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They had only begun dating recently.
As with most new couples, they were all over each other at home; but, since Sherlock hadn't had a relationship before, there wasn't much PDA except for the occasional hand-holding at crime scenes or during walks.
John, being the more experienced half of the pair, held on to Sherlock whenever he could. He even made sure to keep his touches light and gentle, so as not to frighten him (if frightening Sherlock Holmes without putting John in danger was possible).
In public, mostly due to Sherlock's request, they didn't touch as much. Not that he was against the idea. More so because he wasn't used to someone wanting to touch him in public. Or in general.
At home, though, John found that Sherlock was physical with his affection.
Very physical.
Whenever John got home from work, he'd receive a hug. Whenever he happened to cook something, Sherlock would pop out of nowhere and embrace him from behind. Whenever they sat on the couch watching telly together, Sherlock would either hold John's hand or lean his head against his shoulder.
In short, John loved it all.
However, whenever they went to bed — they usually shared John's room, as Sherlock's smelled of foul chemicals almost 24/7 — Sherlock would suddenly change his tune and sleep with as little physical contact as he could manage.
John didn't say anything of it at first. If there's one thing he knew like the back of his hand, it'd be to never judge Sherlock. His tendencies have always leaned towards the unusual, what's so special about his refrain from touching John during sleeping hours?
Of course, it might happen by accident occasionally. In such a fashion neither of them really notice unless they wake in the middle of the night. A limp hand on someone's stomach, an unceremonious leg lock; nothing of interest if it's not intentional.
Even then, whenever John wakes up, Sherlock is either back on his side of the bed or gone entirely.
John didn't even want to feel bad. He didn't. But he also couldn't control what he felt.
Obviously, this was an odd exception to Sherlock's "touch-at-all-times" rule. John would, naturally, acknowledge that and make sure he doesn't make Sherlock uncomfortable.
So he did.
And even now, as he reminisces about it while boiling some water for tea, he supposes he could think of a reason or two for why this happens.
As it often leads to with two romantically involved people and a bed, John assumed Sherlock might've had a fear (or general disdain) for physical contact in bed, as that may remind one of... a different kind of intimacy.
Not that John had never considered it. Sherlock didn't even say he didn't want sex, they just haven't taken that step yet. John would wait patiently in that regard, as that's not really something you can rush.
Sherlock still seemed tense whenever the topic was brought up either way, so they had done a good job of eliminating such metaphors from their vocabulary unless a case demanded for it. Or if a few-second-long joke felt too good to pass up on the chance to make it.
John sighed once the water was done, though he couldn't tell what kind of sigh it was. He poured the water into the teacups, brought them to the sitting room, and waited.
Sherlock had left him a message a few minutes earlier that he'd be home soon, and John was surprised at how trusting he was. Sherlock had taken it upon him and came home at least a bit sooner than usual now, making his texts a tad more credible. It's amazing what a relationship can do.
Speaking of which, the door opened at that moment, and in walked Sherlock. He looked cold and brooding as ever, but his face warmed instantly the moment he saw John.
His smile was hypnotising. It's fascinating how often John thought of it and smiled himself.
"Hi, John," Sherlock said as he took his coat and scarf off. He seemed to be in a good mood — he wasn't lamenting his existence like before they got the Reigate case — and the bright look on his face was reserved for whenever cases were closed, more often than not. It was also exposed to the world whenever he was around John.
It made his heart skip a beat or two.
"Hi, Sherlock," John replied with the steadiest voice he could muster. "How was it?"
"Hm?"
"Closing the case."
Sherlock closed the door behind him once he took off his outermost layers. "Oh, just as mundane of a process as usual. Mycroft was at the Yard too this time. For some reason."
John chuckled as Sherlock strode across the room and sat next to him on the couch. "Leave all the noteworthy entrances to him. He kept telling me how melodramatic you are, but he didn't seem aware enough of..."
