AN: This is 221 words exactly, just FF hates me. *sigh*. I've not written anything for ages; Tumblr stole me (and hasn't let go yet) and I'm very very behind doing Nanowrimo. Thought I'd write a bit of shameless fluffy/odd-ball urban fantasy with my favourite Baker Street boys to make myself feel better.

Sherlock, his coat cut from midnight, his scarf of light pollution from a million city streets, checks his watch; a silver timepiece with precise thin hands. After careful observation, he stows it away again, continues his wait on the footpath of Tower Bridge.

The faint lightness of oncoming dawn seeping into crystal night heralds both morning and John's arrival. The God of Day strolls up to greet him, blond hair like sunlight dipping off glass, stopping so close Sherlock can hear him breathing.

"We don't have long" John checks his own timepiece, a golden pocket watch with a central window to view whirring cogs and spirals.

"Let's not waste it then" The God of Night says, knowing his work is lengthened these winter months, hours as his currency seeping further into morning hours before passing his command into John's reign.

Sometimes they just talk in these stolen hours, walk around the city they have stewardship over, tread its pavements in the not-quite-day and the not-yet-night. But today, Sherlock wants to feel rare sunlight on the pores of his skin. A cool blanket of air, an edge of mysterious dark stokes some newer brighter flame within John when they kiss like the union of an eclipse.

That day, a brilliant red shade spills across the sky as dawn finally breaks.