"It's alright." Sherlock replied quietly, glancing curiously at John's arm around him because it was such a strange yet oddly appealing thing to have happened. He didn't question it, just relaxed against him again and, for once, enjoyed human contact. He just smiled at John's assurance that he'd made a mistake, not remarking on it, but appreciating it all the same.
"Yes, it does." he replied, tugging his knees to his chest the better to curl up under John's arm. He nodded in agreement at John's words, having already seen how his idea had helped their sleeping habits even after just two nights of sleeping in such proximity.
"I have high hopes for this experiment. It seems it's already yielded favorable results." On top of sleeping better, they each seemed in better spirits in general this morning, when before Sherlock had been decidedly not a morning person (nor an afternoon or night person, but that was neither here nor there). "Thank you for agreeing to this." he said suddenly, softly as though hoping John wouldn't hear, though of course he would.
John most certainly did hear it, and the quiet words struck him; there was something almost vulnerable about the tone of voice, the soft gratitude, something John was not used to when it came to Sherlock. Perhaps his brilliant friend could have done with this kind of intimacy a long time ago; it just depended greatly on who would be able to give it to him without demanding too much from Sherlock in turn. John was a very unassuming man. A lot of people might think it a weakness, but John had come to find that, in his friendship with Sherlock, it was most definitely a strength.
"You're quite welcome," he murmured back, allowing the moment to stretch on for a little longer. Not too long, for risk of making Sherlock uncomfortable or unsure of how to proceed. No. Just enough that they could both sense out this moment between them, and feel it was good.
"So, my room tonight," John quickly continued, voice light and casual. "What shall we until then? We can't stay in bed all day, that's definitely going to tamper with the experiment. Wouldn't you say?" If it had been up to John, a day in bed would have been very welcome... but they had responsibilities, and John was quite sure his inbox and phone was over-flooding again with emails and texts with possible cases from people and inquiries from Lestrade. That was simply how it was these days; Sherlock was a great hit with crowd and police force alike. John realized just then how long ago it had been since they'd had a full day to themselves. He couldn't even recall the last time they spent time together, properly. "On second thought," he mused thoughtfully, "Still not staying in bed all day, but perhaps we can figure out something nice to do with our time. Take a day off?"
Sherlock just nodded slightly against John's shoulder, still unwilling to pull away despite the fact that they were awake now and their proximity couldn't be attributed to the experiment. He couldn't help himself, the little slivers of human contact he'd gotten so far only getting him all the more addicted to it. It was almost enough that he could stay here all day, though John did have a point. He found himself looking quite forward to tonight, to getting to stay in John's bed and wrap himself up in his scent until he could hardly remember what anything besides John even smelled like. It was an odd thought, especially for him, but no less appealing.
"I suppose." Still, he didn't move from under his arm. He hummed contemplatively, curious as to what they could get up to when it seemed the criminal classes were in somewhat of a lull. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, probably a bit more open to suggestion today than usual in thanks to the warm comfort of being curled up in bed against the warm body of his flatmate.
and then rl happened, eep! still here. <3crimebloggerMarch 13 2013, 14:43:29 UTC
"I haven't thought about it yet," John mused outloud, utterly relaxed. Despite his reluctance to get up and away from the warmth of the bed and Sherlock's body, John knew if he did not get up and do something soon, there was no way he would be able to sleep properly tonight.
"What did you like to do when you were a child?" John asked his flatmate, looking down at him with a smile, his expression open. "Not that we have to do any of those things. I'm simply curious." The thought of a small child with sharp eyes and dark curls made John's heart constrict painfully inside his chest. He could - very easily - imagine Sherlock to have been a lonely child, brilliant and utterly misunderstood. John wondered what it would have been like, being around already then. Would he and Sherlock have hit it off as well as now? Or would John have been like the other children, thinking Sherlock an outsider, a freak... He'd like to think not, but of course, there was no way of knowing for sure.
Sherlock just gave a soft hum in response, still unwilling to even entertain the idea of moving just yet. John's question gave him pause, flicking his eyes up to glance at him.
"Much the same. Experiments, reading, violin, deduction." It certainly wasn't the traditional laundry list of activities for children, but it worked for him. The other children were always playing together and chasing girls while he sat off to the side with his notes and books, just observing rather than ever participating. He couldn't help wondering if John would have made anything different if he was there, that if maybe he'd had a friend all those years that maybe he would be at least a tiny bit better at social conventions now. That line of thought was a bit too poignant for him, so he opted to deflect from his own experience a bit.