Sherlock took the chance and curled up on the couch, his head resting on John's shoulder and his arms wrapped around his waist. He looked up, eyes gleaming in anticipation, as if he hadn't just made John's heart grow three sizes.
John's breath hitched and his lips formed a small smile. "...Of how much higher he is on that scale."
Sherlock let out a giggle. Higher-pitched than his usual sounds. "Mycroft doesn't do well with self-awareness. Then again, I'd say neither of us do."
John's hand came up and petted Sherlock's unruly dark curls, resulting in a satisfied hum from the man on him. "You're, at the very least, aware enough to know about relationships at all. You were probably over the moon when we started dating for the sole reason that you were able to brag about it to your brother."
"I suppose there's an element of truth to what you say," Sherlock replied with an amused tone.
Then they sat peacefully, watching a Nat Geo documentary about bees and enjoying Sherlock's further explanation of their social behaviours.
Then the time for bed arrived.
Thankfully, being in a romantic relationship with Sherlock had more pros than cons, with one of the top five contenders for 'Best Trait in the Relationship' being that Sherlock would actually eat and sleep now.
Well, Sherlock ate even before their bond went from a platonic to a romantic one, but he ate more often now. In the case of sleep, he barely got any within a week.
At least now that they share a bed, John has an excuse to drag Sherlock in there with him. Both of them seem to sleep more comfortably whenever in each other's presence.
John lay down first, hands on his stomach and eyes on the ceiling as he waited for Sherlock to come back from the bathroom.
He was still trying to wrap his head around it all. How lucky he got to meet a bloke who was both clever and attractive, how much luckier he was to be able to date him, how odd it was that he reduced contact when in bed...
...That's going to keep coming up, isn't it?
John didn't have an issue. He really didn't. Mostly, his confusion came from trying to understand why Sherlock had an issue (if he actually did).
He felt like asking, but he also didn't. The last thing John wanted was to make Sherlock uncomfortable and, worst-case scenario, drive him away from using the same bedroom as him entirely.
He couldn't linger on that for much longer, though, as Sherlock walked into the room, dressed in his pyjamas and the silk blue dressing gown he adored so.
(Yes, they changed separately, and John couldn't find it in himself to mind that.)
Sherlock lay right next to John, stretching like a cat. "You already seem comfortable."
"Well, that's the point of a bed," John replied with a giggle.
God, this man made him so giddy.
It's like one of those relationships he'd have as a teenager, where he'd sneak out of the house to find his girlfriend in the dead of the night and that was the ultimate romantic gesture of the day.
Except so much better.
John pulled the covers over both of them, and pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips. He turned to the side, already accustomed to Sherlock's tendency to face the opposite way, and smiled to himself. "Good night, Sherlock."
Sherlock responded as swiftly as he usually did, now sounding... defeated? "Good night, John."
The bedsheets rustled with their movements, but it halted once they got comfortable, backs facing each other.
John's subconscious was haunted by his thoughts before his dreams could beat them to it. Had he misconstrued? He hardly turned his back that quickly. Unless he was that exhausted. But there was no case since yesterday and, surely, Sherlock knew better than to believe that if John were to use it as an excuse.
Shortly after that, John drifted off himself. He supposed he'd wait until the morning to see what was going on, as Sherlock was already asleep. So much for never needing rest, right?
John woke a while later. Not sure how much later. He looked at the alarm to his left; 1:04 AM, it read. He sighed and turned the other way, his chest now facing Sherlock's back.
It didn't take long for him to go back to sleep.
John woke up again. No nightmares so far, mercifully. Then again, he didn't have any dreams of the benevolent kind either. He turned around to look at the alarm clock, glaring as sourly as he did earlier. 1:58 AM.
Great. He didn't even last a full hour that time.
He stared at the back of Sherlock's head absently, getting lost in following the curls to their roots. He really enjoyed Sherlock's hair, probably more than Sherlock himself did.
