A/N: This was inspired by lovely fanart which I could not, unfortunately, trace to an artist. So whoever created that awesome piece of work, thank you. You're great :)

Thanks to those of you who have followed and reviewed! Special thanks to Black Raven Feather and TheReturned! You're lovely people and deserve cake, cookies (biscuits...) and hugs!

Disregard the AN and title and you have my first 442 ever! Hope you enjoy!

Early Morning Dose of Sentiment

The mornings after a case were the most blissful for the live-in doctor of 221B Baker Street. He could take his time waking up, as opposed to the mornings his tall, dark and handsome detective woke him, yelling his sodding ear off, "A case, John, we have a case!" The mornings when John could take a relaxing shower, have a blissful cup of tea which did not in fact have eyes rolling in it were the ones he had come to look forward to.

These were the mornings John liked the most…

This morning was not actually one of those.

John had been indeed tricked by the world into thinking it was; he had time to fully wake, he had that relaxing shower. He even had that cup of hot tea in his hands now. But he also had that tall, dark and annoying flat-mate doing fuck knows what to his leg.

Now, John thought himself a relatively patient man. Living with someone as pompous, arrogant and, at times, bloody angering as Sherlock Holmes had proven that the blogger could indeed go hours, even days till the line wore thin and he snapped. With most people it took only a few minutes before they exclaimed, "piss off!" tuning the young detective out. John wasn't most people.

Because he knew Sherlock was aware of all that, John tried not to lose his temper as the cold pale foot under the table kicked his bare shin.

Again.

For the hundredth time.

This had gone on for the past ten minutes and John had, honestly he had, tried to ignore the irritation which had been rising to dangerous levels. While he sat holding his tea, knuckles whitening, staring intensely at the man across the table… waiting.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow expectantly as the toes of his right foot made contact with the skin and muscle which covered the tibia bone of his exceedingly dense Doctor.

The younger man thought he was being quite obvious; pursing his lips slightly, trying to direct John's attention to his mouth. Sherlock certainly wasn't going to ask for what he had presumed to be some sort of morning ritual among sentimental people.

It was Sherlock's patience which eventually ran out. He huffed, "really, John?" and leaned over, giving the now attractively confused man a hard kiss.

With a satisfied grin Sherlock resumed his position across from the ashy-blonde. Taking out his phone he began to text Lestrade back-the detective inspector had been asking for help on an interesting case involving a blue carbuncle-Sherlock looked up to find John staring at him with narrow, questioning eyes.

"Oh, yes. Good morning, John."