomfort.
He rolled over, landing in a heap on the floor, the loud thud not even jostling the detective.
If he sleeps that soundly after sex-
John pulled himself up-rite with a groan, stretching and pulling at his stiff muscles, muttering obscenities with each pop of his spine.
He was far too old to be crashing the couch like that.
The dimness of the room didn't match the time it should have been, and as the doctor peered out his curtains, it became apparent that the clear skies of the past few days ad fled.
Rain powered heavily from near-black skies.
The smell of ozone hung thick in the air.
Great.
The doctor made his way to the bathroom, attempting to flick on the light, but was met wit ha dead switch.
Oh.
Right.
Sherlock said that the power went out last night, hence the candles.
But it should be fixed by now, right?
John rubbed his face tiredly, snatching Sherlock's dressing gown from the hook before padding to the breaker box in his closet.
It didn't take him long to notice that the main switch had been tripped.
Of course Sherlock would need to create a reason to be romantic.
John rolled his eyes, stomping down the stairs, rattling the doorknobs and slamming the doors in an effort to wake his partner.
It was the sound of the shower turning on that finally roused the detective from his sleep.
"Fuck."
Sherlock groaned, as the ache in his body consumed him.
Everything, hurt.
Every muscle in his body,every nerve he could feel ached from the physical exertion of the previous night.
Not to mention the dull burn in his core.
Though he couldn't bring himself to despise that burn.
It was what proved to him that he was his blogger's.
John.
There was a niggling memory pulling at the back of his skull.
One of a black suitcase left discarded in the heat of the moment.
Curiosity won over comfort as the detective pulled himself upright.
He staggered to the door, snatching he black carbon case, tossing it onto the couch with a soft thud.
He paused a moment to appreciate the leather couch that graced their apartment.
A couch now spotted with the dried remnants of the night before.
Easy clean though.
He sat on the table in front of the case, examining it carefully.
Carbon fiber shell.
Expensive.
Durable.
From Mycroft.
He cracked it open, paying specific attention to the way it opened and the sound it made.
New, only opened twice.
Once to fill and once by John to see the contents.
Throwing it open he riffled through the contents.
New jumper.
Fine quality wool.
Color doesn't suit John.
Experiment on later.
Three manila folders, each marked classified.
Two cases and some paperwork for John.
Sherlock opened the one with the paperwork,and raised an eyebrow at the sheer variety of forms.
A revised roommate agreement?
Pre-nuptial contract?
Why would John need a pre-nup if he hasn't-
Oh.
There, next in the stack.
Application for a civil partnership.
"Mycroft!"
The detective was furious.
How dare his brother meddle in his personal life.
He hadn't said anything about the British Government's relationship with DI Lestrade.
How dare he try and scare John away.
And yet.
Sherlock rubbed his face and ruffled his hair, trying to get his thoughts together.
John obviously had't been too frightened by Mycroft's idea, as he had gone along with all of Sherlock's plans and had stayed with him.
But what did he think?
Did the doctor like the plan?
Did he hate it?
Was he just waiting until today to bring it up?
Was he completely ignoring it?
The detective simply couldn't muster up an answer.
He made one final pass over the contents of the case,his eyes first ignoring, and then returning the the small black cube in the corner.
He picked it up gingerly and ran his fingers over the sleek black square.
Compact.
Lightweight.
Jewelry.
He popped the lid, and nearly had to bite his cheek to keep from making a sound.
Inside were two titanium rings, each sized-no doubt- for the two occupants of the flat.
It was all here for him.
All the tools for the genius consulting detective to keep his blogger with him forever.
A flash of lightning brightened the room for a moment, followed by a clap of thunder.
Yes, it was indeed, all there.