He enjoyed a lot of things on and about Sherlock, if he were to be honest. His voice was one of his favourites. His eyes were gorgeous, and he really liked how they somehow looked brighter in dark spaces. His lips, too, were very—
"John?" Sherlock whispered, and John would've probably missed it had it been any quieter.
"Yeah?" John whispered back, yet never received any reply. He raised an eyebrow for a second, deep in thought, but quickly surmised that Sherlock was likely dreaming.
John shrugged himself, and closed his eyes. Sleep was sure to come back soon enough.
Then his eyes snapped open.
Sherlock's having a dream.
John had to suspend his disbelief for a second. Sherlock wasn't just dreaming, he was dreaming about him. Surely, Sherlock didn't know any other Johns; his name is the most common one in the book, but even someone like Sherlock Holmes wouldn't know many people named that.
John's eyes closed again, tighter this time.
If sleep wouldn't take him, John would take it instead.
And choke the hell out of it.
2:49 AM.
The torture never ended.
John kept waking up out of nowhere. He doesn't even have an excuse anymore, he hasn't had a single dream that could've scared him awake so far.
He woke up still facing Sherlock.
But now, Sherlock had turned around in his sleep too, and they were face-to-face.
John vacantly raised his hand and stroked Sherlock's cheek with his thumb, not quite awake to be aware of his actions.
The moment Sherlock stirred, though, John's hand flew off as if on fire. Perhaps too swiftly for a man who just returned from the world of (non-existent) dreams.
Sherlock blinked his way back to consciousness. "John?" he whispered, voice as soft and sleep-ridden as it was earlier.
John's heart melted, even at half brain speed. "Hi. Did I wake you?"
"Not really," he replied, though the way he averted his gaze proved otherwise.
They remained quiet for a while, not quite asleep but also not quite awake. John broke the silence. "Any nocturnal awakenings at all?"
Sherlock blinked. "No. I haven't had many dreams so far, at least none that I can remember, but you were in one of them at one point."
"I heard you," John said. "You whispered my name in your sleep."
Sherlock actually blushed, surprised at what he heard. "Did I?"
John nodded and smiled. "You did."
More silence for a minute or two.
"Well, you're luckier than me," John replied with a smug grin. "I've been waking up every hour or so since we lay down. Not a single dream the entire time."
Sherlock pouted in sympathy, an odd look to catch on his face. They stared at each other for what seemed like forever, even inching a bit closer at one point.
Then Sherlock's eyes closed slowly, sleep taking over him much faster than John could ever dream could happen to him.
John smiled fleetingly, placing a feather-light kiss on the tip of Sherlock's nose before drifting off himself.
He didn't wake up until the morning.
It happened over dinner.
They had gone to Angelo's again, not unlike their first date — though neither of them were sure it counted as such — when it randomly came up. John couldn't control it.
"Why do you keep your distance in bed?"
Sherlock's hand, which held the fork he used to move his food around the plate, froze in place. He showed no physical signs of life except for his rampant blinking before he replied. "Sorry?"
John backtracked the best he could. "I mean, we share a bed, but you usually face away from me when we actually lie down. I'm not shaming you or anything," he made sure to clarify that, "I'm just curious."
"Am I supposed to do something different?" Sherlock asked, looking genuinely lost.
John took a quick bite of his food and swallowed it down a few seconds later. "Well, most couples..."
Sherlock looked even more confused now. "Why would we do what most couples do, John? We've established, very thoroughly, that we are the opposite of 'most couples'. We don't have to do what's considered common to have a good relationship—"
"I meant they cuddle," John finished hesitantly. "They embrace each other. Kind of like what we do on the couch from time to time."
John blinked once or twice, then shifted his attention away to avoid Sherlock's disappointed gaze, only to look back at him and see a flustered expression on his face.
Sherlock's voice didn't feel like his own. "And... you want to..."