"You were into sport. Rugby, most likely." He made easy deductions about John's childhood rather than asking. "Just as interested in uninteresting females as you are now, I'm sure. You did well in school, but not so well that you stood out so you still fit in." Fitting in, he couldn't help wondering what that would be like.
John merely nodded slowly and made a quiet sound in confirmation. At this point, anything Sherlock deduced from him was hardly a surprise anymore. The man knew more about him than John knew about himself. Lifting a hand, he ran his fingers through the other's curls, feeling perfectly lazy and wonderful.
"It was just easier that way," he murmured in reply to the fitting in, before he smiled a little wryly. "I got underestimated even then. Got myself into a row or two on the playground." That he certainly did remember with perfect clarity. Being surrounded by some of the larger boys of his class, and the look of surprise on their faces when John turned out to be scrawny, and vicious and threw a mean punch. He was small for his age throughout elementary school, always had been, but after that day, people regarded him differently, and he was mostly left alone.
"I was liked by some people, but I didn't really have friends. Much less a best friend. Like you are to me."
Sherlock still couldn't quite place why he hadn't gotten up just yet, normally jumping up to do a million different things just as soon as he woke up. John was such a good pillow, though, especially when his hand stroked through his hair like that, feeling warmth gather in his very core at the sensation. How was it that John knew just how well that worked to keep him complacent? Or maybe he didn't, and maybe he was just doing it because he wanted to. Either assumption gave Sherlock a lot to ponder, though he wasn't doing too much thinking just now, being that he was so content laying against John like this.
"Everyone underestimates you, that's not a surprise." he replied, certain that many a bloke had gotten in John's face only to come away with a bloody nose to show for it. He privately liked that quite a lot, finding it so very fascinating how many aspects there were to John's personality beyond what everyone so often assumed was so ordinary.
He was somewhat caught off guard by what John said, certain that he was the type to have loads of friends as a younger man. That wasn't as surprising as what he said next, though, never imagining someone would ever in a million years consider him their best friend.
"Is this what best friends normally do together?" he asked, not certain of what the title of 'best friend' entailed by any stretch. He could get on board with that, if it meant John would continue to assist him in experiments and allow him to share his bed like this.
John had had no trouble getting people to like him when he was younger, that much was certainly true. He was kind, unassuming, patient, understanding... Best friend material. At the same time, however, he never felt the need to deeply connect with any of the people he surrounded himself with. That kind of loyalty would not be given easily. It had to mean something, and it had to be worth it. And till Sherlock, John had never come across a person who brought that out in him. For Sherlock, John wanted to be the best companion he could be.
At Sherlock's question, John smiled wryly. Placing the breakfast tray on the nightstand, he lay down on his side again, facing the other man. "That," he began, slowly, looking into Sherlock's eyes, "depends entirely on the friendship, I think. And one's perspective. I am fairly certain this, what we are doing, is unconventional. Male friends do not sleep with one another like this. However..." His smile turned a little kinder, a little warmer, as he regarded his friend. "Best friends do help one another out where they can. If they can provide something for their best friend - like in the case of me helping you with this experiment. Classic friend stuff, that. Putting aside one's own interests to help out."
Sherlock glanced up curiously when John moved, adjusting himself accordingly to lay down next to him. He normally would never have found a conversation about sentiment so engaging, but when John's eyes locked with his, he found he couldn't pull his focus from him. He nodded intermittently, John's smile making his insides do a strange flip at the sight of it. Was this how one normally felt around their best friend, like being close like this was something totally natural? He had no way to know, so he quashed the unfamiliar feeling and pressed on.
"I can certainly get on board with anything that makes you more agreeable." he replied teasingly, though that wasn't the only thing he liked about this 'best friend' arrangement. "I do appreciate your help." he added, avoiding John's gaze for a moment so he didn't think he was getting too sentimental about it. "The data is very useful."
His eyes fell to John's hands, reaching out to ghost his fingers over John's for a quick moment, remembering the way their fingers were threaded together earlier that morning and finding himself wanting to do it again. He tugged his hand back when he realized what he was doing, finally looking up to meet John's eyes again.
"Didn't you say you wanted to do something?" he asked, deflecting away from that unsettling urge for human contact to focus on something far less complicated.
