Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any recognizable character and am not making any profit by using them.
This part contains some minor spoilers for "A Study in Pink".
Enjoy!
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Relaxation
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Heavy rain was drumming against the windows of 221B. The living room was bathed in strange, aquatic, late-afternoon twilight, the fireplace being the only source of light.
John Watson was lying on the sofa, half-dozing and half-listening to the monotonous sound on the glass panes. One of his hands was slowly caressing the temple of his partner, from time to time playing with one of the soft strands of dark curly hair; his other arm was lying around the man´s shoulder. Sherlock´s head was resting just below John´s sternum, his arms disappearing between the pillows underneath the doctor´s midriff; the detective was lying on his front, nestled between John´s legs. He was fast asleep, having succumbed to his exhaustion after solving a case earlier that day.
John looked at him and smiled sleepily, relishing the warm, strangely pleasant weight on his stomach and the way Sherlock looked when he was sleeping, dark lashes contrasting with his pale skin.
They didn´t often have the opportunity to take their time like this, and John was enjoying their closeness. He could feel Sherlock´s breath: slow, warm puffs which repeated themselves in a steady rhythm.
It was strangely and wonderfully intimate, their bodies pressed together like this, and John marvelled at the thought. He was not ashamed to admit that he was happy, elated even, that this was something Sherlock was sharing with no one else but him, John. In fact, in made his heart swell. It was a rare treat that they were spending some quiet time together, wrapped in the tranquil peace of a winter afternoon, just the two of them.
It was even rarer to see Sherlock readily giving in to his exhaustion after days of frantic research; he had been dead tired and was staggering by the time they got home earlier that day. He was completely oblivious to the world around him now, his face finally relaxed. There was still a lot of tension palpable in his shoulders, and John wondered how he could even be remotely comfortable in the position he was in, but at the same time he hoped it would last, despite feeling his own hips beginning to protest a bit. It didn´t matter, he could stay like that for a little longer.
He gently reinforced his grip around the other man, feeling the shoulderblades through their shirts, the warmth of the skin, relishing the notion that it was really Sherlock, solid and surprisingly strong, lying on him, not just a figment of his imagination. Ever since their relationship had evolved from friends to significant others, John kept having those moments in which he still couldn´t believe it.
Sherlock at times still was a mystery to him, and he suspected that the detective actually liked it that way- his penchant for being 'dramatic', as Mycroft had called it. John thought back to that first meeting- or rather, the first time Mycroft had abducted him- and involuntarily smiled. He had only known Sherlock for a day, but had already felt compelled to take his side. His attraction to the man had developed quickly, a feeling which, as he now knew, had been mutual. Thank God.
His fingers found Sherlock´s curls again, gently playing with them, caressing the skin underneath. He loved those curls; anyone else would probably look ridiculous with a hairstyle like that, but John couldn´t imagine Sherlock without it.
Still smiling, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off.
He woke up a little later because his hips were seriously protesting by then. With much regret, he gently stroked the other´s neck: "Sherlock."
The answer was a low sigh, which John could feel on his skin, tickling. He increased the pressure of his fingertips: "Wake up, love."
A groan this time, then Sherlock turned his head so that he could sleepily peer up at John: "Hm?"
"Sorry, but I need to move."
"´kay..." Sherlock slowly extricated himself from John, grimacing a bit when his own limbs protested as well.
He eased himself onto his side, making room for John; the sofa admittedly was rather narrow, but John managed to turn onto his side too, coming to lie in front of Sherlock, who immediately wound his arm around him. John pulled a blanket from the sofa´s backrest and covered them both with it, snuggling back against Sherlock, who was holding him close, his hand underneath John´s hip.
He was already half-asleep again, his breath ghosting over John´s ear this time. The doctor also closed his eyes once more; outside, it had gotten dark. The rain hadn´t lessened one bit, still providing a soothing, steady background rhythm, just like Sherlock´s breathing. Contentedly, John sighed, allowing himself to be lulled back to sleep.
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Fin
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