"If you'd like it too, yes," John said, already more confident than before.
Sherlock sighed. "John, the entire reason I haven't been doing that is because I thought you didn't want it."
John almost laughed, but Sherlock's face contorted with a stoic frown and he realised he was being serious. "Really?"
"Yes, really," he replied, his tone settling down instead of getting more worked up. "Your entire point about not having to conform to social norms in our relationship made me falsely assume you didn't want any physical contact in bed."
For some reason, John did and didn't believe that. He'd known he was Sherlock's first relationship, and Sherlock wasn't exactly a fount of confidence when it came to anything other than his intellect...
Sherlock continued despite probably noticing John's skepticism. "You've seen me in other situations, I'm very..."
"Clingy," John supplied generously as he took another bite of his food, choosing not to mention his suspicions.
"I am not clingy," Sherlock retaliated instantaneously, almost looking offended at the word.
Until both of them stared at each other and descended into a fit of giggles.
"We'll try it tonight, then," John spoke. "If you're up for it, of course."
Sherlock smiled sheepishly and nodded. "That'd be... nice."
If John knew it'd be that easy, he would've done this ages ago.
That night, John could very well say he went to heaven.
He lay down a bit earlier than Sherlock, as he did every night, and stared at the ceiling impatiently. It looked like a different colour every night. He wanted to ask Sherlock about it, mostly for the sake of having a conversation (contrary to popular belief, John indulged in the sound of Sherlock's voice more than Sherlock himself did), even if he knew it'd end with Sherlock falling asleep mid-sentence.
The door opened a few minutes later, and Sherlock walked in as casually as he could. Looking at him as he tried to feign nonchalance was actually quite adorable. With an element of comedy to it.
Sherlock tentatively lay right next to John, and he pulled the covers over them as they did every time.
"I'd thought you were completely touch-averse if we hadn't talked about this," John admitted a few minutes of silence later.
"Don't be daft. I spend all day touching you. If we're in the flat."
John giggled. "Well, yes, but sleeping in the same bed is a different level of intimacy, I'd say. You could just be faking your touchiness in other situations."
Before Sherlock could look upset, John corrected himself. "As in, you could. I'm not saying you are in the slightest."
Sherlock pouted. "I'm not. You better not assume that again."
"Wouldn't dream of it," John replied, and he turned on his left to sleep properly. To his delight, instead of turning away, Sherlock faced the same direction and brought up a shy hand to hold onto John's waist protectively.
Sherlock tucked his head into the spot where John's neck and shoulders met, his nose rubbing against the fabric of his pyjama top. John could feel Sherlock's tensity even when faced away from him.
There they lay, chest-to-back, and John could feel Sherlock's heartbeat on him.
Was this a mistake? Because he sure as hell didn't regret it.
"Sherlock?" John called.
Sherlock hummed in response, already drowsy.
"You sure you're okay with this? You're very..."
Sherlock raised his head from its comfortable position and brought his lips on John's ear, sending an unexpected shiver down John's spine. "I've never done this before. I might be gripping you a bit... too tightly..."
John turned around, facing Sherlock normally. "Sherlock, it's fine. We don't have to do this if you don't feel like it."
Sherlock bit back an annoyed groan. "John, I've wanted to do this since I realised I was in love with you. Now please turn back around, I want to cuddle you."
John let out a huff of laughter and brought Sherlock's face to his chest. "We can spoon too, if you'd like."
Sherlock's face became even redder. "What?"
"You can lean on me and hold me like we're doing right now," John explained. His hands were on Sherlock's waist, while Sherlock's had moved to grip John's back. His head rested on John's chest more comfortably than it did on his shoulder, and he sighed softly at the warmth.
John couldn't resist and brought one of his hands to card through Sherlock's hair. "Luxurious, isn't it?"
"Better than," Sherlock replied contentedly. John giggled again, and Sherlock joined him.
Their slumber was never interrupted aimlessly again.