Fic: What You Need, (John/Mycroft), 1/1
Title: What You Need
Fandom: Sherlock (TV Show)
Character/Pairing: John Watson/Mycroft Holmes
Rating: PG
Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship
Summary: Because sometimes a quiet night in for John and Mycroft is as soft and fluffy as John's favourite jumper.
Length: 502 words
Status: Complete
"Can you talk about it?" John asks, looking up from his book. Mycroft hovers for a moment in the door frame, tired eyes taking in the comfortable jumper and John's gentle smile before he feels his shoulders slump down further.
"You don't have clearance." He says with a sigh, unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat and laying them over the back of the armchair. He pours himself a glass of brandy from the decanter, tugging his tie loose and then lets himself drop bonelessly onto the sofa next to John, strangely uncaring as his crisp white shirt crinkles up behind him.
John hums, eyes narrowed thoughtfully and lifts up his arm. "Come here."
Mycroft tilts sideways until his head rests on John's shoulder, his nose nuzzling into the dip of his neck. John's fingers card through his hair and Mycroft's body starts to relax like it's finally been given permission to let go.
John goes back to his book, reclaiming his fingers every so often to turn a page before returning them to run gently over Mycroft's scalp. It's nice, Mycroft thinks, closing his eyes, the quiet moments that John brings into his life.
"Welcome home, love." John whispers into his ear half an hour later, dropping a kiss on Mycroft's forehead. How does he always know? Mycroft wonders, drifting somewhere between almost awake and completely asleep. How does he know the precise moment everything finally stops?
He can feel John moving beside him and then the forgotten glass in his hand is tugged away; it's easier to let it go than to remember that he should be holding it, so Mycroft's fingers fall away and let him take it.
There's a series of little sounds at the edge of his hearing as John places the glass on the coffee table and then picks up his own glass for a quick drink. Mycroft grumbles at all the movement, but then the smaller man's hands wrap around his shoulders and guide him down into John's lap and he didn't think it could be but somehow this is even better.
"Better?" John asks, a smile in his voice and Mycroft realises that the sort of purr he heard came from his own throat. He's too comfortable to pull up any embarrassment, so he nuzzles the back of his head against John's thigh and turns over to face the soft wool of John's stomach while the doctor laughs quietly above him.
John's fingers fall back into Mycroft's hair and there's the gentle scratch of paper as he reopens his book. "I thought we'd order something in tonight." Mycroft's brain muzzily translates the soft words into John speak for 'there's no rush, I'll wake you later' and he curls a hand into John's jumper as some kind of answer.
"Chinese." John mummers, "or Italian maybe." Behind his eyelids Mycroft sees a steaming bowl of creamy tagliatelle with a crisp mixed salad. And for dessert, he thinks, I'll have- but he's asleep before he can finish the thought.
Fandom: Sherlock (TV Show)
Character/Pairing: John Watson/Mycroft Holmes
Rating: PG
Genre: Fluff, Established Relationship
Summary: Because sometimes a quiet night in for John and Mycroft is as soft and fluffy as John's favourite jumper.
Length: 502 words
Status: Complete
"Can you talk about it?" John asks, looking up from his book. Mycroft hovers for a moment in the door frame, tired eyes taking in the comfortable jumper and John's gentle smile before he feels his shoulders slump down further.
"You don't have clearance." He says with a sigh, unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat and laying them over the back of the armchair. He pours himself a glass of brandy from the decanter, tugging his tie loose and then lets himself drop bonelessly onto the sofa next to John, strangely uncaring as his crisp white shirt crinkles up behind him.
John hums, eyes narrowed thoughtfully and lifts up his arm. "Come here."
Mycroft tilts sideways until his head rests on John's shoulder, his nose nuzzling into the dip of his neck. John's fingers card through his hair and Mycroft's body starts to relax like it's finally been given permission to let go.
John goes back to his book, reclaiming his fingers every so often to turn a page before returning them to run gently over Mycroft's scalp. It's nice, Mycroft thinks, closing his eyes, the quiet moments that John brings into his life.
"Welcome home, love." John whispers into his ear half an hour later, dropping a kiss on Mycroft's forehead. How does he always know? Mycroft wonders, drifting somewhere between almost awake and completely asleep. How does he know the precise moment everything finally stops?
He can feel John moving beside him and then the forgotten glass in his hand is tugged away; it's easier to let it go than to remember that he should be holding it, so Mycroft's fingers fall away and let him take it.
There's a series of little sounds at the edge of his hearing as John places the glass on the coffee table and then picks up his own glass for a quick drink. Mycroft grumbles at all the movement, but then the smaller man's hands wrap around his shoulders and guide him down into John's lap and he didn't think it could be but somehow this is even better.
"Better?" John asks, a smile in his voice and Mycroft realises that the sort of purr he heard came from his own throat. He's too comfortable to pull up any embarrassment, so he nuzzles the back of his head against John's thigh and turns over to face the soft wool of John's stomach while the doctor laughs quietly above him.
John's fingers fall back into Mycroft's hair and there's the gentle scratch of paper as he reopens his book. "I thought we'd order something in tonight." Mycroft's brain muzzily translates the soft words into John speak for 'there's no rush, I'll wake you later' and he curls a hand into John's jumper as some kind of answer.
"Chinese." John mummers, "or Italian maybe." Behind his eyelids Mycroft sees a steaming bowl of creamy tagliatelle with a crisp mixed salad. And for dessert, he thinks, I'll have- but he's asleep before he can finish the thought.