Work Text:
Sleep: a treasure of each day.
Sherlock and John were in bed, sleeping peacefully alongside one another; Sherlock on the left side, John on the right. Sherlock's position was on his back, his curly brown hair a tangled mess among his pillow. John was lying on his side, head just resting on Sherlock's shoulder, one arm hooked under his head, the other lightly laying on Sherlock's chest.
Both men were at peace, silent, still. It wasn't often during the daytime that they experienced this closeness. Vulnerability, almost.
It was a beautiful scene; the way Sherlock's slow breathing made John's head gently bob up and down with every breath. The way John was lightly smiling in his sleep, clearly having a good dream. The way the white duvet folded perfectly over the two. The way the two bodies were just close enough to touch, sharing body heat under the covers in the November chill of the early morning.
The light from the moon shone in through the partially open venetian blind, illuminating the end of the bed in a silver glow.
All that could be heard was the gentle breathing of the two men, softly, slowly, rhythmically.
Suddenly, John stirred from his slumber.
He opened his eyes groggily, sitting up slightly.
"What's the time?" he muttered drunkly to himself, glancing at the clock on the bedside table, before nodding at it in a polite fashion. His eyes wandered to the sleeping Sherlock, his Sherlock. He smiled sweetly before kissing the other man lightly on the forehead and whispering "I love you, sleeping beauty."
John nestled himself back in his original position, comforted by Sherlock's body heat, and the sound of his breath. It wasn't long before he found himself back in the land of nod once more.
Both men were exposed; this time of day found them both at their weakest. Because they were not only sub-conscious, but they were resting so carelessly and happily, each sleeping body lying next to the man whom he loved.