Hi, I'm terribly sorry that I haven't updated my other fic, but I cannot think of anything to continue it with yet. I wrote this johnlock fic at around four in the morning, so I am terribly sorry for my bad writing and Andy errors. Thdoes for putting up with me :)
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It was the middle of December, and the cold winter's air was blowing the falling snow into the streets of London, the roofs of cars and many flats. It was close to midnight— children in bed, waiting for the school hour, and adults taking all the rest they could before heading out to an office, job site, or where ever they needed to be. Laying awake, however, in one of the flats of Baker Street, 221b, we see Sherlock and John in bed, with Sherlock pressed against John's back holding him close and head buried into his neck.
Now you might be thinking- they'd just finished having another fantastic shag? (Of course, if you're Sherlock and John—a consulting detective and a doctor madly in love—you'd expected that every night.) As Sherlock Holmes would state himself, "wrong".
Unfortunately for Sherlock who was dying to rip the clothes straight off his doctor and fuck his brains out, John Watson came home late from the surgery and was on the verge of passing out into the floor of the flat, that plus, cursing a teenage couple for not using birth control. (That was the last time he'd volunteer to help deliver a baby). So instead of Sherlock pouncing on John like a hungry cougar when he came in, almost dragging himself into the flat, Sherlock lead him to his bedroom, helped him into some clean pajamas, and instead of pinning him into the mattress of the bed and kissing him senseless, he climbed into the warm covers and cuddled up next to him.
John approved of this greatly.
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"We should do this more often, you and I." John said breaking the silence between them.
"Hmm.. Why is that?"
"Because, every time you and I get near a bed, wall.. anything really.. you turn into a fucking animal, Sherlock." Sherlock cocked his head slightly. "But don't you enjoy that?" He replied.
"Oh, I didn't say I didn't enjoy it, Sherlock. If course I do. I was just saying… that we should just do this more often instead of, you know, rough take-me-John-or-die-sex?"
"Mhmm," Sherlock presses his warm, firm lips on the skin of John's neck in response. "Whatever makes you not want to throw me out of the flat, John."
"Never," John says with a chuckle.
Sherlock, arms around John's waist, starts tracing a pattern with his middle finger into the palm of his lover's hand which John, despite of how much it tickles, can identify as a heart. John then responds by entangling his fingers with Sherlock's, and pulling both of their hands close to his warm chest.
"I love you, you know that?" He says, kissing the back of Sherlock's hand, fingers still locked into his.
"Don't act like I don't know that, John. Hell, of course I do."
"Mmm," John rolls his body over to the other side of the bed, only to stare into his lover's eyes that had just turned from green, when he'd last saw them, to gray. Dark curls messily splayed across his pale, beautiful face and his wonderfully shaped, kissable lips. God, John thought seeing Sherlock from this angel was truly a magnificent sight. It was something, he thought, that you couldn't compare to any artifact in a museum, even the London Crown Jewels. At this point John didn't want to look away, nor blink, he just wanted to stay in sight of his flatmate all night long—all morning, seeing that all of London would be up and active in less than a few hours—no interruptions.
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A few moments later a forced yawn escape John's lips.. He, then, buried his head into Sherlock's chest being welcomed to the amazing scent of English tea and cigarettes. He slowly closed the lids of his eyes to study the comforting scent—the scent that made him feel happy and safe—the scent of Sherlock. HisSherlock.
"Damn you," John said, words quietly muffled against Sherlock's chest.
"Come again?" Sherlock said.
John this time came out from under Sherlock, and continued talking, while tenderly kissing Sherlock's jaw repeatedly. "Everything.. about you is so… wonderful.. I mean.. Dammit, Sherlock… you're just so bloody perfect."
Sherlock smiled, and could feel a slight blush warm his cheeks while John was smothering him in kisses and sweet complements.
"While I.." Sherlock replied, as he let a hand snake up to his flatmate's hair and running his long fingers into it. "..think that everyone in the world isn't born with perfection, without flaws of such, I do believe that it's not me who's perfect..but you, John Watson." John, not feeling as tired when he came back to the flat, could feel a chill run up his spine. It was always Sherlock who could say his name and, no matter what, give him the chills, with that- arouse the hell out of him.
"Sherlock," John finally said.
"Hm?"
"Two things- I bloody love you, and if you don't kiss me in the next five seconds, I'm going to get up and leave this room."
Sherlock couldn't help but let out a giggle, knowing on the other side that John, of course, wasn't joking. He parting his lips, and they both, avoiding having their noses awkwardly bump into each other, leaned in for a kiss on the lips. Sherlock carefully, without breaking away from John's lips, pulled his lover on top of him, deepening the kiss. "So bloody perfect," John moaned, as he worked his lips on Sherlock's.
After the next few minutes, Sherlock pulled away from John's
loving kiss, gasping for air. "I love you, too." He said under his breath, then, without any hesitation, slipped a finger under John's chin and catching his soft lips once again.
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Finished! I hope you didn't find it too bad, please review if you want :)