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The light slanting in through the bedroom window is bright and clear. John rubs his eyes and rolls over, trying to see the clock on the far side of the bed over Sherlock's shoulder, but Sherlock is having none of it. He mumbles sleepily and crowds up against John, burying his face in John's underarm.
"Oi, you cock, that tickles." John shoves him playfully, wincing slightly at the slow burn that ripples through his body. It's a good burn, one born of running, chasing Sherlock halfway across London, of falling into bed together after a case well-solved.
Eventually, it's the smell of fresh coffee that rouses Sherlock. He stretches alongside John, kisses John's sternum, and sits up. His hair is a glorious riot and when John can't bite back a laugh, Sherlock scowls, which only makes Sherlock scowl harder. Chuckling, John sits up and pulls on a pair of rumpled pyjama trousers that are far too long for him before shrugging into his soft, well-worn striped jumper.
Sherlock grins, running one hand up John's thigh. "I'm fairly certain those are mine."
"Yeah, probably." John shrugs. "They're comfortable. At least I'm wearing something." Pointedly, he eyes Sherlock's bare legs below his deep red dressing gown. "Are you even wearing pants?"
Having the decency to at least pretend to look hurt, Sherlock laughs. "And risk scandalising our poor houseguest?" he asks, before swanning out into the hall. John runs a hand through his hair, trying to figure out what exactly Sherlock meant by that. Is he trying to avoid scaring her, or is he aiming for it?
Mary's leaning against the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Her legs are bare, calves pale and toned, dusty feet bare. She's engulfed in one of John's old shirts, a ratty one he thought he'd binned. Clearly she was comfortable enough to rummage in the upstairs storage. Sherlock looms over her, filling his own mug and kissing her cheek in one fluid motion.
"Glad to see you've made yourself at home, but I have to confess, you don't look nearly as enticing in that shirt and little else as John does."
Never one to miss a beat, Mary smirks up at Sherlock. "I bet he looks even better without the shirt." John feels his cheeks flushing and regrets offering to let her sleep in the empty upstairs bedroom last night after she'd tagged along on the case. Sherlock, damn him, grins right back at her.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Groaning, John empties the last of the coffee into his mug. Figures that they would barely leave him enough for one cup. He drops himself into a chair, staring at the pair of them. Mary's got an impish gleam in her eye that makes him wary.
"So..." She draws the word out, running one finger around the rim of her mug as she leans against the counter. "Twice last night? John, I'm impressed. I had boyfriends as a teen who weren't capable of it, let alone at your age!"
"Mm, yes, well..." Sherlock elbows her gently in the side. "It helps when he's properly motivated. Also, it was three times. He'd just lost his voice by the third."
John’s throat goes dry and thick, and he chokes down a mouthful of coffee to soothe it.
"Really though, I'd never have imagined you'd be one for pet names, Sherlock. Or was that whole Captain thing some sort of role-play I'd rather not hear about?"
John sets his coffee down and buries his face in his hands, willing Sherlock to shut up. Sherlock, however, has chosen to ignore him.
"Oh, don't deny it. I know you want all the sordid details, but I'm in no mood to share John today."
"Mmm, does that mean there's a chance you'll want to share him later?"
Groaning, John pushes away from the table and stands up. "I'll thank you two to stop talking about me like I'm not here. Mary, I'd say make yourself comfortable but I don't think I have to worry about that. Sherlock, I'm going to go take a shower, feel free to join me."
Normally he wouldn't make such a brazen invitation with a guest in the flat, but at some point Mary has shifted seamlessly from client to guest to friend to permanent fixture in their lives, and John's content to realise he's rather pleased with the whole thing.
Wondering how exactly he got himself into this situation, he heads down the hall towards the bathroom, shaking his head and smiling to himself as Sherlock's familiar footsteps fall into rhythm behind his own, and Mary's lighter, quicker steps provide a balancing counter-point as she heads to the upstairs bedroom.