AN: Hello my lovely darlings:D I just want to say thankyou very very very much to anyone who has reviewed this story. If you have then you are a beautiful human, if you haven't..why not? ;) I joke, I joke. Okay and from now on I will be writing these drabbles on my iPhone generally when I'm in bed or travelling or have spare time which means that these drabbles aren't really checked properly. S any mistakes are my own and I'm really sorry if there are any.
Part of this drabble is text so italics are John's texts, bold are Sherlock's.
Prompt word from: Merthurr/ Jade:) (P.S I am determined to do as many of the prompts as I can!)
Enjoy:3
Mattress:
Sherlock.
Yes, John. SH
What happened?
To what? SH
Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!
What are you talking about John? SH
My bed! Where did it go?
Oh, that.. SH
Sherlock!
It was an experiment. SH
About what?
That's irrelevant. SH
Where am I going to sleep?
You can stay in my bed. SH
What?
You can stay in my bed. I thought I had made that perfectly clear. SH
Really?
Yes John. SH
You wouldn't mind me sharing your bed?
Sherlock pondered the text for a few moments. He was travelling back across London after unsuccessfully trying to capture a thief. The cab was moving slowly, weaving steadily through the traffic and the rocking motion of the car was nearly lulling his to sleep.
What could he say? Of course he wanted John to stay in his bed. He had inexplicably been drawn to the ex-army doctor since the day he met him. Only now did he realise why that was. He loved John. If he was going to love anybody it would have been John. There was no one else. He knew his affections would not be returned as John was a straight man who spent all his time chasing after women who would never return his feelings. He would not fall for a high functioning sociopath over a well dressed blonde with a curvy body.
He could reply with 'I would love for you to share my bed.' But then John would know his true feelings and their friendship would never be the same. The doctor might hate him and move out leaving Sherlock alone and vulnerable to the drugs he has kept clear of for the past year or so.
It would be necessary. SH
The detective sighed and pressed send, upset with himself for not being truthful with his feelings. He fell into his mind palace easily, going in there to escape the mess he was currently in.
Well, okay then. I'll move my duvet over.
Sherlock.
Yes John. SH
Where is my duvet.
Part of the experiment. SH
There was, of course, no such experiment. Sherlock merely felt that if he couldn't share his feelings he could at least prompt John into feeling the same. Or do something to make him feel better about himself. Then the idea of getting rid of John's bed so that they would have to share came to him. This way he got to act on his feelings without John knowing.
It was a poor substitute for a relationship but it was the best that the consulting detective got.
What experiment Sherlock!
An important one. SH
Bloody hell Sherlock! And will you stop putting your damn initials. I know who you are for gods sake!
I'm sorry John.
It's okay. Where are you?
Two streets away.
After a minute the cab pulled up outside 221B. Sherlock thanked and paid the cabbie, hurrying into the flat, pulling his scarf tight, insulating himself from the cold London night. He stumbled through the front door and clambered up the stairs, dramatically opening the door to 221B. Sherlock threw himself down onto the soda, curling into his coat, slipping into his mind palace to decide what the best way to deal with the night's events was.
When he emerged an hour later John was sat in his armchair, newspaper spread out on his knees, mug of tea warm in his hand. He lifted his head when heard Sherlock's grumbling and nodded towards the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table.
"Freshly brewed." He said, looking back at his newspaper.
The clock strikes eleven and John rises, folding up the newspaper.
"I'm off to bed."
"I'll join you." Sherlock says, sliding off the sofa. They both make their way to Sherlock's room, not attempting any conversation. John throws himself on the bed, keeping to one side of it. Sherlock stays standing and begins to unbutton his shirt. The ex army looks up to see the soft material slide down the consulting detective's muscled back. John gulps quietly, fighting a groan as he feels the blood rush to his face and... somewhere else...
The detective turns to John and the doctor swears he can hear his own heartbeat speed up. He is sure Sherlock can hear it too. In a flash Sherlock is in his boxers and before John can give him the once over he has dived under the covers, switching off the light in the process. Concealed in the darkness John pulls off his shirt, jumper and trousers, leaving only his boxers. He snuggles down and is close to sleep when he feels something icy cold press against his stomach. He flinches before he realises that it's Sherlock's back. John leans into Sherlock, throwing his left arm around the detective's body, feeling an exposed hip bone press into his elbow. The two men sigh happily and fall into a deep sleep.
The morning dawns, light and warm, breathing life over the dilapidated London houses. John wakes up first and slides away from Sherlock, careful not to wake the consulting detective who never seems to get enough sleep. He clambers out of the bed pulling on a jumper. The ex-army doctor stands over Sherlock watching the detective sleep. He looks so vulnerable, like a child, all the sarcasm and smart-arseness had wiped straight off his face leaving behind a fresh and beautiful Sherlock.
John chuckles at his sentiment and spontaneously leans down and presses his lips to Sherlock's cheek. He slowly strokes his hand through the detective's rumpled curls.
"I really do love you." John breathes, pulling away, feeling glad that Sherlock is sleeping. If the detective were awake he would probably just scoff at him. The ex-army doctor leaves the bedroom, holding back tears as he brews his tea.
Sherlock's eyes burst open as he let out the breath he didn't realise he had been holding. He had been awake the whole time.
'John loves me' was the only coherent thought that ran through his head as he rolls over inhaling the scent of John that clings to his mattress.