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Creamy white skin clashed with the tan calloused fingers that ghosted its expanse. In the cool of the night, a sated doctor caressed his lover’s sleeping form, mapping out every freckle and blemish on the pale skin. He skimmed his fingers in a constant fluid motion across shoulder blades and down to the plump curve of the sleeping man’s arse.
The chill from the open window crept into the lovers’ bed, urging the doctor to curl closer to the sleeping man in attempt to absorb his body heat. Despite burrowing as close as possible beneath the blankets, their shared body heat was no match for cold toes, and the doctor knew the window would have to be shut. Resigned, he moved to confront the offending window. As soon as his worn fingers left his partner’s skin there came a grumbled whisper from beneath black curls.
“Don’t leave, John,” came the slurred murmur.
John let out a quiet breath of laughter and moved close the other man’s cheek. With his lips brushing the man’s ear, he whispered back, “Sherlock, I’m just going to close that blasted window. I’m not going anywhere.” He shifted and placed a tender kiss on a sharp cheekbone, eliciting a soft hum from Sherlock, and crawled out of the large bed. John winced as he placed his feet on the cold floor but carried on, past the scattered piles of clumsily discarded clothes towards the open window. It figured, John mused as he stepped over a pair of socks, that all it took was a slip of his carefully guarded affections towards his flatmate to cause Sherlock’s wall to crumble and send them spiraling into a lust induced frenzy. The sudden change in their relationship was not as startling as John had anticipated, but the fact that the man he had thought was asexual and uninterested had gone from sulking to palming John’s erection through his red pants in less than thirty seconds was highly amusing.
Quietly snapping the window shut, John turned and scampered back into the messy bed, desperate for warmth. He gently laid his body over Sherlock’s bare back and nuzzled his face into the detective’s neck, inhaling the scent of sweat, aftershave, and sex. John hummed with content, dotting small kisses and nips on Sherlock’s neck and shoulder. “Why haven’t we done this before?” John whispered into his lover’s skin.
“Because you’re straight,” came Sherlock’s reply into his pillow.
Chuckling softly, John rolled off Sherlock’s back and settled himself onto his side. “And you’re asexual.”
“Clearly not!” Sherlock scoffed in mock offense.
“Yes, clearly,” John teased, “Considering I spent the last hour buggering you, I think it’s safe to say neither of us are straight or asexual.”
“Mmm, do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“That thing with your hands,” Sherlock grumbled and shifted so that he could glare at John. “That thing you were doing before.”
“What? I don’t-oh, this?” John ran his fingertips back across Sherlock’s back, taking the purr of content for an answer. Sherlock shifted to face away from John once more as he drifted back towards sleep. As John lightly caressed his lover’s back, he began to draw shapes and swirls with his fingertips, which turned into small drawings, which turned into words. He mapped out the letters to his name, then Sherlock’s, silly phrases, his military ID number, and the names of various bones. The detective snored softly, lulled into sleep by John’s gentle caresses. Running out of things to write on Sherlock’s body, John drummed his fingers amongst Sherlock’s freckles, thinking. Before he could stop himself, John began to write, confessing with his fingertips everything he could never tell Sherlock aloud;
I’ve been thinking about you for months, you know. God you’re just so beautiful, how could I not? This might have happened sooner if you hadn’t pulled that bloody ‘married to my work’ bullshit. I knew you wanted this too... I knew it that night! God Sherlock we’re idiots. I want to spend every night like this. For the rest of our lives. Maybe when we’re old we’ll get a cottage in Sussex or something. You could keep bees like you talked about. Maybe we’ll get a dog. Actually, no you’d probably experiment on the poor bastard and kill it. You wouldn’t mean to though; you’re not what Sally thinks. You’re not heartless. You’re not a freak. You’re brilliant and wonderful. You are an arse though, I’ll give her that. You’re arrogant and conceited, and you might be the laziest person I’ve ever met, but I wouldn’t change you for the world. Sherlock, you’re perfect. What do you want with a broken soldier anyway? I won’t be angry if you get bored of me and send me away. No wait, yes I’d be angry, but I’d know it’s not your fault; I can’t stay interesting forever. It’s alright if you have to leave. I’ll always be here for you, for whatever you need. You’re my whole life. I’d die for you, Sherlock. Hell, I’ve already killed for you. I would do anything if you asked... because I love you. Yeah, there it is. I, John Watson, am madly and stupidly in love with Sherlock Holmes. One day I’ll tell you. I’ll say it out loud. Maybe while we watch telly. Or maybe at a crime scene... Could you imagine their faces? You must know though, I think. I hope you do. Can you deduce that? How much I love you? God, I should tell you now; wake you up and kiss you and just say it. I won’t though. It’s hard enough getting you to sleep... I think you know, though. You must know it. I think you feel it, too. Do you love me Sherlock Holmes? The way I love you? God I hope so...
Not knowing how to continue John went back to drawing swirls in the detective’s skin as he let himself fall into sleep, unaware that Sherlock’s gentle snoring had stopped long ago.
As the morning light filled 221B, John busied himself with tea and waited for his flatmate turned lover to wake. It didn’t take long, and just as John’s tea cooled to an acceptable drinking temperature he found himself wrapped up in six feet of sleepy detective. Clad solely in his trademark blue dressing gown, Sherlock was a sight to see; curls sprung in every direction, love bites peppered his collarbone, eyes red and watering from sleep, a contrast to John’s showered and neat appearance. After a slow and tender kiss good morning, John turned to prepare a cup for Sherlock.
“Top drawer, and right side of the wardrobe.” Sherlock muttered as he plastered his front to John’s back.
John leaned into the Sherlock’s body, welcoming his touch. “Not all of us are mind readers Sherlock.”
“Nor am I. Your clothes, put them in the top drawer and you can have the right side of the wardrobe. I won’t have you sleeping upstairs anymore.”
“Oh, you want me to move into your room?” John asked with a smirk.
“Obviously, why wouldn’t I? Though I am inexperienced in this...area, I am well aware that it is generally common for couples to share a bedroom.”
“We’re a couple now, are we?” John teased as he stirred generous amounts of sugar into Sherlock’s tea.
Sherlock nuzzled into John’s neck, placing kisses everywhere he could reach.“Mm, do you object?” He mumbled into John’s skin.
“God, no.”
Long fingers trailed down John’s sides, teasing at the hem of his jumper until they found his stomach. Soft touches and even softer kisses covered his body. Sherlock’s long pale fingers soon changed their course, turning light swirls into letters. The detective’s reply to John’s late night confession seemed to burn into his skin.
Yes, I know. I did not deduce, I felt it. I share the sentiment.