Fluffy fluff chapter.

With a cup of camomile tea in his hand he plopped down in the couch beside the detective, slowly joining him in the rerunning tv-show.

"We've seen this before." he said and placed his arm on the cushion. Sherlock twitched, like he had awoken from a dream.

"Have we?" he asked and lowered his hands from his lips.

"Yes, last year. You were screaming at the screen for ten minutes when you saw a red car i the upper corner." Sherlock watched the program closely before he snorted.

"I've must have forgotten it." John bursted into laughter and turned to him, Sherlock could tell that he was happier than ever.

"Well, I sure haven't. It was very funny to watch." he giggled and saw his flatmates smile. In silence, John reached out his arm and touch the curls on Sherlock's head.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked and glanced over to John who smiled, he understood what he wanted. "Oh please?" he sighed.

"If you're going to be my boyfriend, you need to cuddle." Sherlock looked sceptical.

"Do I need to like it?" he asked and John bit down hard.

"Somewhat, yes." he answered and pulled back his arm in disappointment, maybe this was wrong after all, but Sherlock fell into his side and snuggled himself close to his body. The warm feeling John had been longing for finally turned up and he placed his arm around Sherlock's thin shoulders. The detective wounded his arms around his body and sighed loudly.

"Like this?" he asked but then he felt John leaning his head against his and even if he didn't see him, he knew he was happy. They stayed locked in each others arms, watching the show without observing while the darkness crept closer around them. Night was coming and John couldn't stop himself from imagining what would happen when they went to bed. Sherlock had just moved all his clothes into his room, they weren't just flatmates anymore, they lived together.

"Could you please ask me before doing big changes in the future?" he begged him and took his hand that rested on his hip.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked and and fumbled with John's short fingers, inspecting his nails and every wrinkle like he was searching for something.

"Don't just take things for granted, you need to ask me before you do big changes in our relationship."

"I understand." Sherlock said simply and John flinched.

"Good." he sighed, drank of his tea and felt Sherlock snuggle a little closer.

"Tell me if it hurts." he begged him and John sank further down on the cushion. John didn't care if he did, right now his closeness healed his pain more than the morphine. They dozed off in half conscious, half sleeping, just watching the telly in silence. This moments was perfect, the beautiful smell that was as private as Sherlock's fingerprint entered his heart for every breath he took in those dark curls were his nose was deeply buried, he had been longing for this for a long time.

"What is that in your hair? It's not your shampoo 'cause I've been using it, and that don't smell like that." Sherlock smirked and stroke his thumb back and forth over Johns waist.

"It's an oil. It keeps it smooth. Do you like it?" He took a deep breath in his hair and sighed happily.

"Yes, it smells really good." Sherlock turned his head to him and smelled the skin on his neck.

"You smell disinfected, medical supplies, after shave..."

"Yes Sherlock." he interrupted and messed with his hair, if he didn't stop him he could continue forever with his observations. "Very romantic." Sherlock frowned, he didn't understand but he knew that John was being sarcastic.

"Is it?" he asked. "Is it romantic to tell somebody else what they smell like? I can't seem to understand this... affection?" John took his hand in his and stoke his thumb back and forth over his knuckles.

"Sometimes, yes. It's nice to compliment someone for smelling good." He could hear Sherlock smirked by those words and the larger hand tangled around his smaller.

"Well John, despite the smell of disinfectant, you smell pretty good too." That was what he wanted to hear, the kind words, not the obvious, and he showed his gratefulness by kissing the top of Sherlock's head.

The man in his arms was truly beautiful in every way, John was had never felt luckier or more thankful for what he was given today, a well earned shower, a lovely dinner and a caring and wonderful man he had been longing for way to long.

"John." Sherlock sighed and moved a little closed again, he was nearly in his lap by now. "I just want you to know that I feel very happy right now." John smiled wide and snuggled his cheek into the dark curls.

"Me too, Sherlock." he said and placed some of the curls behind his ear, but they quickly fell back as Sherlock turned to face him. Eyes shining bright in the light from telly, shifting blue and green and they were concentrated on him, shifting between his eyes and lips. A white hand touched his blushing cheek and he closed in slowly. As their lips finally met John grabbed a hold of his clothes and pulled him into his arms. The odd angle of his neck forced Sherlock to turn around until he was sitting on his own leg beside John, still giving him light kisses on the lips as John cupped his face with one hand and holding his back with the other.

"Sherlock." he whispered and kissed his soft cheek. "I think..." He leaned back to the big pillow resting against the arm support and pulled the taller man with him. Sherlock braised himself to the couch before he slowly placed himself on top of the doctor, listen and looking for any sign of pain as he did so, but John just wounded his arms around him and held him hard.

"John." he whispered and his lips hovered over his. "You need to understand that this is hard for me." The doctor cupped his face and nodded with a calm smile.

"I know." he said calmly and loved the way those dark curls fell before his eyes. "We can stop whenever you want to."

There were many questions on the detectives mind but he decided to stay quiet. Those dilated pupils, his beating heart, it was easy to tell that John was in love, but why? How could he love him? He was inhuman, arrogant, "incapable" of emotions, yet John had taken him into his life, and Sherlock had taken him into his. It was like they were made for each other.

"John." he whispered and placed his head on the doctors shoulder. "Just hold me for a while." This was going to fast for him, he didn't know anything about intimacy between lovers which in his case was hard to admit, he had always been an expert or at lest somewhat well read on everything. Would this shame him? For Sherlock, yes, he was a a newcomer to the world of sex, he didn't want to be tossed into it tonight, was that a selfish thought?

