here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo, john whisper-sings into sherlock’s curls, smiling when he groans in protest and snuggles closer into john’s chest. here comes the sun, and i say, it’s all right.
too early, sherlock mumbles. he rubs his face against john’s t-shirt, pouting.
little darling, john sings, ignoring sherlock’s protests by gathering him closer into his arms, nosing around his ear so he has to listen. it’s been a long cold lonely winter.
it’s may, sherlock groans. he’s undeniably awake now, shifting and wiggling in the sheets, looking for cool pockets with his feet. one of his hands slips over john’s waist and up under his shirt. did you just call me little?
little darling, john confirms. it feels like years since its been here.
sherlock grouches and grimaces and groans again, but as john brushes his song over sherlock’s ear, over his jaw, over his cheekbones, sherlock’s head slowly rises to meet him, like he can’t actually stop himself even though he’s trying to be as stubborn as possible about it. here comes the sun, john sings, and sherlock’s eyes scrunch and blink and open. here comes the sun, and john’s smile is almost too broad for him to keep going, and i say, it’s all right.
john, sherlock says, shooting him a sleepy glare that falls short of exasperated and lands somewhere closer to helplessly fond, and when john starts again, here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo, sherlock reaches up and cuts off the chorus with a kiss.
morning, sleepyhead, john says, minutes later, when the kisses have grown lazy and warm and soft in the dove-grey light. sherlock hums, brushes another kiss to john’s chin.
here comes the sun, sherlock sings, just to see john smile and feel the giggle starting in his chest, and i say, it’s all right.
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