008. Weeks.
Cleaned up a bit and put back together from the Sherlock kink meme. <3
Title: "Burrowing, John."
Fandom: BBC!Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock, John
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: For the kink!meme prompt: "After a John-enforced movie night where both John and Sherlock fell asleep on the sofa, Sherlock discovers that he sleeps fantastically when John's lying on top of him. Cue Sherlock trying to wind up under John as much as possible when trying to sleep, which is tricky given that they're not in any kind of romantic relationship."
Author's Notes: Okay, so, this just kind of slammed me in the face unexpectedly, so have some silly Baker Street antics fueled by eggnog lattes. <3 I DID MY BEST ;__;
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" John awoke from a nap with a bit of a start, finding his flatmate trying to -
"Burrowing, John," Sherlock said, the obviously very clearly defined but left unspoken as he continued trying to worm his way underneath the ex-army doctor on the couch. John swatted at Sherlock's arm, and for a split second the detective's face broke from it's usual straight, emotionless pose to something more akin with a pout. The next moment his face flattened back out as he gave up in his endeavor, leaving John to wonder all the more about the on-goings inside Sherlock's head.
"Why would you think - you know what, never mind, I don't even want to know," John sat up, stretching a bit before plodding off to the kitchen in bare feet. Trying to return them to somewhat normality, John offered; "Tea?"
.o.
This was not the last time that John would catch Sherlock trying to "burrow" underneath him. There were several more midday naps and occasional nightly slumbers interrupted with the spindly detective attempting to dig his way into whatever piece of furniture John happened to be sleeping on and under his person. Of course, every time he would swat Sherlock away and tell him to sleep in his own bloody bed rather than experiment in his, but they were without much backing. As ridiculous and insane it probably was, John found it humorous; just another one of Sherlock's quirks, a study he'd grow bored with at some point.
.o.
A few weeks after the initial "burrowing" incident, and after a particularly gruesome case was finished, John opted for another movie night. Sherlock only offered a small grunt of distaste, which worried the ex-army doctor a fair bit. Normally his flatmate would have a royal tiff over the matter, declaring pop-culture to be "utterly dull, predictable, and sheer mindless brain-fuckery" - and when Sherlock swore John knew it was no good arguing the point - but for whatever reason his sinewy colleague plopped on the couch and turned on the telly. John nearly dropped their take-away, stunned at Sherlock's willingness to participate in something he'd adamantly argue over, but with a shake of his head, John joined Sherlock on the couch with diner, flipping through channels until he came across a James Bond marathon.
The rest of the night went fairly "normal" - Sherlock pointing out all the flaws of the movie, the actors, and virtually tearing the film apart. John made tea in the gap between movies as Sherlock stole his laptop, slender fingers pattering away on the keyboard, ripping the director of this Bond flick apart without even looking up from the tiny computer screen.
At some point in the evening, Sherlock had managed to scoot closer to John, their legs touching ever so slightly. It wasn't awkward, and honestly it took John a moment before he even realized the distance between the two of them had significantly shortened. The heat passed between their legs comfortably, and John had even moved closer, curling up on the couch as it drew late into the night.
In the middle of the third movie was when Sherlock tried to slip underneath John again, but even half-asleep and fatigued the good doctor managed to pause his flatmate's actions.
"Sherlock, for the love of God, you've been doing this for nearly four weeks -"
"Five, John."
"Five bloody weeks! What exactly are you trying to figure out?"
"I've already figured it out, clearly John even you can see that. The only thing left is the execution of the matter." Sherlock said, rotating to lay on his back, wrapping his leg over and around John, which he immediately swatted at out of habit, but let the detective's leg fall behind his back.
"Care to include me on the process, since I seem to somehow be involved anyway?" Rolling his eyes, Sherlock bent his knees, pulling John closer until the ex-army doctor was leaning over his chest, his left hand bracing along the back of the couch for support.
"The first movie night you forced to indulge me in left you asleep on top of me. You slept soundly - no nightmares, no cold sweat - as did I. Therefore it seemed only logical to attempt such sleeping arrangements again since we both had a decent night's rest," Sherlock tugged his slender legs against John once more, but John held his grip on the couch. The detective made an irritated, huffing sort of noise through his nose as he wrapped his legs tighter around John.
"Sherlock, this... this is something couples do, you realize that? I thought this sort of thing was "transport" to you anyways?"
"Who ever said we were together? I'm simply talking about a better sleep schedule."
"Which yours is naturally sporadic anyways."
"That's not the point, John. The point is that you're warm, I'm comfortable, and we both slept fantastically in that position. Clear-cut, non-arguable facts," Sherlock pulled John with his legs one last time, and with a sigh John let himself fall onto Sherlock's chest.
Clear-cut, non-arguable facts my arse... John thought, but let the argument die out in his head as Sherlock draped an arm over his back, rubbing gentle circles along the small of his back. A small shiver passed between them, but they settled in comfortably; John's head resting along Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock's legs tangled with John's. Before the fourth movie even had a chance to begin John had fallen asleep, wrapping his arms around and under Sherlock like a protective blanket - who calculated that John would lose circulation to his fingers within an hour, but couldn't be arsed to wake him and say so as he drifted to a matching slumber with his flatmate.
