sherlock walked up the steps to 221B. a saturday afternoon. it had been a long two nights away from baker street working on an admittedly splendid case, but his legs ached and he just wanted to see john. his john.
the door creaked when it opened and he hung his coat as he surveyed the flat. there was dust in the air where the curtains parted. everything looked as it had when he’d left; the stack of newspapers and magazines by the door, john’s laptop on the table wedged between books and stray papers, a dent in john’s armchair from when he’d last got up. there was an empty tea mug on the table by john’s chair but there was no john.
sherlock toed off his shoes and left his socks in a small pile on top of them. he walked through the kitchen and poked his head through the doorways. where was john? he stepped quietly up the stairs to see if he was in his bedroom, but the room was deserted. he breathed into the bedsheets and couldn’t help a small smile at the smell of john. but john was nowhere.
a bit let down, sherlock made his way back down the stairs and yawned as he slumped toward his own room. he scratched the back of his neck as he walked through the door and opened the first drawer of his dresser to get a clean tshirt. back facing the bed, he unbuttoned his pale blue shirt and left it on the floor as he pulled the new one over his head. he undid his belt and rummaged through another drawer to find his pajama pants, leaving his posh trousers with the shirt on the floor.
it was only then that he looked at his bed and a tiny smile wormed its way onto his face. there was a sleeping john curled into the duvet.
his steps light, sherlock walked to the other side of the bed, slowly so as not to wake john. he carefully placed himself on the mattress, slipping his legs beneath the blankets, inching toward john until he was close enough to curl his fingers around johns ear and kiss the edge of his jaw down to his chin. john’s eyes opened a little and his mouth twisted into a big, sheepish smile.
“hello love,” sherlock whispered. a brush of their noses and a press of lips. brief and soft.
he kissed sherlock again, pushing into him so that he was pressed against him, his chest crossing sherlock’s diagonally as they shared lazy kisses. john pulled back just slight, and sherlock was breathing on his lips.
“I missed you,” he said simply, and kissed him again.
“I was only gone for two days,” sherlock mumbled, though he’d felt the aching distance too.
“exactly,” john said, and sherlock melted.
his hands found the small of john’s back and pulled him closer, moving his lips with sleepy desperation. he sighed into john’s open mouth.
“oh, john,” he hummed. kissing his jaw. “my john.” kissing his ears. his cheeks. the corner of his mouth. “I love you.” his lips.
john pulled back. “what?”
“oh,” sherlock said, and realized what he’d said. he hadn’t really been thinking.
but john was smiling a tiny smile and kissed the tip of his nose. “I love you too.” kissed his mouth quietly. “don’t make me spend another night without you. I don’t like sleeping alone.”
sherlock’s hands pressed deeper into john’s back, slotting his fingers between his vertebrae as they kissed and kissed and loved.
john’s bedroom stayed empty.
