Word count: 539
Summary: A small ficlet based on this lovely image (http://lascocks.tumblr.com/post/2740421
John rummages through the cupboards looking for the tea he hopes Sherlock hasn't decided needed to be dissected or frozen or mutilated. Ah. He finds it behind a jar of something indiscernible. He stretches and feels his muscles begin to wake up. He keeps moving, swaying slightly and hums under his breathe. “Don't go jumping waterfalls-” He coughs and touches his finger tips to his neck. Trying to rub out the discomfort. His voice is gravely and quiet. A low growl.
Warm hands wrap around his middle and soft lips smooth over his shoulder. “I can recommend some honey and lemon for a sore throat.” John can hear the smirk in the deep voice that raises goose flesh over him. “You can?, won't you?” John mumbles back. “Hmm.. no” Punctuated with feather light kisses “Your mouth would be far too occupied”.
John moves around the kitchen with Sherlock attached to him. Limpet. His arms won't fault from their death-grip. And his lips remain enamoured in mapping out every lump and bump his nape has to offer. “Sherlock” John huffs out in a laugh. He adds the honey to his tea and skips the lemon. He brings it to his mouth and precariously sips from an over-filled mug, as Sherlock does his best to make the task harder. He sighs as the sweet and pleasingly hot tea travels past his tongue and numbs his larynx.
John moves toward the sitting room, eyeing his laptop and deciding against it. He wants a tender transition into reality, a slow start to the morning before it's inevitably filled with murders, chases, cadavers and headaches. He can't bear to stir Sherlock's compact hugging marathon and instead traverses their living space as one. He can't help the small almost whisper-like giggles, as they sway to and fro with the momentum of moving together. John places his tea atop the desk near the window and maneuvers them both towards the chair.
John puzzles over the situation and how to shift it to a sitting state, when Sherlock acts first. He moves them both backwards towards the chair, while holding onto John, pulling until John moves of his own accord. He then trails them both gently downwards and landing on the chair, sitting as far back as he can so John can sits between his thighs. John just adjusts and chuckles, leaning forward to grasp his tea with both hands. He feels encased in warmth. Sherlock mouths at his jumper, biting and pulling with his lips. Gentle movements that project heat into John's tired muscles.
John just leans into it, encouraging the delicate pushing of Sherlock's mouth. He sighs and turns to look at Sherlock with a blissful smile. “I've got to go soon” John laments, lazily blinking through his grin. Sherlock says nothing just holds on tighter and sighs into the fabric. John slurps some more of his tea and closes his eyes, just feeling the sensations. He never thought this would be the product of a last minute confession and rushed embrace. He never thought he could feel this serene and content. But then Sherlock still remains ever unpredictable.