"Okay." John murmured and placed his arms around him, not complaining of just having him embrace. Just smelling him, touching him, just the feeling of his beating heart against his was the best feeling in the world.

"You're really warm." Sherlock groaned and placed his cold fingers on his cheek. "You're coming down with a fever."

"Yes, I know." John sighed and blinked several times to keep himself awake. "I'm actually kind of tired." The weight of his head disappeared from his chest and Sherlock faced him.

"You wanna go to bed?" he asked and John could tell he was nervous.

"Yeah, but just sleep. I'm really tired." he groaned and pinched his nose bridge, this time it was a headache.

"Do you need morphine?" He shook his head and rubbed his eye.

"No, I just need sleep. Stay up if you want to." It was hard to get up from the cough and go to bed alone, so he thought, but Sherlock was closely behind him, shutting down every gadget and electrical equipment in the room.

"Bed?"

"JOHN? WAKE UP JOHN!" Everything hurt, every loin and limb from tip to toe was pulsating in pain. Cold hands were grabbing him, and his chest felt tight, it was hard to breath. "COME ON JOHN!"

"Get me out!" he heard himself shout without a single clue what he meant. "Get me out!" Someone straddled him to the bed, making him unable to move.

"John! Wake up! Look at me!" He whimpered and forced his eyes open, light was all around and he put all the concentration on to get back into breathing. Everything started to come back to him, the new room, the lights from the street and Sherlock sitting over him, cupping his face. "Just breath." Even if he didn't remember the dream the emotions was still there, the terror like he'd just been under gunpoint and he felt the tears falling down to his ears. A loud sob left his throat and he pressed his head down in the soft pillow, shaking in panic and hyperventilated. "John, look at me."

"Oh jesus." he groaned and grabbed his hair, it had been terrible.

"What was that?" Sherlock asked and looked more worried than ever. "A nightmare?" He was still trembling and sobbing, he stared up to the roof and Sherlock dried his tears.

"I'm sorry." he groaned. "I'm sorry." He let out a loud grunt and grasped Sherlock's wrist. "I'm fine. Just..." The voice stuck in his throat and the detective fell down beside him in the bed and wounded his arms around him. There was nothing he wanted more right now than Sherlock holding him. He couldn't help the awful sobbing, so many memories were hunting him during the night but this was the worst attack for more than a year. He let out a long painful breath and folded his hands with his.

"Don't worry, it's over now." Sherlock whispered and hooked his leg around him under the cover they were sharing. The breath evened out in his chest and he let out a last loud groan before he could relax in Sherlock's arms. "Do you need something?"
"No!" he said quickly and shook his head. "No, just don't go anywhere." Sherlock crawled closed and let the tip of his nose touch John's ear. "Just hold me for a while." He turned in his arms and buried his face into the crock of Sherlock's neck. "Oh jesus." he groaned again and nailed himself hard to Sherlock pyjamas.

"Was it that bad?" he asked worriedly and stroke his fingers through his hair that was damp of the cold sweat. The sanity was slowly coming back to him and he blinked several times before he shook his head.

"I can't remember." he answered hoarsely and wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "Jesus christ... I'm sorry." He was ashamed of himself, first night together and he had a fright, a fit of pure fear.

"Don't be." Sherlock whispered and stroke his long thumb back and forth over John's shoulder blade. "It's over now. Do you need some morphine?" The pain had gone away as quickly as he had opened his eyes but some morphine would probably help him calm down.

"Yeah." he groaned and felt how Sherlock pulled back to get out of bed. While listening closely to the footsteps of Sherlock leaving the room, he rolled over his back again, feeling the same pressure over his wound that made it hard to breathe. Maybe he left the hospital to soon?

Yet again he wiped his falling tears and tried to concentrate on every little noise the apartment made during the night; every crack in the walls and floor, the pipes drone as Sherlock tapped up some water. This listening was a procedure he had to go through every time after a fit to get the sounds of gunshots out of his head, the small little noises at night was his way back to reality again. The footsteps came back, closer and closer and soon he felt a wave of silk over his arm as Sherlock sat down on the bedside.

"John?" he said calmly and put a light hand on his scarred shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've just been shot." he said with a grin and Sherlock snickered by his ironic answer. With a loud grunt he sat up in the bed and felt a headache land in his head, making him toss his hand against his forehead. "Jesus..."

"Here." Sherlock pressed the cold glass into his free hand and ruffled his hair. "Take this and it will feel better."

It didn't take long before the pill kicked in and Sherlock tucked himself in beside him, held him carefully as he stroke his back. It wasn't hard to tell that John's head was dozed by the morphine, his eyes foggy and speech slurred as he tried to talk. Sherlock held back the giggling rumbling in his chest as John started babbling about some child's book he had read as a kid.

".. and they fed him stumps of old candles so he could breath fire, it was probably easier with all that candle wax in his gut. I don't know." Sherlock bit his bottom lip and let out a relaxing sigh to calm the urge to laugh.
"So there was a boy, eating candles so he could breath fire."

"No!" John said and sounded annoyed that Sherlock hadn't listened. "The boy found a small lizard in the stable."

"So the lizard ate the candles?" Sherlock asked and played with a couple of stands from John's hair.

"Yes." John murmured and rubbed his eye as he yawned. Sherlock couldn't hold back anymore, he giggled and kissed John's burning forehead.

"Sound like a wonderful story." he whispered and pulled the cover over their shoulders. "Get back to sleep. You're talking rubbish." John snorted and bursted into a painful giggle.

"I can't remember what we talked about." he laughed and stroke his hand over Sherlocks soft cheek.

"I think you should take the half dose next time." Sherlock smirked and kissed the tip of his nose. "Now shut up and sleep."

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