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God, it was freezing. John shivered again and huddled down on the couch, wrapped in as many layers as possible and hunched as close to the fire, the roaring fire, as he could get without burning his skin or accidentally setting himself on fire. For the millionth time that evening he frowned a muttered and cursed under his breath that he and Sherlock had (once again), forgotten to pay the heating bills. And now Sherlock was gone, off on some errand that would be warm enough that his coat wasn’t required, and John was stuck in the freezing flat, wearing the only socks he had left that Sherlock hadn’t burned or torn or stolen for some nefarious experiment.
He sniffled and wrapped his fingers around the mug of tea that he had brewed shortly after Sherlock left, desperately hoping that he would somehow be able to absorb some of its wonderful, delightful warmth. But no – for unknown reasons whatever Gods there were had cursed him, and though he could feel his skin growing hot he still felt so goddamn cold. John frowned some more, the ruddy tones of the firelight turning his normally dull blond hair a myriad different shades, ranging from a soft gold to a rich, burning red, shifting and disappearing and changing with each flicker of the flames.
He hated this kind of weather. More than just hated: he loathed it. Loathed the way the pretty falling snowflakes clung to every available surface, obscured his vision, and were eventually pummelled into an icy layer – the cause of many a sprain or bruise that he would have to treat at the clinic. He loathed that bitter, icy wind, which would stab knives of frozen hair into any exposed skin and worm its way through shirt and jumpers and coats.
Coats…
John turned, looking over at the corner near the door that held the coatrack. He was already wearing his own coat, beneath the blanket that normally resided at the end of his bed and the duvet that he had dragged through to the living room. Sherlock, however, had left his coat behind, and as a result it was still sitting there, the dark grey of the material highlighted with gold firelight and near-black, harsh-edged shadows. John could only guess at how warm the coat was – he had seen Sherlock wearing it in the worst of the winter weather, knowing full well that beneath it he wore only a thin shirt and his typical jacket. Of course, Sherlock being Sherlock it was quite likely that he would be able to withstand that sort of weather anyway, but nevertheless…
He sat there for a while, conflicted, finishing the last few drops of his (now lukewarm) tea as the fire crackled and roared beside him. He could do it, he guessed. It was unlikely that Sherlock was going to return any time soon, so all he would have to do is replace his coat back on the hook once he was warm. Simple!
John smiled and nodded to himself decisively, placing his mug down on the floor next to the couch before wrapping that blankets around him tighter still, leaning forwards and, eventually, staggering off the sofa, his head peeping out from the cocoon that he had created. As quickly as possible he shuffled over to the coatrack, reaching out with one hand to grab Sherlock’s coat before hurrying back to the soft couch, hoping to return before his body heat had been leeched from the cushions by the chill air. He sat back down, curling his legs and freezing toes beneath him as he draped the coat over his lap. Now he just had to get the damn thing on – it wouldn’t be nearly as good as a blanket.
Eventually, he came up with a plan (of sorts). He adjusted the blankets as best he could, loosening the cocoon and creating a small hollow within it, containing just enough room to move around in, his breath frosting white in the air the whole time. Once he achieved that he tugged the coat into the little cave, squirming and shuffling around until, finally, he had got it on. Another smile crossed his face as he huddled into the too-large coat, the ends of the sleeves falling over his hands and the collar turned up to cup his cheeks. The coat smelled of Sherlock too. That was nice.
He gave a small, content sigh, wrapping himself up in the blankets once again. As he had imagined, the coat was delightfully warm, and he permitted himself a small, quiet, self-congratulatory remark.
“Good thinking there Watson – now you won’t freeze.”
“Logically speaking, you wouldn’t freeze anyway.”
John jerked as he heard the second speaker, slowly turning his head to look over at the doorway. In the midst of his shuffling and rustling of the blankets he hadn’t noticed the footsteps on the stairs, nor the creak of the door as it swung open. And now his flatmate was there, leaning casually against the doorframe, while John stared at him with wide eyes and Sherlock’s coat wrapped incriminatingly around his shoulders.
