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As they panted, John pulled out of Sherlock and lay next to him, moving to cover them both with the quilt after using a nearby flanel to clean up. Sherlock still had his eyes closed, his head was resting on the Union Jack pillow they had pulled from John's armchair.
'You okay?' John asked in a whisper, half-sitting against the seat of his armchair. Sherlock moved upwards and tucked his head on John's right shoulder, an arm around his waist. He planted small kissed on John's skin, which made him shudder.
'Better than that, actually,' Sherlock replied, also almost whispering, and John smiled fondly at the beautiful man he was hugging.
It really had been wonderful. They hadn't had sex in the sitting room since a few months into the relationship, so it had been like re-discovering this part of themselves. But not only that. To John, being surrounded by the warmth coming from the gentle flames in the fireplace and Sherlock was absolute heaven. He felt happiness bubbling up in his chest, but his post-coital haze impeded him from doing anything other than sit there, running a hand through Sherlock's curls and marvelling at his day.
*
They had just finished a case that morning, which was good because it was Christmas Eve and John did not wish to spend the actual day running after criminals in London. No, he wanted peace and quiet, so after they wrapped things up at the Met, he and Sherlock made their way to Angelo's and John forced Sherlock to have a proper meal - which included the dessert, not that Sherlock ever complained about eating dessert, the closeted sweettooth that he was. They also had a bottle of wine, because why the hell not. After dinner, they walked slowly and happily to Baker Street, Sherlock even allowing the romantic gesture of hand-holding, at which he normally would sneer. Getting back home was just like always. Mrs Hudson had left them some food for the next day - she left for her sister's this year, instead of spending her Christmas at Mrs Turner's as usual - and John went about making some tea for the two of them. Sherlock went to take a shower - or perhaps a bath, since John didn't see him for an hour.
It was just after six when Sherlock approached John, who at the time had been quite focused on an article about MS.
Sherlock perched himself on the arm of the chair and ran a hand through John's neck. John looked up and smiled at him.
'Hey,' he said. Sherlock gave him a small smile in return, and began massaging John's neck. The whole flat smelled of warmth and Christmas, what with the candy canes and cinnamon that Sherlock had been using for an experiment - John had even called him Jack Skellington, but Sherlock never got the joke - and the fireplace spreading that home-y type of heat that one never did get from radiators. 'That's good..' John half-moaned, getting a chuckle from Sherlock, who pushed harder into his skin with his incredible fingers. Then he ran his hand through John's shoulders from under his shirt. John moaned again, a bit louder this time. Sherlck moved to kneel between John's legs and leaned in for a kiss.
It was a soft, sweet kiss. Sherlock had his hands holding John's head, and John had his on Sherlock's upper arms, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs. After a while, the kiss got naturally more heated, and clothes began to come off. First went the shirts, and John joined Sherlock on the floor, lying on top of him - that's when the Union Jack pillow made a Special Appearence - and softly caressing his skin.
That night they didn't have sex - they made love. It had been luxuriously slow, maddeningly teasing at times, and eventually incredibly satisfying. They ended up panting together, and arriving at climax at the same time, which had been more than amazing.
John placed a kiss atop Sherlock's head, rubbing his partner's arm fondly. He could feel the sleepiness arriving, even though it was still much earlier than he usually preferred to sleep.
'I love you,' he said, kissing Sherlock's hair again. Sherlock squeezed him tigther and pressed his nose futher into John's neck.
'I love you, too, John,' Sherlock told him. John smiled because Sherlock rarely ever said the words - John new he felt them everyday, though, and that was enough for him - and hearing them never failed to make his chest warmer.
He was about to stand up to make them some tea, but Sherlock stopped him,
'Don't leave,' he whispered.
'Don't you want tea or something?' John asked, settling back where he was. Sherlock sat up and stared John in the eyes. That stare was normally unsettling for most people, but John had grown to love it, because he loved every inch of Sherlock. 'So?'
'I...' Sherlock trailed off, and John nudged him lightly. 'Fine... I missed you, okay. We've been on cases for two weeks straight and now I only want to curl up against you here where it's warm and nice and it smells of you.'
John's eyes widened and he smiled. 'You big lump,' he said, pulling Sherlock back to his place against John's chest. 'I've missed you, too... You never come to bed when you're working...'
Sherlock squeezed him oncer more, and sighed. 'Good-night, John,' he said. John chuckled.
'Good-night, Sherlock.'