The entire morning had been almost unbearably intimate, a feeling driven home even more by the fact that Sherlock was not an emotional person. At all. John knew his friend cared, sometimes, in his own way, but this... this was more than that. This was new, and John didn't really know what to do with it. Still, he would take great care not to create a repeat of the other day, where he had lost control of himself and stormed out of the flat. That would simply not do.
Regardless of all that, John sat up and moved out of the bed upon hearing Sherlock's question, tugging down his t-shirt and running a hand through his bedhair. "I did say that, didn't I?" he quipped gently, smiling down at the other man. "Let me go and get a shower, and I'll, I don't know, check out some things on the net, see if anything's up that might be of interest to us. Alright?"
The floor felt cold against John's bare feet. He missed the warm comfort of the bed and Sherlock's presence already.
Sherlock made a soft noise of protest when John had the nerve to get up, sitting up to watch him as he got up. He wrapped the blanket further around himself and tugged his knees to his chest, regarding John as he spoke with his cheek resting against his knee.
"Yes, alright." he consented, waving him off to take his boring shower as much as he wished he was still in bed with him. The urge to get up and pull him back into his arms was as strong as it was alarming, and it took considerable effort to remain in his bed.
When John left for his shower, he flopped back down on the bed, tugging a pillow to his face and breathing in the scent of that cologne he was so partial to. He sat up quickly just as soon as he realized was he was doing, shaking his head at himself and how strange his own behavior was becoming as this experiment went on. He went with his own standby of getting back to work, picking up his notes from the nightstand to scribble down the findings from last night.
He moved to the kitchen after that, putting the kettle on and making two mugs of tea, blinking in surprise when he noticed what he was doing, still unsettled by how his habits were altered since he started sleeping with John. He moved to the sitting room, placing what was to be John's mug on the coffee table as he took a seat on the sofa and sipped at his own, waiting for John to join him again.
John was taking his time in the bathroom, needing a few moments of privacy to reflect on the past two days, and certainly on the morning that had been. It had been surprisingly nice to sleep next to Sherlock this past night, and nicer still to spent the morning in bed with him, all wrapped in one another. This concerned John. It concerned him greatly. Because no, it was not something best friends did-- at least not something he did with his best, very male, friend. And this was what had bothered John the most, he thought, as he stood under the shower. It had felt like a morning shared between a couple. And that distant realization and knowledge... had not bothered him in the slightest. He had not even wondered about it. He had simply fallen into it, wrapping Sherlock in his arms, petting his hair, sharing smiles and stories and breakfast in bed, for goodness sake, like this was something they did every day. Sherlock's behaviour had thrown the good doctor as well. He had made John breakfast in bed, had said a number of things that were positively kind and caring for Sherlock's doing. John certainly had no issue with the effects the experiments were having on Sherlock... but he was starting to wonder about his own responses. He could tell he was looking forward to that evening a great deal, having Sherlock in his bed. What on earth did that even mean?
Not wanting to linger on these confusing thoughts any longer, John turned off the shower and quickly dried himself off. He emerged from the bathroom wearing his morning dressing gown, and a small towel draped around his neck, which he used to towel his hair dry as he entered the sitting room. Noting the tea mug, he smiled at Sherlock and murmured a quiet 'thank you'. Breakfast, now tea... This really was most unusual, but John decided to appreciate it, rather than question it. He could always do that later. And he might have to. Grabbing his laptop, he sat down next to Sherlock, and started it up. "Let's see what London has to offer us today," he mused out loud, waiting for his desktop to load. "Any preferences? This is our day off, you have a say."
Sherlock was trying resolutely not to think too much about the unsettling feelings (as much as he abhorred using the term in reference to himself), having been getting too caught up already when this was supposed to be just an experiment. What would he do if John got cross with him again, or if he ever decided to find another boring girlfriend again? He'd probably fall back into old habits, ignoring the need for sleep until succumbing to exhaustion, never again actually enjoying the activity as he had been. It tugged at him unexpectedly to think about waking up without John next to him, so he pushed it all down and grabbed his mobile, distracting himself by checking for any interesting news headlines.
