Woah, two in one night? Yep. Enjoy.
Sherlock sat his chair staring at his violin. It's reflective gloss caught his eye. Shaking his head, he carded a hand through his dark curls and stood. He waltz over to the window, glancing at the citizens wandering on the streets before looking to the sky. It was just another bleak day in London, rain and clouds blocking the sun...but his sun was still there.
He was told that there were days the sun didn't shine. Honestly, he didn't know what planet they lived on (nor did he even care), but he knew they were blind. How could they not see it? That magnificent, radiant, bright, beautiful, perfect little sun that followed him everywhere?
No. Scratch that.
They weren't allowed to see it. If they saw what he did, he'd never be able to keep it. People would tear him away, claws leaving jagged rips in his empty being. They would steal his sun and leave his days grey. With a sneer, he turned from the window. No, that wouldn't do at all.
His eyes fell upon the man fast asleep on the couch. He was stretched out facing the back of the couch, an arm tossed over his eyes. His bare back faced Sherlock, the expanse of lightly tanned skinned marred with light scarring and new crescent-shaped divots on his shoulder blades. The detective smirked. One long finger traced the curve of John's hip to his shoulder.
Watson groaned a bit, stretching and rolling onto his back. Sherlock splayed his hand over John's chest, short blonde hairs tickling his palm. The shorted man cracked open an eye, a smiling breaking across his face when he was met with Sherlock's steady gaze. A calloused hand, smaller than his own, crawled up to cover his. It was inevitable.
There was nothing in world like John's smile. Oh sure, everyone saw his sarcastic tilt to his mouth and the one stretch of lips that didn't meet his eyes. But this, oh this one, was the one that made Sherlock's heart squeeze and stomach flutter.
John's teeth weren't perfectly straight. There was one or two at stood out just a tiny bit more than it should, but it was perfect to him.
They weren't bleach white either. Years of tea and coffee made that impossible, but they were white enough for him. It was soft off-white. Seeing it was like being wrapped in fleece.
It was breath-taking to watch. John would slowly pull back his lips to expose the straight (for the most part) teeth that were white enough to shine. It wasn't too wide or showing too much gum. It was an easy, gentle smile that calmed the sea of blue emotion in his eyes. And he couldn't help but smile back.
If not for the simple beauty, but for the fact he alone had put it there. It made him feel warm from head to toe.
Like sunshine washing over him.
Remember, I'll be constantly adding chapters at random times. If you want to help, leave me a comment or message me a prompt that would fit the theme. Thanks.