I understand today is Halloween and I had planned to post a bear piece in honour of the day; however, real life interfering means I need another day or two to finish it.

This is a piece that was written in February, rediscovered a little while ago, and is for MapleleafCameo (who I believe has had a long day and needs a smile). Much thanks to Johnsarmylady for being my beta and Brit picker on this piece!

I do not own so I do not profit.

John wasn't one to complain but he was more than tired of the snow that had consistently fallen the past three weeks. He'd not seen snow like this since he was a child, certainly not in London, and he was fairly sure the calendar declared it was now time for spring. On his way to work a store awning had decided it no longer wanted the snow it held and shared more than half of its burden with him. When he finally made it to work, John was shivering from the snow that had melted inside the collar of his coat, on his head and also his face.

Work had been a mix of parents bringing in children sick with colds and people who had convinced themselves, after looking up their symptoms on the internet, that they had contracted a rare disease. After an elderly lady had left, her cane waving in agitation (she was certain she had typhoid), John asked the temp receptionist for a cup of tea. He was certain it was the only thing that would help him get through his day in one piece. Unfortunately she brought him a coffee instead and had no time to fix her mistake because of the rugby team that suddenly entered. Knowing he needed the caffeine, John drank down the bitter drink with a grimace and got on with it.

Finally, two hours after his shift should have finished, John was finally able to go home. When he started on the stairs that led to their flat, he heard Sherlock composing on his violin, and as he reached the top, he listened to the masterpiece being performed, leaning his head against the closed door and breathing quietly. As the last note died away, he took a deep breath and entered the living room.

One look at him and Sherlock put away his precious violin, took off John's coat and went to start the shower. Coming back, he pulled John into the bedroom, manhandled the doctor out of his clothes and shoved him under the warm water. Eventually John emerged to find Sherlock had set up their massage table and was arranging the oils and towels needed. The detective noted the tension remaining in his partner and quickly discarded his clothes before motioning the shorter man towards the readied table.

Minutes later, John was moaning in bliss as each ache was rubbed away. Once he was boneless, Sherlock took advantage of the doctor's naked body lying face down and applied some more oil to the fingers of his right hand before joining him on the table. Soon, the only noise to be heard from 221B was the sound of gasps, murmurs and groans.