A/N: Still not mine. On an awesome, amazing and terrific side note-FIVE DAYS UNTIL SERIES 2!
John's head slipped off his hand and landed with a thunk on the kitchen table. Sherlock watched this happen, slightly impressed that John had not jerked awake after the sudden change in position. He glanced at the clock—well, they'd been awake for fifty hours, so he supposed it made sense.
John shifted slightly in his sleep into a more comfortable spot on the hard wood, and Sherlock sat back, research into Mr. Ogden's murder momentarily forgotten. He studied John's sleeping face. The lines that so frequently creased his eyes and forehead were smoothed out, making him look younger and more innocent.
Deceptive innocence, Sherlock thought. He reached out a hand, ghosted it over John's head. An unbidden image floated into his mind—burying his fingers in that dirty blonde hair, pulling John's head back, baring his throat, biting and licking at his neck, his lips...
Sherlock let out a quiet gasp and retracted his hand. Inappropriate.
He traced John's silhouette with his eyes. John was off-limits. Sherlock could look, but not touch. He shifted in his chair, (wanting, not touching) and accidentally knocked his knee into the underside of the table.
John stirred, yawned. He sat up slowly, rubbed his face.
"Sorry, did I fall asleep?" he asked, his eyes blurry.
Sherlock simply grunted and retreated back into his books.