He glanced up when John returned, giving a short nod at his offered thanks. "It was nothing." he replied, tapping away at his mobile with an impassive expression. His eyes flicked over when John sat next to him, quashing a sudden and disconcerting urge to push John's laptop out of his lap and climb on top of him himself. He shook his head to get rid of that thought, making like it was an answer to his question as he pulled his legs to his chest and leaned his back against John's arm as he played with his phone. "Nothing as far as I can see." he groused, bored out of his skull by all the commonplace headlines he was reading. "Whatever you choose, just try not to make it too painfully boring." he replied, trying to get back to some semblance of normalcy by putting on his regular attitude and ignoring any sort of emotion he may have after sleeping for two nights next to John.
John smiled patiently at Sherlock's mutters and murmurs; a bored Sherlock was an unpredictable Sherlock, but John mostly found it endearing... Mind, as long as the boredom was not aimed at him or any of his belongings. Scrolling mindlessly through various London websites, John tilted his head in thought, leaning into Sherlock as much as the other man was leaning into him. "We could... go to a museum? Art gallery? Theater? Science museum has a new exhibition..." Really, the capital offered too many things to keep track off on a daily basis, but actually finding something that would hold Sherlock's attention for longer than a minute was going to be a challenge. "We could go to the shooting range I frequent," he offered, looking sideways at the other man. "I tend to go on this day if we don't have a case on. Or, I don't know, maybe Molly has a new body in that's suitable for one of your experiments?"
There was, of course, always the option of staying in, but that would most certainly bore Sherlock to death. John would spend the day on his laptop, reading the paper of watching crap telly. Not exactly exciting, that.
Sherlock huffed a little and tossed his mobile on the coffee table, shifting a bit so his cheek was resting on John's shoulder, watching him search for something for them to do. He found himself watching John's hands more than the laptop screen, always finding it equal parts frustrating and endearing how long it took John to navigate the keyboard. It was mostly endearing right now, considering Sherlock was content just resting against him as he was, flirting with the desire to take one of his hands in his own and see if it would take him twice as long to search for an activity.
"It would depend on which museum. I'm not allowed at the science museum or the British museum as I've had...run-ins with the majority of the staff there. They don't take very well to having their facts checked." he harrumphed, certain that he should have gotten his own wing with all the times he corrected the guides and displays. "Art and theater are dull and pretentious." He did raise an eyebrow at the last two suggestions though. "Mm, now you're thinking." He rubbed his cheek slightly against John's shoulder as though congratulating him on a job well done.
"You're certain you want to exacerbate my habits of shooting up the walls and keeping body parts in the fridge?" he asked teasingly, glancing up to give him a considering look. "I do believe our sleeping together has made you soppy." he added, using the teasing as a test to see if John would admit to being affected at all by their experiment or if he should try even harder to do away with the strange feelings surfacing in him.
John smiled softly in wry fondness when Sherlock told him about the museums. Not surprising in the slightest, that, and really, John should have known that any type of center of knowledge was going to be like a toy for Sherlock to take apart bit and bit and put back together to what he deemed to be right. Even if said toy was going to insult dozens of people who had spent the bigger part of their adult lives on the research revolving around it.
"I figured you would enjoy some kind of musical performance at the theater or opera house," John said, looking sideways and ending up with his face somewhat buried in dark, unruly curls. Gods, but the man smelled good. "Or is it an insult to your expert ear, maestro?" Not waiting for an answer, John looked up the website of the shooting range to check out today's opening hours. At Sherlock's question, however, he blinked, and thought about it for a moment. Soppy? Surely not? John was, after all, an exceptionally patient man, and he had gotten used to most of Sherlock's antics...
"Nonsense," he muttered, though the memory of them sleeping together still left him feeling warm on the inside. "You're not that cute," he added teasingly, bumping their shoulders together.
"Yes, it does." he replied, tugging his knees to his chest the better to curl up under John's arm. He nodded in agreement at John's words, having already seen how his idea had helped their sleeping habits even after just two nights of sleeping in such proximity.
"I have high hopes for this experiment. It seems it's already yielded favorable results." On top of sleeping better, they each seemed in better spirits in general this morning, when before Sherlock had been decidedly not a morning person (nor an afternoon or night person, but that was neither here nor there). "Thank you for agreeing to this." he said suddenly, softly as though hoping John wouldn't hear, though of course he would.
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"You're quite welcome," he murmured back, allowing the moment to stretch on for a little longer. Not too long, for risk of making Sherlock uncomfortable or unsure of how to proceed. No. Just enough that they could both sense out this moment between them, and feel it was good.
