Chapter Text
Sherlock had no idea how it had happened, but it had. Perhaps they had been so drained, so exhausted and bone-tired from the case that they had just both collapsed in a heap, and it had just so happened to be in Sherlock’s bed? Perhaps John had tried to put Sherlock to bed, tried to tuck him in, and just dropped with exhaustion instead? Sherlock just did not know or recall how he had come to be in bed with John but he was.
John was spooning him, his arms wrapped securely around Sherlock’s waist and his mouth pressed into the nape of Sherlock’s neck, breath hot and moist over his skin. Sherlock blinked more forcefully, tried to focus, and then reached down to try and unwrap John’s arms. At the touch John inhaled loudly and tensed, then pressed further against Sherlock’s back and tightened his hold. Sherlock clenched his eyes shut in a faint grimace of annoyance and then stilled, waited for John to relax again, and sighed deeply, but silently.
He flitted his gaze to the amount of light coming in from the window, curtains half –closed, and found it to be quite late the following evening. They had been asleep, together, for at least six hours or more. Sherlock was still a smidgen tired, the edge of his vision fuzzy and dulled, and he adjusted his head on the pillow to see if he could perhaps fall back to sleep for a little while longer, until, hopefully, John woke.
Sherlock knew what John would do. Knew John would be embarrassed, faintly humiliated by what had happened, no matter how innocent it was, and would probably completely ignore it and Sherlock for at least several hours. Sherlock was fine with that, as long as he did not make it too obvious. Although, personally, Sherlock couldn’t understand it, no one could see them, and even if they could, the position they were in was not compromising, not completely. They still had their clothes on, John still even had on his coat; Sherlock could hear the crinkle of fabric as he breathed. They still had their shoes on, for goodness sake; the bed sheets tangled in a muddy and stained mess over their ankles.
At Sherlock’s head movement, John shuffled closer still, and mashed his face down Sherlock’s collar. Sherlock rolled his eyes and then closed them, hoping to fall back into slumber, but was brought back to consciousness as John lifted his face, pushed it into Sherlock’s curls, inhaled deep, murmured with a contented moan, and hugged Sherlock that little more closer.
Was he like this with girlfriends too? Surrounding and clinging like a limpet?
Sherlock tried to shake him loose, pulling his body away only to be dragged back into the arms of his friend in the next second. Sherlock huffed, blowing his fringe from his forehead and wriggled, squirming downwards to get out of the loop of limbs and only succeeded in kicking havoc out of the bed sheets and rumpling his shirt up to expose the white skin of his stomach.
The struggle for freedom continued for another few moments before Sherlock growled aloud and turned fluidly to face John with narrowed eyes, “John.”
John, still apparently asleep, grunted and shifted, almost kneeing Sherlock painfully in the crotch. He pulled Sherlock to him, shoving Sherlock into the outline of his collarbone and the neckline of his jumper, smothering him. His coat was unzipped and it encased Sherlock from both sides with the bite of metal teeth.
“John!” Sherlock tried again, voice muffled and his own breath rebounding back into his face hotly. He jabbed his fingers into John’s side and stomach hard, and was suddenly caught up in John’s body as he yelped and bucked, sitting up ramrod straight with wide eyes.
“Wha-what?” John spluttered and looked down in sudden horror at Sherlock, who had fallen face first into John’s crotch. “What are you doing?”
Sherlock lifted his head with a sigh and was about to explain but John shoved him aside with a hand to Sherlock’s forehead and leapt off the bed, looking around wildly and rearranging his clothes. John stammered under his breath, overly flustered and red in the face, and then abruptly turned and ambled out of the bedroom, knocking into the doorframe in his haste to escape, still half asleep.
Sherlock watched him go and waved a hand after him with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a puff of breath, falling back onto the bed in an inelegant sprawl.