Work Text:
John shivered as he got out of the cab. Paying the cabbie, he entered his flat. He was exhausted from work, and took the stairs slowly and sluggishly.
He had stopped on the landing his mobile rang. Taking it out, he read the text:
Come to my bedroom.
SH
With a sudden burst of energy, John took the rest of the stairs two at a time, rushing through the sitting room and kitchen, and opening the door to Sherlock's bedroom. John gasped at the sight in front of him.
Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on the unmade bed, naked.
The thing that really surprised John, though, was the fact that Sherlock was bald.
"Oh, God..." John walked up to him, resting his hands on Sherlock's head.
"I was going to let the red just grow out," Sherlock explained, "but it looked awkward."
"And this is better?"
Sherlock smiled. "Yes."
John laughed. He gently stroked the smooth, pale, cool skin of Sherlock's head.
"So... are you home for good?"
Sherlock smiled up at John. "I am. I killed the last of Moriarty's underlings four days ago."
"Wonderful."
Tilting Sherlock's head up, John gave him a slow, deep kiss. Sherlock grabbed the front of John's shirt, pulling him down as he deepened the kiss. Sherlock turned them around until they were lying lengthwise on the bed, with John lying on top of him.
"You're cold," John observed as he let himself relax on top of his lover.
"Vampire, remember?"
"Yeah, but I've never felt you this cold. When did you last feed?"
Sherlock smiled. "Four days ago."
John laughed. "I see."
"You're not going to get on my case about not eating?"
"Well... you can’t really starve, can you?"
"No."
John kissed Sherlock, using his tongue to study Sherlock's fangs. When they broke apart, John rolled on to his side. The burst of adrenaline had worn off, and his body slumped.
"You're tired..." Sherlock closed his eyes. "Oh, I'm an idiot! There's been bad weather the last few days; I'm sure the surgery has been full of annoying people who've injured themselves falling on wet pavement or are worried that every little sniffle will become pneumonia."
Sherlock shook his head.
"I should have waited for better weather..."
"No!" Pulling Sherlock to him, John gave him a kiss. "I'd rather have you here while I'm dead tired than... not."
Sherlock laughed. John smiled. Then he scooted down, resting his forehead against Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock ran his fingers though John's hair, then slid his hand down on to his back.
"Sleep, John, we can talk more later."
"Hmmm," said John. "Sherlock?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're home."
Sherlock smiled. "Me, too, John."