"So, my room tonight," John quickly continued, voice light and casual. "What shall we until then? We can't stay in bed all day, that's definitely going to tamper with the experiment. Wouldn't you say?" If it had been up to John, a day in bed would have been very welcome... but they had responsibilities, and John was quite sure his inbox and phone was over-flooding again with emails and texts with possible cases from people and inquiries from Lestrade. That was simply how it was these days; Sherlock was a great hit with crowd and police force alike. John realized just then how long ago it had been since they'd had a full day to themselves. He couldn't even recall the last time they spent time together, properly. "On second thought," he mused thoughtfully, "Still not staying in bed all day, but perhaps we can figure out something nice to do with our time. Take a day off?"
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"I suppose." Still, he didn't move from under his arm. He hummed contemplatively, curious as to what they could get up to when it seemed the criminal classes were in somewhat of a lull. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, probably a bit more open to suggestion today than usual in thanks to the warm comfort of being curled up in bed against the warm body of his flatmate.
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"What did you like to do when you were a child?" John asked his flatmate, looking down at him with a smile, his expression open. "Not that we have to do any of those things. I'm simply curious." The thought of a small child with sharp eyes and dark curls made John's heart constrict painfully inside his chest. He could - very easily - imagine Sherlock to have been a lonely child, brilliant and utterly misunderstood. John wondered what it would have been like, being around already then. Would he and Sherlock have hit it off as well as now? Or would John have been like the other children, thinking Sherlock an outsider, a freak... He'd like to think not, but of course, there was no way of knowing for sure.
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"Much the same. Experiments, reading, violin, deduction." It certainly wasn't the traditional laundry list of activities for children, but it worked for him. The other children were always playing together and chasing girls while he sat off to the side with his notes and books, just observing rather than ever participating. He couldn't help wondering if John would have made anything different if he was there, that if maybe he'd had a friend all those years that maybe he would be at least a tiny bit better at social conventions now. That line of thought was a bit too poignant for him, so he opted to deflect from his own experience a bit.
"You were into sport. Rugby, most likely." He made easy deductions about John's childhood rather than asking. "Just as interested in uninteresting females as you are now, I'm sure. You did well in school, but not so well that you stood out so you still fit in." Fitting in, he couldn't help wondering what that would be like.
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"It was just easier that way," he murmured in reply to the fitting in, before he smiled a little wryly. "I got underestimated even then. Got myself into a row or two on the playground." That he certainly did remember with perfect clarity. Being surrounded by some of the larger boys of his class, and the look of surprise on their faces when John turned out to be scrawny, and vicious and threw a mean punch. He was small for his age throughout elementary school, always had been, but after that day, people regarded him differently, and he was mostly left alone.
"I was liked by some people, but I didn't really have friends. Much less a best friend. Like you are to me."
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"Everyone underestimates you, that's not a surprise." he replied, certain that many a bloke had gotten in John's face only to come away with a bloody nose to show for it. He privately liked that quite a lot, finding it so very fascinating how many aspects there were to John's personality beyond what everyone so often assumed was so ordinary.
He was somewhat caught off guard by what John said, certain that he was the type to have loads of friends as a younger man. That wasn't as surprising as what he said next, though, never imagining someone would ever in a million years consider him their best friend.
"Is this what best friends normally do together?" he asked, not certain of what the title of 'best friend' entailed by any stretch. He could get on board with that, if it meant John would continue to assist him in experiments and allow him to share his bed like this.
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At Sherlock's question, John smiled wryly. Placing the breakfast tray on the nightstand, he lay down on his side again, facing the other man. "That," he began, slowly, looking into Sherlock's eyes, "depends entirely on the friendship, I think. And one's perspective. I am fairly certain this, what we are doing, is unconventional. Male friends do not sleep with one another like this. However..." His smile turned a little kinder, a little warmer, as he regarded his friend. "Best friends do help one another out where they can. If they can provide something for their best friend - like in the case of me helping you with this experiment. Classic friend stuff, that. Putting aside one's own interests to help out."
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"I can certainly get on board with anything that makes you more agreeable." he replied teasingly, though that wasn't the only thing he liked about this 'best friend' arrangement. "I do appreciate your help." he added, avoiding John's gaze for a moment so he didn't think he was getting too sentimental about it. "The data is very useful."
His eyes fell to John's hands, reaching out to ghost his fingers over John's for a quick moment, remembering the way their fingers were threaded together earlier that morning and finding himself wanting to do it again. He tugged his hand back when he realized what he was doing, finally looking up to meet John's eyes again.