“You’d have to be dead in order to freeze entirely,” Sherlock continued, apparently not noticing the way that his coat was missing from the coatrack (but of course, John knew him better than that). “Of course, your extremities might freeze due to poor circulation caused by extremely low temperatures, but your heart would have to give out entirely for you to freeze all over.” A slight smile crossed Sherlock’s face, as he removed his hands from his trouser pockets and slowly strode forwards, stopping a few paces from John as the fire cast sharp shadows across his cheekbones.
“…What are you doing back?” John said eventually, still locked in place as he looked up at the taller man. Sherlock shrugged in response, pulling out a USB stick and flipping it in the air once before tossing it onto a pile of documents on the table.
“I got what I needed,” he replied, turning his eyes (a myriad of colours, blues and teals and turquoise and green) back to John, “They were strangely co-operative once I pointed out all the flaws in their so-called security system.” He chuckled, a deep, rolling sound that somehow warmed John more than his tea had. “And, now I see you’ve stolen my coat.”
“…Sherlock, it’s freezing,” John replied apologetically, hoping to infuse his words with regret for his actions and unspoken promises never to do it again, “And we don’t have any heating and the fire wasn’t helping so I may have pinched it for a little bit in an attempt to warm up!”
“Hmm.” Sherlock hummed quietly, half-turning to sit down next to John, long hands reaching out to slowly pull away the blankets as he toed out of his shoes to reveal a pair of dark red socks. John frowned, tugging that blankets back and hugging the tighter to his body.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Sherlock looked up at him in surprise, clearly not understanding John’s motives. “Well it’ll be warmer for us both if we share body heat,” he replied, returning to his slow and methodical actions, “You’re not the only one that’s cold.”
John stared at Sherlock in disbelief for a moment before glancing down at his arms – sure enough, the pale skin was raised into goosebumps, and John sighed as he let Sherlock go about his business, shivering as he pulled away the duvet and tugged his coat off John, gesturing to John’s own coat shortly after. “You might want to take that off too – the fewer layers there are between us the quicker we’ll warm up.”
John sighed and nodded – he was a doctor, he knew the truth to this statement – and he quickly squirmed out of his own coat, throwing it on top of Sherlock’s at the other end of the sofa. Once he had, Sherlock swiftly shuffled closer, cautiously reaching out to wrap one arm around John’s shoulders in a careful, light embrace. John froze for a moment but then relaxed, leaning into the offered hug. Sherlock was right (when wasn’t he?) – John already felt warmer, his heart thrumming beneath his ribcage. Glancing up, he spotted the hints of a smile on Sherlock’s face as he pulled John closer, wrapping the blankets around them before slowly moving his other arm down to John’s waist.
A small chuckle escaped John as he realised why Sherlock was being so slow to, well, hug him – genius though he was Sherlock was somewhat inexperienced at dealing with people, so it was with a light laugh that John took matters into his own hands, wrapping both of said hands around Sherlock’s thin back, curling up close to his (wonderfully) warm body.
Now it was Sherlock’s turn to jolt, and he did just that, before quickly finishing his own action of encircling John’s waist with his left arm, shuffling closer to him and resting his chin on John’s head, humming contentedly. It was surprisingly comfy, close and warm and soft in all the right places, the solidness of John’s body pressed close to his own creating a lovely flush of heat throughout his entire body.
Unknown to Sherlock John felt almost exactly the same way, revelling in the sensation of warmth that flowed through him from his head to his toes, pooling hot and wondrous around his heart, his core. Sherlock hummed again, the sound sinking into John’s bones and skull from where his head was laid over Sherlock’s heart.
“…Sherlock?” he asked eventually, looking up as he spoke. Sherlock glanced down, a curious frown pulling at his eyebrows as he gave another hum, this time a questioning one. John, in return, gestured to the two of them, to the cocoon of blankets, before speaking again. “Think we could…y’know… do this again sometime?”
Sherlock smiled, tightening his grip on John as he nodded and leaned forwards to press his face to John’s hair.