Sunlight danced across Sherlock's eyelids. He felt warm and content, so little on his mind. But as consciousness creeped in, his mind was beginning to speed up to it's normal pace. He groaned a little, wanting to fall back into his slumber. After fighting for awhile, he realized it was hopeless and that he was too awake now to get back to sleep.
"Good morning." John smiled down at Sherlock, who was stretched out across his lap. "Sleep well?"
Sherlock blinked up at John, wondering if this was a dream, if last night was a dream. "Better than usual," he replied. Popping sounds filled the air as Sherlock arched his back and stretched.
John ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark brown curls. Sherlock sighed in response and sunk back down into John's lap, closing his eyes.
"I slept well too. You make a nice blanket." John stilled and gazed down at Sherlock's relaxed face. There was no sign of any stress or concern. This was a sight John would like to see more often.
"Please go back to stroking my hair John."
John smiled and began running his hands through the soft mess of hair again.
Slowly John noticed lines beginning to run across the alabaster skin of Sherlock's forehead. He was thinking, John knew that for sure. But he decided to wait for Sherlock to voice his concern aloud.
"What spawned your anger last night John?" Sherlock asked, eyes still closed. "You seemed relatively relieved in the car."
"I had a...bad dream." John really didn't want to remember the horrific nightmare.
"What about?" Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and found John's. He looked at him with a mix of concern and curiosity.
John sighed, but deigned to give Sherlock an explanation. "I was back in the war. I was operating extremely close to a battlefield. Everything was loud and hectic. They brought me a wounded soldier. His stomach was torn open, ripped apart by a bullet. I...I couldn't save him...He died." John trailed off and grew tense.
Sherlock felt the muscles tensing and he felt the immediate need to console the doctor. Pulling himself up so that he could face John, he took John's hand in his. "You couldn't have saved everyone John. It's okay that you didn't save him. I'm sure you did everything that you could have done. That soldier would have understood that."
"That soldier was you, you git." John glared at Sherlock, a sudden resurgence of anger as he remembered the confidence the detective had placed in him only last night.
"Oh." Sherlock cast his gaze down. He pushed against John's chest again. He didn't like John's anger, he wanted to go back to John stroking his hair and feeling secure. This anger was a place of uncertainty and discomfort.
"Please, in the future, show some concern for your life and limb. It would save me a lot of anxiety and possibly heartache."
"Alright, I'll keep that in mind." Sherlock snuggled closer to John, snaking his long arms around John's waist. "I wish I would have kissed you sooner, this is the best sensation in the world."
"I agree," John said as he felt a warm tingling spread through him as he held Sherlock Holmes.