John was confused to find himself on the couch that morning, he didn't remember falling asleep much less going back up to the flat. Last thing he remembered he was waiting for Sherlock to come home. When he sat up he realized he had a coat draped over him, and not just any coat but Sherlock's. Sherlock barely let people so much as look funny at this coat let alone wear or sleep cuddling it, so how did he have it?
Suddenly it registered in John's sleepy mind that if Sherlock's coat was here then Sherlock must be here too. Clutching the coat around him, and unsure of why he did so, he clambered off the couch and tiptoed over to Sherlock's room to listen closely at the door. He could hear the quiet steady breathing of sleep on the other side of the door and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least he made it home alright, no matter what he accomplished last night.
John found himself clutching the coat closer to him as he stood there silently waiting outside Sherlock's door. He could smell Sherlock's scent on the coat, a scent he could only describe as cigarette smoke and lavender. John chuckled, remembering a time when getting Sherlock to quit smoking was his only problem. The detective had pouted like a child and thrown tantrums but he'd never had a reaction like the one John had witnessed last night. Thinking back on the crazed eyes and harsh tone made John cringe. If it had been anyone else he could have just ignored it or fought back but coming from Sherlock the man he...
It hurt a whole lot more.
John began a vigil at Sherlock's door, sitting cross legged and leaning against the wall. He dozed there, holding the coat tightly around him, until he heard sounds of movement from inside the bedroom. Then Sherlock himself flung open the door and stepped outside. The pale man tilted his head like an animal listening to something and then turned towards John. John registered a faint smile on the detectives face that quickly faded.
"Morning." Sherlock commented flatly.
"Good morning." John's voice was too nervous, he winced slightly on hearing it.
"Interesting sleeping arrangement." Sherlock noted, raising an eyebrow and scanning John with his watchful eyes. John shook his head.
"Well it's better than the stairs." John replied, watching Sherlock for a reaction. Sherlock looked at his feet and then back up at John.
"You looked cold." He said simply and turned on his heel towards the kitchen.
"That's why you gave me your coat?" John called after him. Sherlock froze and turned his head slightly, not saying anything, just watching. John found himself staring, admiring the beauty in Sherlock's porcelain skin and bright cunning eyes.
"You were cold so I gave you a coat. Very perceptive John." Sherlock smirked. Then he took a long stride forward until his face and John's were barely inches apart. "If you want to keep clinging to it like a security blanket, by all means." His smirk mingled with his whisper, then he walked off into the kitchen leaving John dumbstruck. His heart was pounding, the way it pounded when he pulled out his gun or when he was staring down the barrel of somebody else's. The kind of heartbeat that meant both danger and an addictive thrill. The only danger he could think of would be Sherlock inches from his face like a cobra rearing up and ready to bite or like a lover ready to lean in and steal a kiss...
"Alright. Ignoring that last thought..." John sighed to himself and pulled off the coat as quick as possible before tossing it onto the coat hanger.