"Didn't you say you wanted to do something?" he asked, deflecting away from that unsettling urge for human contact to focus on something far less complicated.
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Regardless of all that, John sat up and moved out of the bed upon hearing Sherlock's question, tugging down his t-shirt and running a hand through his bedhair. "I did say that, didn't I?" he quipped gently, smiling down at the other man. "Let me go and get a shower, and I'll, I don't know, check out some things on the net, see if anything's up that might be of interest to us. Alright?"
The floor felt cold against John's bare feet. He missed the warm comfort of the bed and Sherlock's presence already.
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"Yes, alright." he consented, waving him off to take his boring shower as much as he wished he was still in bed with him. The urge to get up and pull him back into his arms was as strong as it was alarming, and it took considerable effort to remain in his bed.
When John left for his shower, he flopped back down on the bed, tugging a pillow to his face and breathing in the scent of that cologne he was so partial to. He sat up quickly just as soon as he realized was he was doing, shaking his head at himself and how strange his own behavior was becoming as this experiment went on. He went with his own standby of getting back to work, picking up his notes from the nightstand to scribble down the findings from last night.
He moved to the kitchen after that, putting the kettle on and making two mugs of tea, blinking in surprise when he noticed what he was doing, still unsettled by how his habits were altered since he started sleeping with John. He moved to the sitting room, placing what was to be John's mug on the coffee table as he took a seat on the sofa and sipped at his own, waiting for John to join him again.
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Not wanting to linger on these confusing thoughts any longer, John turned off the shower and quickly dried himself off. He emerged from the bathroom wearing his morning dressing gown, and a small towel draped around his neck, which he used to towel his hair dry as he entered the sitting room. Noting the tea mug, he smiled at Sherlock and murmured a quiet 'thank you'. Breakfast, now tea... This really was most unusual, but John decided to appreciate it, rather than question it. He could always do that later. And he might have to. Grabbing his laptop, he sat down next to Sherlock, and started it up. "Let's see what London has to offer us today," he mused out loud, waiting for his desktop to load. "Any preferences? This is our day off, you have a say."
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He glanced up when John returned, giving a short nod at his offered thanks. "It was nothing." he replied, tapping away at his mobile with an impassive expression. His eyes flicked over when John sat next to him, quashing a sudden and disconcerting urge to push John's laptop out of his lap and climb on top of him himself. He shook his head to get rid of that thought, making like it was an answer to his question as he pulled his legs to his chest and leaned his back against John's arm as he played with his phone. "Nothing as far as I can see." he groused, bored out of his skull by all the commonplace headlines he was reading. "Whatever you choose, just try not to make it too painfully boring." he replied, trying to get back to some semblance of normalcy by putting on his regular attitude and ignoring any sort of emotion he may have after sleeping for two nights next to John.
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There was, of course, always the option of staying in, but that would most certainly bore Sherlock to death. John would spend the day on his laptop, reading the paper of watching crap telly. Not exactly exciting, that.
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"It would depend on which museum. I'm not allowed at the science museum or the British museum as I've had...run-ins with the majority of the staff there. They don't take very well to having their facts checked." he harrumphed, certain that he should have gotten his own wing with all the times he corrected the guides and displays. "Art and theater are dull and pretentious." He did raise an eyebrow at the last two suggestions though. "Mm, now you're thinking." He rubbed his cheek slightly against John's shoulder as though congratulating him on a job well done.
"You're certain you want to exacerbate my habits of shooting up the walls and keeping body parts in the fridge?" he asked teasingly, glancing up to give him a considering look. "I do believe our sleeping together has made you soppy." he added, using the teasing as a test to see if John would admit to being affected at all by their experiment or if he should try even harder to do away with the strange feelings surfacing in him.
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"I figured you would enjoy some kind of musical performance at the theater or opera house," John said, looking sideways and ending up with his face somewhat buried in dark, unruly curls. Gods, but the man smelled good. "Or is it an insult to your expert ear, maestro?" Not waiting for an answer, John looked up the website of the shooting range to check out today's opening hours. At Sherlock's question, however, he blinked, and thought about it for a moment. Soppy? Surely not? John was, after all, an exceptionally patient man, and he had gotten used to most of Sherlock's antics...
"Nonsense," he muttered, though the memory of them sleeping together still left him feeling warm on the inside. "You're not that cute," he added teasingly, bumping their shoulders together.
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