"morning ritual," John/Sherlock pre-slash, PGpann_cakeJanuary 7 2012, 06:48:21 UTC
Sherlock has taken to not wearing clothes. A lot. John isn’t sure quite when it started, if it was something he used to do before he had John as his flatmate, or what. He just knows that Sherlock wraps himself loosely in a sheet most mornings, as if it’s completely normal.
He’s in a sheet when he makes tea (sometimes he makes one for John). He’s in a sheet when he checks his email (on John’s computer). He’s in a sheet when he scrolls through news stories on his phone (John pretends to read the paper).
John’s starting to think Sherlock’s doing it on purpose.
One morning, Sherlock stands from his chair and stretches, his arms over his head and his shoulders cracking. When his arms come back down the sheet slips. John can’t help it, his eyes follow the sheet down, past Sherlock’s navel, past his bony hips, almost low enough to-
“Sherlock, for God’s sake!” John splutters. “Fix your bloody sheet!”
“Oh.” Sherlock looks down as if he’s just noticed he’s nearly nude in the living room. “Didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
He says this with a smirk, and John feels his face flush. Damn him.
“I’d just rather not see your naked arse first thing in the morning.”
“Indeed.” Still smirking, Sherlock hikes the sheet up and all but sashays out of the living room.
John buries his face in one hand and admits defeat.
He’s in a sheet when he makes tea (sometimes he makes one for John). He’s in a sheet when he checks his email (on John’s computer). He’s in a sheet when he scrolls through news stories on his phone (John pretends to read the paper).
John’s starting to think Sherlock’s doing it on purpose.
One morning, Sherlock stands from his chair and stretches, his arms over his head and his shoulders cracking. When his arms come back down the sheet slips. John can’t help it, his eyes follow the sheet down, past Sherlock’s navel, past his bony hips, almost low enough to-
“Sherlock, for God’s sake!” John splutters. “Fix your bloody sheet!”
“Oh.” Sherlock looks down as if he’s just noticed he’s nearly nude in the living room. “Didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
He says this with a smirk, and John feels his face flush. Damn him.
“I’d just rather not see your naked arse first thing in the morning.”
“Indeed.” Still smirking, Sherlock hikes the sheet up and all but sashays out of the living room.
John buries his face in one hand and admits defeat.
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