Title: "Burrowing, John."
Fandom: BBC!Sherlock
Characters: Sherlock, John
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: For the kink!meme prompt: "After a John-enforced movie night where both John and Sherlock fell asleep on the sofa, Sherlock discovers that he sleeps fantastically when John's lying on top of him. Cue Sherlock trying to wind up under John as much as possible when trying to sleep, which is tricky given that they're not in any kind of romantic relationship."
Author's Notes: Okay, so, this just kind of slammed me in the face unexpectedly, so have some silly Baker Street antics fueled by eggnog lattes. <3 I DID MY BEST ;__;
"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" John awoke from a nap with a bit of a start, finding his flatmate trying to -
"Burrowing, John," Sherlock said, the obviously very clearly defined but left unspoken as he continued trying to worm his way underneath the ex-army doctor on the couch. John swatted at Sherlock's arm, and for a split second the detective's face broke from it's usual straight, emotionless pose to something more akin with a pout. The next moment his face flattened back out as he gave up in his endeavor, leaving John to wonder all the more about the on-goings inside Sherlock's head.
"Why would you think - you know what, never mind, I don't even want to know," John sat up, stretching a bit before plodding off to the kitchen in bare feet. Trying to return them to somewhat normality, John offered; "Tea?"
.o.
This was not the last time that John would catch Sherlock trying to "burrow" underneath him. There were several more midday naps and occasional nightly slumbers interrupted with the spindly detective attempting to dig his way into whatever piece of furniture John happened to be sleeping on and under his person. Of course, every time he would swat Sherlock away and tell him to sleep in his own bloody bed rather than experiment in his, but they were without much backing. As ridiculous and insane it probably was, John found it humorous; just another one of Sherlock's quirks, a study he'd grow bored with at some point.
.o.
A few weeks after the initial "burrowing" incident, and after a particularly gruesome case was finished, John opted for another movie night. Sherlock only offered a small grunt of distaste, which worried the ex-army doctor a fair bit. Normally his flatmate would have a royal tiff over the matter, declaring pop-culture to be "utterly dull, predictable, and sheer mindless brain-fuckery" - and when Sherlock swore John knew it was no good arguing the point - but for whatever reason his sinewy colleague plopped on the couch and turned on the telly. John nearly dropped their take-away, stunned at Sherlock's willingness to participate in something he'd adamantly argue over, but with a shake of his head, John joined Sherlock on the couch with diner, flipping through channels until he came across a James Bond marathon.
The rest of the night went fairly "normal" - Sherlock pointing out all the flaws of the movie, the actors, and virtually tearing the film apart. John made tea in the gap between movies as Sherlock stole his laptop, slender fingers pattering away on the keyboard, ripping the director of this Bond flick apart without even looking up from the tiny computer screen.
At some point in the evening, Sherlock had managed to scoot closer to John, their legs touching ever so slightly. It wasn't awkward, and honestly it took John a moment before he even realized the distance between the two of them had significantly shortened. The heat passed between their legs comfortably, and John had even moved closer, curling up on the couch as it drew late into the night.
In the middle of the third movie was when Sherlock tried to slip underneath John again, but even half-asleep and fatigued the good doctor managed to pause his flatmate's actions.
"Sherlock, for the love of God, you've been doing this for nearly four weeks -"
"Five, John."
"Five bloody weeks! What exactly are you trying to figure out?"
"I've already figured it out, clearly John even you can see that. The only thing left is the execution of the matter." Sherlock said, rotating to lay on his back, wrapping his leg over and around John, which he immediately swatted at out of habit, but let the detective's leg fall behind his back.
"Care to include me on the process, since I seem to somehow be involved anyway?" Rolling his eyes, Sherlock bent his knees, pulling John closer until the ex-army doctor was leaning over his chest, his left hand bracing along the back of the couch for support.
"The first movie night you forced to indulge me in left you asleep on top of me. You slept soundly - no nightmares, no cold sweat - as did I. Therefore it seemed only logical to attempt such sleeping arrangements again since we both had a decent night's rest," Sherlock tugged his slender legs against John once more, but John held his grip on the couch. The detective made an irritated, huffing sort of noise through his nose as he wrapped his legs tighter around John.
"Sherlock, this... this is something couples do, you realize that? I thought this sort of thing was "transport" to you anyways?"
"Who ever said we were together? I'm simply talking about a better sleep schedule."
"Which yours is naturally sporadic anyways."
"That's not the point, John. The point is that you're warm, I'm comfortable, and we both slept fantastically in that position. Clear-cut, non-arguable facts," Sherlock pulled John with his legs one last time, and with a sigh John let himself fall onto Sherlock's chest.
Clear-cut, non-arguable facts my arse... John thought, but let the argument die out in his head as Sherlock draped an arm over his back, rubbing gentle circles along the small of his back. A small shiver passed between them, but they settled in comfortably; John's head resting along Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock's legs tangled with John's. Before the fourth movie even had a chance to begin John had fallen asleep, wrapping his arms around and under Sherlock like a protective blanket - who calculated that John would lose circulation to his fingers within an hour, but couldn't be arsed to wake him and say so as he drifted to a matching slumber with his flatmate.