It started with MapleleafCameo saying "Just read this thing on Tumblr - turn to page 35 of the nearest book -read the 3rd sentence down to determine the state of your sex life for the next year" Mine was, "There was only the light of the lamp, a small pool around them in the darkness.' from the second book of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. Then I said to some friends, "We should each write a slashy 221B on our sentences. Lol" Before I knew it this 221B had grown to 781 words and is, I think, the fluffiest fluff piece I have ever written!

Much thanks to Johnsarmylady for going through this for me! :-)

I do not own therefore I do not profit.

A tired Sherlock Holmes entered 221B. He dropped his luggage to the floor, uncaring about where or how it landed. He had texted John earlier, sharing how the unexpected flight delays that would prevent him from arriving home at a reasonable hour. The darkness of the flat let him know John had gone to bed hours before. Despite the rational thought behind his partner's actions, Sherlock couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had only left six days before but ever since the change in their relationship, he found any length of time separated from John unwelcome.

As he made his may further into the living room, he was surprised to hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Turning, he saw the figure of Doctor John Watson fill the doorway. Hair ruffled from sleep and fleece dressing gown covering his frame, the shorter man yawned as he stared. After a moment, he wordlessly reached out a hand.

Sherlock felt his world settle back into place as his fingers slid against ones he knew as well as his own. Silently, the two men climbed the stairs to the bedroom they had shared for nearly a decade. After reaching the foot of the bed, John removed the coat still being worn by the gangly genius. He draped it over the top of the nearby chest of drawers before undoing the belt tied around his waist and shrugging out of his dressing gown. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed.

Fifteen years had passed since their first meeting in a lab at St. Barts. Injuries while on the job and the loss of one another had left their mark on each man. And while John might be a bit softer in the stomach, his army years long behind him, Sherlock was thankful for the illumination filling the room from the ceiling light above. Every mark held a memory, each line told a story and the hairs that had finally all turned white made him smile. He might not be the world's idea of physical perfection but the man standing in front of the consulting detective was perfect for him, his home and that was all that mattered.

John stepped between Sherlock's knees and wove his fingers between salt and pepper curls. Words were not necessary as they breathed in one another's scent. Soon both men were more asleep than awake. John tilted his husband's head back and placed a kiss upon his forehead before moving to give the taller man's shoulder a light tug.

Sherlock sighed as he began to remove his clothing piece by piece. John was there to put things in their proper place. Clothes were put in a linen bin, there was no need to trip over anything, while a phone was placed on Sherlock's bedside table. When John straightened up from tucking away a pair of polished black shoes, he was faced with a man swaying slightly with exhaustion.

Fond smile on his face, John took Sherlock by the hand once more and settled him into bed before turning on the small lamp resting on his own bedside table. The ceiling light was soon shut off and John snuggled under the duvet as Sherlock moved to the middle of the bed. Both turned onto their sides so they were facing the other. With the curtains closed tightly there was only the light of the lamp, a small pool around them in the darkness.

Ignoring the call of Morpheus, Sherlock took the time to run his long fingers over John's features. John fought to keep his eyelids from drooping as he traced the skin protecting the heart he had been gifted with years earlier. Soon, despite their best efforts, movements slowed and Sherlock reached over the shorter man to switch off the lamp and remove any hint of light.

When he returned again to his side, their limbs and bodies instinctively moved to bring the other close. John sighed contentedly as Sherlock's head of curls brushed his chin. Sherlock's breathing slowed as he listened to the constant, quiet beat beneath his ear. Smiling, they drifted into the realm of dreams.