AN: These are just little cute domestic and/or sexy glimpses into S/J relationship. (Same sort of layout as my Brother's story if you've read that...)
Feel free to suggest prompts please! They are super appreciated (Note: I will not do marriage etc because personally that's out of character for them to me)
Thanks and enjoy!
The two men where curled up, John slotted behind the taller man with his arm thrown over his slender bedmate. Daylight was streaming into the room, rousing the older man from the grips of sleep as his hand absently stroked the sliver of skin under it. Carefully he propped himself up to peak over the sharp shoulder of Sherlock Holmes.
"John…" The dark haired man grumbles, still appearing to be asleep as he catches him out.
"Sorry," he offers, "It's after noon…"
Sherlock hums rolling onto his back, and flinging his arm over his eyes against the harsh light. "First you complain I don't sleep, now you're interrupting it…" he sighs tiredly, "Do make up your mind."
"You're right…" John smirks fondly.
"I always am," He states flatly, earning a shove from the other man.
"Piss off," he pouts, peaking at the older man under his arm before burring himself under the duvet.
"Fine, but there are things to do," he nods, slipping out of the warm bed.
"Dull things like the washing," he roughly yanks the duvet off of Sherlock, catching him by surprise and carrying it out of the room.
"John Watson, bring that back this instant!" Sherlock shouts.
"Well since you asked so nicely…" John calls from the living room, "No!"
Sherlock fumes curled up in a ball in the middle of the mattress as the cool room invades him, as the other man clanks about the flat. He tosses about, his mind still only partially awake even though physically he was fully awake. Sitting it up, he groggily strode out of the room and found the duvet in the hall way, quickly snatching it up and wrapping it around himself.
"That needs to be washed," John informs him peaking out into the hall.
"It's in use," Sherlock glares petulantly, stalking off to the couch and throwing himself on it.
"If I make coffee will you relinquish it?"
There's silence while the offer is processed, "Perhaps…"
"You gunna be like this all day, then?" John frowns a bit, as he starts on the coffee. Silence filling the flat as Sherlock either is ignoring him or trying to go back to sleep, "Maybe a case will crop up…" he hopes, even though it had only been a day or so since they closed the last one.
"I have one," Sherlock answers once he's sitting up with his warm mug clutched in his slender fingers. "A case, I mean."
"Oh?" John hums, tossing the newly procured duvet and tossing back into the hall with the rest of the wash. "When did this come about?" He sits in his chair, picking up the paper.
"What's it about, then?"
"An evil little doctor and his terrible bedside manner," Sherlock states darkly.
John rolls his eyes catching on, "You're being ridiculous," he peaks over at the pouting man, "Would it kill you to help out with something's, instead of mopping about?"
"Oh not this again," he sighs dramatically, "I have more important things to do…"
"What?" he snaps, "When you don't have a case you mope about and complain about boredom, there's plenty of things around here that need doing."
"Yes, and you handle them quite well," Sherlock intones.
John tosses down the paper and stands up, "At risk of sounding like Mrs. Hudson, I'm not your bloody house keeper." He shouts.
"Obviously," he hums, in disinterest.
"Right," the older man nods, striding from the room. Returning fully dressed with an arm full of clothes and dropping onto the man on the couch. "Here," he snaps, "Take care of this yourself, and…" He procures a felt tip and takes Sherlock's slender arm in his hand, writing a list on it. "Pick up the shopping as well," he recaps the marker and tosses it at Sherlock's head.
"John," Sherlock calls, still reeling at what just happened, "What...Where are you going?"
"You're the genius, figure it out!" John shouts, grabbing his jacket, slamming the door and storming out of the flat.