Work Text:
The prompt for this ficlet is wormwatson's lovely bed-bound cheek-to-cheek hug that you can see here, linked with permission from the artist.
John woke first, the smell of old cedar and someone else’s laundry soap sharp and strange in his nose, the smooth sheets patterned with ivy tangled all around Sherlock, facing away from him and breathing deeply with sleep.
Early morning light filled the small cottage bedroom, bringing out details John hadn’t noticed the night before. He rolled onto his back to take it all in - dusty, old-fashioned snowshoes hanging from a peg on plank walls; a shelf of books - a ragtag selection of Bronte novels smashed against a lone Hardy Boys paperback; heavy, military-issue binoculars conveniently placed on the windowsill on top of a glossy, much-thumbed guide to birds.
John held his breath. Wind pushed through tall pines crowding the cottage that he’d glimpsed in the jeep’s headlights the night before. He listened to the empty space in the air where the constant hum of the city was simply absent.
It was brilliant.
They’d arrived at the cottage after midnight. Sherlock had kissed him awake and John had shuffled blearily through the chill night air, glimpsing a sky filthy with stars. It had felt very familiar. They’d found the key in the decorative gnome postbox and dumped their bags in a corner, stripping off jackets and trousers, tumbling onto the bed that took up most of the tiny one-room cabin, falling headlong into sleep.
It had all been so sudden - John had come home from the surgery already knackered, looking ahead to dozing on Sherlock’s lap on the sofa after dinner while he read. Instead John had shuffled into the flat and found Sherlock in a zephyr of activity, tossing belongings into a duffel, pushing a sandwich into his hands, ordering him to change into sturdy boots.
And then they were back out the door, into a rented jeep parked at the curb, Sherlock talking rapidly about an urgent case that had come up in the Lake District.
John had gone along with it, caught up in the current of Sherlock’s excitement. It had been several weeks since they’d had a good case, but he didn’t get a lot of details from Sherlock on the drive - John had fallen asleep slumped against the passenger window barely after they’d gotten onto the M1. Sherlock’s hand rested lightly on his knee.
It wasn’t unusual to be called on a sudden case out of town now that Sherlock had made a reputation for himself - with some help from his blogger - but he hadn’t seen Sherlock this excited about one in ages. It must have been nearly an 8. He braced himself for a weekend of grisly puzzles.
But John marveled - how could someone commit a crime here? The very cottage walls radiated peace. He felt the tightness in his shoulders beginning to unspool. It would be good, having a case in a place like this. Maybe they’d even have time for a jaunt along a lake before heading back to London.
His reverie popped as Sherlock breathed in deeply, waking, rolling over and nuzzling close to John, eyes still closed.
John grinned at him sleepily, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s mussed hair. “Morning, darling. Surprised to see you so sleepy with a case on. We should get up, go meet our client. Maybe they’ll take pity and make us tea.”
Sherlock didn’t move, weighing down John with his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, eyes closed. That itself was very strange.
“Hey, you alright?” John scratched Sherlock’s back through his black tshirt, giving him a bit of a tickle to egg on a reaction. Sherlock flinched, but stayed stoic.
“John,” Sherlock hummed from the vicinity of his belly, “I may have been a teensy, weensy bit deceptive last night. Don’t be cross.”
John went rigid, frowning down at Sherlock. “What do you mean?”
“No case on, m’afraid.”
“Wait… what? So why on earth are we in Cumbria?”
“Because you needed it. You’ve been tense and worn out for days. You told me, once, how you used to come here as a boy, and I deduced that it would be good for you.”
John blinked at his boyfriend, all soft, sleepy angles, a grin warming his face like a ray of sun.
“You did this… for me?”
“Surprise?” Sherlock breathed shyly, finally peeking out at John from behind his lashes.
John squeezed his eyes shut and wriggled in Sherlock’s arms until they were both under the covers, pressed cheek to cheek in a tight embrace, arms woven all around one another.
“Ta, love.” John whispered against his rough cheek, “it’s perfect.”
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