The bedroom was bathed in honey-pink morning light and the
warmth of it washed over the bed, gilding Sherlock’s pale skin in gold and rose
and butterscotch. His mess of curls caught the light and glinted back copper
and chestnut, striking against the creamy pillowcase, and John didn’t think
he’d ever seen anything more gloriously captivating in his entire life.
He never thought he’d see anything like this. He had lost
his chance at this so many times.
But if life with Sherlock had taught him anything, it was
that the impossible happened all the time. And John was here, waking up in bed
with this impossible man whose sheer existence was a miracle three times over,
and John knew down to the marrow in his bones that this was the way it was
meant to be forever.
Under his palm, Sherlock shifted, stretching sleep-soft
muscles as he began to wake. Low in throat, he hummed a deep, quiet noise of
satisfaction. John rubbed his thumb in a small circle on his belly, reveling in
the heat and vitality of him.
“Morning,” John murmured, quirking the corner of his mouth
into a smile as Sherlock yawned himself awake.
“Morning. You’re still here.” His voice, a little rough with
sleep, sounded a bit wondering, as though he had expected to wake up and find
the previous night had been nothing but a dream. He had asked John to stay as
they lay tangled in the aftermath and John was honestly just as pleased as he
seemed to be to wake up with this undeniable evidence that he’d not imagined
everything.
John leaned forward to press a kiss to his bare shoulder.
“Yes, I’m still here,” he reassured. “I just woke up.”
The small answering smile on his lips was everything John
could have hoped for. Sherlock rolled onto his side, rolling into John’s space,
and John welcomed him in the fold of his arms. Lying nearly nose-to-nose on
John’s pillow, his expression was fond but focused as he took in everything
John knew was written on his face. After a long, contemplative moment, his eyes
slipped closed again and he leaned in and kissed John’s mouth, soft and
lingering.
They stayed that way for a long while, pressed up close to
one another, brushing quiet kisses over mouths and cheeks and
foreheads, until Sherlock fell back to sleep with his nose pressed into John’s
clavicle and John thought his heart would burst from bliss and contentment.
He had lost this so
many times and now Sherlock was heavy and warm against his chest, and this,
John thought, this was what he’d been waiting for his whole life.
John on his way out the door and he quick kisses Sherlock’s temple as he leans over the microscope
Sherlock fly-by kissing John’s cheek as he cuts up vegetables for dinner
John kissing Sherlock’s wrist when he pauses playing violin for a moment because John is saying goodnight to him
Sherlock throwing an arm out and catching John around the waist as he tries to walk by Sherlock on the way to the bathroom without disturbing his very sensitive experiment and kissing his tum or chest or whatever part is nearest
John kissing Sherlock’s nose on his way out of the bathroom in the morning when Sherlock is just on his way in because John’s brushed his teeth and Sherlock hasn’t
Sherlock kissing John’s forehead when he falls asleep in the chair
and then at the end of the day just coming together and passing these long, lingering kisses between them and sometimes they deepen and sometimes they don’t but either way they breathe each other in and feel each other’s heart beats and that’s how they can do these passing-by-kisses, because they know they’re going to get the chance later to do it right and what a luxury that is
