Happy Valentine's Day

Summary: John Hamish Watson is a very sappy, sappy man. Good thing Sherlock doesn't mind. Established relationship, pure fluff.

Pairing/s: JohnSherlock.

Warnings: Slash, and fluff.

Disclaimers: I don't own Sherlock.

It's set post-Reichenbach, but I won't go into details about that.

I just had to write something fluffy. I don't do that too often (at least I don't think I do).



John Watson stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost and simply staring at the man lying on the bed, covers twisted around him.

Sherlock's still asleep, head turned towards John and on his stomach, one arm under the pillow, the other stretched out. The covers had slipped down enough to show his pale shoulders and half of his back, and John watch every piece of skin he can spot.

Then the detective's eyes slowly opened. He blinked and then the razor-sharp gaze found John. The doctor however, didn't flinch seeing the intense look. Instead he walked over to the bed, kneeled down and gently kissed Sherlock's temple. The man under him hummed low in his throat, the baritones even deeper due to his still sleepy state.

"Don't get up," John said. "Breakfast's almost ready."


"Yes, there will be tea."

Sherlock grumbled contently and flopped back, dragging the sheets over himself and gazing up at John, smiling softly. The man kissed him again before moving downstairs to get their breakfast.

Ten minutes later he came up with a tray, and Sherlock moved to sit up. He caught sight of the plates, and chuckled.

"What?" John said in defence.

"John Hamish Watson, you are a sappy, sappy man," Sherlock announced. The toasts had been cut into hearts. "You know that, right?"

"Course I do," John said and sat down, careful with the tray. "Won't stop me from doing this though."

"It's only Valentine's," the consulting detective stated.

"And I'm going to woo you all day and being incredibly sappy and romantic because I can be," John said. "So suck it up and accept hard facts."

Sherlock didn't answer but took instead a toast, drizzled with honey, and ate it slowly. John picked up one of the cups of tea and had a sip, just watching the man.

He never tired of watching Sherlock. The man never grew boring. Never less challenging.

The detective offered a toast to John, one covered in the doctor's favourite jam, and John took a bite out of it. They shared the rest of the breakfast like that, though John couldn't help by sneaking in a few kisses. Most of them at the corner of Sherlock's mouth, the way the detective liked them the very most, and it ended with a very content Sherlock who wriggled closer for each one.

The tray was pushed away, empty of food, John pulling at Sherlock until the man was comfortably pressed against his side, the man's head resting on his good shoulder. Sherlock traced the scar on John's other shoulder with his fingertips, staring at it.

"Shouldn't we get up?" he murmured.

John pretended to think about it. "No, not really. Not yet anyway."

"What are your plans?"

"Oh, you'll see."

Sherlock looked up, tried to read his face but John was getting better at hiding his secrets. The only thing the consulting detective saw in the doctor's eyes was love, and he blushed faintly before laying his head back.

They didn't get up until it was time for lunch, and they had it with Mrs Hudson. John had bought her chocolate, of course, and Sherlock was mostly civil and even smiled at the elderly woman a few times.

Mycroft called, Sherlock only snarled a little (didn't mention any diet though, which was very nice of him) and when Lestrade called about a case Sherlock shockingly enough said:

"That can wait until tomorrow."

And he said it while looking at John. The doctor's heart turned to mush, but of course he wouldn't mention that to the detective.

"You sure?" he asked. "I mean…"

"It was a robbery," Sherlock scoffed. "By the sounds of it, he just wants it solved quickly. I can solve it tomorrow."

That had Mrs Hudson giggle at least.

John had them shower before dinner, and Sherlock complained about it the whole time (Sherlock Holmes was a big liar, because if he ever loved anything normal, it was taking showers and baths). He did dress his best, which to say was drop-dead sexy in John's eyes. He should be forbidden wearing that purple shirt outside of the flat. The doctor could feel himself drooling at the sight.

Dinner was at a restaurant, not too fancy but the way they liked it; small and cosy. Not Angelo's though, however John promised dinner there soon. Sherlock wondered briefly about dinners, why eat them out, but it was a couple thing and John liked to do couple things every now and then so he wasn't going to complain.

They came back to the flat almost eight at night, and Sherlock found to his surprise to be quite content with his day. He had gotten almost nothing done, nothing exiting had happened yet he didn't complain about it. It hadn't been boring.

John held his hand all the way back to the flat. Maybe that had been the reason. John had been there, from the moment he woke and probably to the moment he fell asleep.

Sherlock didn't protest when John put some tea on and ordered him to the couch. John put on a documentary he knew the detective would enjoy, and returned with the cups before settling down so that Sherlock could rest his head in his lover's lap.

"Did you enjoy today?" John asked after a while.

"Mmm… yes." John was petting his head, brushing through the curls and Sherlock liked that very much.

"Even though I've been doing some wooing and being all romantic?"

Sherlock curled his hand around John's knee, and smiled into the denim jeans the doctor was wearing.

"I think, my dear doctor, that is the reason why I enjoyed it so much."

Sappy indeed. Seems like John wasn't the only one who suffered from it. But, Sherlock reasoned as he turned to tuck his head against John's stomach, it was Valentine's day. Everyone had the right to be sappy then.

Even people like him.

They'd go to bed later, Sherlock protesting at the early hour (midnight, but hey, everything was relative), his limbs weakly trying to fight off John but not quite succeeding because he gave in too easy to the doctor. He would grumble and move around all until John shut him up with a kiss (or a grope, all depended on the situation), and then they would settle in to sleep. Sherlock on his side, John behind him in big spoon-position.

But for now they enjoyed the moment of a quiet evening, just the two of them, and Sherlock wouldn't trade that for the world.


Erm. Yes, as I said; fluffy. Now I'm gonna go to bed because my brain's shutting down (and my hands, they've been writing a lot today).

Good night (or good morning, or good day, depending where in the world you are), hope you enjoyed!

Until another time,