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Fic: A Cold Night In November
Author: tunes84
Rating: K+
Genre: Fluff
Characters: Sherlock/John
Word Count: 500
Summary: John wonders, "Why him?" and Sherlock isn't exactly sure how to answer.
Warnings: Shameless fluffy touching (Yeah, I know, shock).
A/N: For
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patster223 , again, because she did the puppy dog pouty face thing and I'm a damn sucker. It's plot-less fluff. I do hope you enjoy anyway. Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
It’s a cold night in November, the blinds drawn as iced fingertips wander unseen under two featherd duvets. Windows open, fire roaring, and there is just a strange sensation of warm and cold together. John feels like it’s intertwined, such as he and Sherlock, sharing their space. He lets his mind crawl around to old memories while somewhat disappearing into newly discovered touches, and thinks about feelings he hadn’t thought about before. He also lets his mind ask him absurd questions, as if of its own volition, control completely lost to itself.
Hands continue to roam, rubbing, touching, and completely comforting in a way John never realized he needed. Sherlock’s foot rolls over his own, and he's slipped closer, completely pressed into John’s back, warm but still cool.
“Sherlock,” John begins, and Sherlock wraps his arm around John’s shoulders, practically melting into his neck as he rubs his nose against it.
“Sherlock, just—“ John says again, turns around to face Sherlock, close enough to taste him.
“Mmm?” Sherlock hums, letting their heads rest against each other. His eyes are closed, his lips pulled into an easy sort of smile.
“Why me?”
John has wondered why him for a while. What was it about him? Ordinary John Watson, army doctor and really, nothing he can think of about himself really stands out.
Sherlock’s eyes snap open and they narrow, as if he’s trying to work out some sort of puzzle. Brows knitted together in concentration, John knows he is trying to deduce where this came from.
“It’s not a hard question, there’s no hidden angle. I’m just, you know, wondering,” he adds with a shrug.
Minutes pass, though John isn’t concerned and knows Sherlock will answer him eventually. Winds pick up outside, blow the curtains upwards and cause the fire to flicker. The light of it makes shadows dance over Sherlock’s face, eyes still scrutinizing John.
John waits patiently, unfazed. Finally Sherlock breathes.
“Because you’re mine.”
With a snort, John picks his head up and rolls his eyes. “Is that it then?”
“Should there be more of a reason?” Sherlock asks, and he sounds truly perplexed.
“I don’t know, maybe something about me caught your fancy?”
Sherlock’s eyes narrow once again. “Everything, John.” His voice sounds thick, as if saying these words choke him. “A thousand things. It was all obvious.”
John can see his troubled expression and doesn’t push anymore, simply nods his head and rests it back against Sherlock’s.
“Yes, it makes sense now,” he says calmly, closing his eyes.
“Oh?” Sherlock mumbles, pulling close again.
“Of course. It’s because you’re brilliant.” John opens his eyes and watches a smile spread across Sherlock’s face.
“This is brilliant,” Sherlock breathes back. He pulls the duvet over their heads and presses their bodies together, arms and legs and faces, hair, breaths weaving through one another until it just fits.
And so they exist together on a cold November evening, each others possession, a thousand reasons why yet only one that matters.
Obviously.
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*handcuffs you to herself*
*snuggles some more*
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Thanks for commenting!
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*happily sigh*
*snuggles right into it*
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I'm such a cuddle whore, I swear. Thank you for reading and commenting, I'm very glad to have given you some fluff for your lazy morning!
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