Chapter Text
Sherlock had a black eye.
It wasn’t exactly all Johns fault.
Yes John had punched him as he chased him around the sofa. But he wasn’t aiming for his face.
His face just happened to be there.
Now they were sitting in the kitchen holding an ice pack to his face.
“I’m sorry Sherlock,” John was trying to keep a straight face. “I didn’t mean to hit that hard.”
Sherlock looked at John with his good eye.
“But you meant to hit me.” He rolled over preparing for a mother of all sulks.
John rolled his eyes. He got up and dragged Sherlock over to the couch, laying him down and then cuddling up next to him.
He pressed his face into Sherlocks smooth chest.
“I’m sorry you know. But now we are even.”
“How is this even?!” Sherlock looked down incredulously.
John sat up slightly.
“You put spiders in a salsa and then you put THEIR eggs in the sugar!”
“Fine, I suppose I should have told you.” Sherlock huffed.
That was the best apology John knew he was going to get so he lay back down and fell asleep listening to Sherlock heartbeat.
Sherlock lay still. He had slept yesterday morning for a few hours and didn’t need to sleep yet. But as he counted John breaths, he found himself drifting off. He reached down and gently kissed Johns head before lying back down to sleep.
***
They woke that morning tangled in a heap.
“Arghh I shouldn’t have slept on the couch.” John groaned and stretched out.
Sherlock in all his spideryness was latched onto him, his hair tickling Johns nose.
“Sher geroff mee,” John groaned.
But Sherlock was fast asleep. John smiled as he looked at him. Sherlock rarely slept properly. Yes an hour or so during long cases but only once the thrill of the chase and the adrenaline high had worn of did he sleep the whole night. Then it was back to pacing the flat, playing the violin at god knows what hour and being ‘to bored’ to sleep.
He ran his hands softly through the beautiful soft dark curls. How did he get so lucky?
A knock at the door bought him out of his happy drowsiness.
He then heard the door open and rolled his eyes. He knew who it was.
Mycroft Holmes came gliding in. Detective Inspector Lestrade shortly after (not gliding though).
Lestrade blushed from head to toe as he saw John with a sleeping Sherlock clinging on top of him. He went to say something, but stopped when he saw Sherlock open one eye.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sherlock yawned and didn’t bother to move from his position on John.
“We just stopped by to see how things were going.” Mycroft’s tone was smug. “Obviously very well judging by-” He waved his arm in the general direction of them.
Now it was Johns turn to blush.
He and Sherlock had only been together for just over a week. Nobody except for Mycroft and Lestrade, who were the ones who brought them together, knew they were a couple. Their relationship hadn’t gotten further than a few soft kisses by the fireplace and lying on the couch together.
John had thought that Sherlock wouldn’t like physical contact that much, but it seemed like he craved it. When John lay next to him, he would latch on.
But Sherlock never made the first move.
Lestrade nudged Mycroft in the ribs and the politician frowned.
“We are actually here to give you a case,” he grimaced.
“It’s a weird one!” Lestrade seemed a little too enthusiastic. Maybe to hide the fact he was still blushing.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“Leave the file one the table and text me any additional details that Anderson and the rest of his team have managed to dredge up. I know there will be none though because he will have contaminated most of the important evidence anyway. I’ll be there in an hour,” he said this almost lazily.
Sherlock still did not feel the slightest need to shift off John.
“An hour?” Called Mycroft smiling and raising his eyebrow as he walked out, Lestrade followed awkwardly waving at the couple.
John looked down at Sherlock.
“An hour?” He raised his eyebrow questioningly.
Sherlock looked into Johns eyes. How could he say this? He needed John. To lie on, yes (He was very comfortable) but also to hold him. His mother had never been one to hug her children, especially over the age of four, and defiantly not his Father.
John sat up. He saw what Sherlock was trying to say. He wrapped his arms around him and lay back into the couch.
Sherlocks body melted into his arms in relief.
“Sherlock, you can always hug me or whatever, if you want or need to. You don’t have to ask.” John kissed Sherlocks forehead.
“Really?” Sherlock looked surprised.
“Of course,” John smiled. Now let’s go find a murderer.