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04 November 2010 @ 05:51 pm
Fic: Cool Sheets, John, Sherlock, PG-13  
Title: Cool Sheets
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 602
Pairing/Character(s): John, Sherlock, pre-slash
Summary: Each day as the sun goes down, John’s body is already responding to the lack of sunlight and the hunger signals the stress of the day that has worn down his body. Sherlock is just jealous.
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys. Obviously.
A/N: The Comfort entry on my 100 Tales Prompt Table

There are days when Sherlock is so tired he feels like he could die and be perfectly content to sleep forever. Though days when sleep is important enough are few and far between, when the feeling comes upon him and he’s not on a case, sleep is a luxurious godsend.

John agrees with him about sleep, but he at least has the capacity to do so every night. Each day as the sun goes down, John’s body is already responding to the lack of sunlight, the hunger signals and the stress of the day that has worn down his body. Sherlock is just jealous.

That night John had lightly sprained his ankle and he’d helped John up the stairs (the man refused to sleep on the couch). The doorway proves to be a perfect spot to lean against and watch as John fiddles about the room preparing for bed and just generally winding down. The man’s body is sluggish after the day with Sherlock, but his content look assures Sherlock that it had been a good day. Sherlock likes when they have good days together. Even the way John pulls his jumper off is starting to remind Sherlock of bedtime, of the onslaught of a perfect nights rest. He's jealous, but grateful that John sleeps so soundly.

“You should sleep tonight,” John says from beneath his jumper, tugging down the t-shirt underneath as it rides up his stomach, white and soft for Sherlock to see. The mood is all lazy and calming to Sherlock and he eyes John’s bed longingly, wondering what it’s like to curl up in the cool, soft sheets and breath out a tired breath, eyes blinking slower with each exhale and inhale. Each and every night.

“Perhaps,” Sherlock says softly from the door, still watching John like it’s the most normal thing in the world. John surely doesn’t mind anymore what Sherlock does or doesn’t see. John’s jeans land in pile on the floor and John gives a yawn as he stands in his boxers and shirt, placing his watch on the bureau before finally turning to Sherlock in the doorway. John gives him a lax smile and they just look at each other. When had John become such a comforting presence?

It seems so simple when John tugs him from the door, limping lightly on his foot, towards the bed. His coat is removed with gentle hands, gloves pried from his fingertips. Lightly calloused hands brush against his neck to remove his scarf and it too joins the pile of his clothing at John’s bedside. Sherlock is warm and relaxed beneath John’s hands, beneath his stare as his shirt is removed, button by tiny button.

He hears the soft exhales John makes and feels the soft cotton his his shirt with his fingers - when had he started touching John? Sherlock is turned and pushed down on the bed and he watches almost distantly as John takes his shoes off with well practiced patience.

They rise again together, hands on arms and chests close; heat and more heat pressing against Sherlock. Then John's hands are at his belt, eyes on Sherlock’s, asking without asking. Neither of them dare speak in fear of breaking the spell they seem to be under. His slacks fall and he shivers against John.

“Lie down,” John encourages and he finally gets to feel those cool sheets that smell of John and their home. He breathes out an exhausted breath and that’s just fine because John is smiling at him, his chest rising and falling just as it always should.
 
 
 
Ruyuruyu on November 5th, 2010 01:14 am (UTC)
Aw, thanks, I appreciate that. :3