Consider love - A Johnlock

11. G'morning

Both were sitting in the backseat of the cab, John's eyes fluttering closed. His chubby cheek resting heavily on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock looked down at him as John was curled up beside him. A light pink blush spreading across Sherlock's face. He then glanced outside, staring at the quiet outside world. John started to sob quietly on his shoulder, his emotions over flooding him. Sherlock of course noticed John's weeping. He didn't say anything. He just comforted John by pulling him into a tight hug. A couple minutes later the taxi pulled up to 221B Bakerstreet and Sherlock looked down at John who was sleeping in his arms.

"John." He whispered, jolting the intoxicated doctor's arm that had slumped across his body. John whined in discontent, but didn't wake up any further, so Sherlock tried again. "John." He repeated, this time he didn't whisper, using his normal low voice.

"Hmmm" John groaned, burrowing his head into Sherlock's lap, what caused Sherlock's heart to rattle against his ribs furiously. Sherlock rolled his eyes, the corner of his lips turned up. He shook John gently. John moaned and turned his head so he can look into Sherlock's eyes. He slurred some unintelligible words, rubbing his eyes with his hand palms. John probably thought that he was lying in his bed, but nope.

"Come on, John." Sherlock said, trying to get John out of the cab. He gave the cabbie money and managed to get John out of the cab. When Sherlock closed the door. The car left immediately. Probably glad to be away from the two.

Sherlock hook his arm under one of John's and walked over to the door. He dove his hand in his coat pocket, grabbing his keys and opened the door. They waddled up the stairs, into the flat, making a lot of noise. Sherlock then decided to let John sleep in his bed. He will be sleeping on the sofa then. He sighed at the thoughts of a stiff neck when he will wake up.

"I feel dizzy." John muttered, letting out an exasperated sigh and hiccupped.

"You can sleep in my bed." Sherlock said as they entered his room, turning on the light.

"Where is your room?" John mumbled, supporting vigorously on Sherlock's arm. He just ignored John and laid him on the bed, and removed his shoes and tried to put off John's jacket. He wanted to ask John if he needed something easy to wear but John was already snoring softly, tugging the covers up as he shifted to get more comfortable. Sherlock smiled at John and walked over towards the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and some pills for John's headache, which probably will appear in the morning, when he wakes up. He placed the glass of water with the pills on the table and left.

Sherlock fling himself on the sofa and closed his eyes. Suddenly a wide smile appeared on his face. In the beginning he attempted to ignore his feelings, shove them down and lock them away. But how is that possible with John Watson sleeping in his bed. He chuckled, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, too lazy to stand up for a blanket. Three minutes later, Sherlock fell asleep, with still a sign of a smile on his face.

When John woke up the next morning, he's alone in Sherlock's bed, and his head hurt like someone has been hitting him with a shovel all night. He tried to sit up, but as he did, the sheets made a rustling sound and it felt like someone was stabbing him with knives in his head. Once he managed to sit upright on the bed, he spotted a glass of water and a couple pills for headache on the bedside table. John was surely confused. He didn't know where he was. John put his head in his hands and groans, regretting it as the sound stabbed him in the temples again. He had not the faintest idea how he got here and where he was. John reached over to the bedside table to take the pills and then stood up. His nostrils flared and he scrunched his nose at the alcohol smell from his clothes. John decided to remove his trousers and jumper, left over with his pants and undershirt. He probably had sex with a woman last night he thought. So she won't care, if he walked inside like this. But then John thoughts changed, he was still wearing his clothes? He probably fell asleep. Poor woman, John chuckled.

When he walked out of the room, he recognized the place. He's in Sherlock's flat. John ran a hand through his hair, reddening. He knew he drank too much. He truly hoped that he didn't do stupid things last night. But as soon as he approached the living room, he sighed with relief. Sherlock was lying on the sofa asleep, curled up in a foetal position. John couldn't help but stare at him. After realizing that he had been staring at him for a while, lost in thought, John blinked a few times and turned a bright red color. He cleared his throat and returned to the bedroom, opening a closet, and there were a few blankets inside. He got two and went back into the living room, covering Sherlock with a blanket. John then wrapped himself in the other blanket and walked over to the armchair, sitting down.

He scratched the back of his head and looked at his phone, reading the previous messages. John snorted with an amused smile at the texts he sent yesterday/this morning. He must been really drunk. The corners of his mouth slightly curving up in a slowly-growing smile at the texts Sherlock sent. Then suddenly there were sounds of movement coming from Sherlock's direction, and John perked his head at the noise. He heard Sherlock purring as he raised his head up to him.

Sherlock opened his eyes and froze as he saw John Hamish Watson sitting in front of him, wrapped in one of his blankets, covering his half naked body. John smiled shyly at Sherlock and spoke up.

"Good morning." John said, wanting to cover his face with a cup of tea, sipping as distraction. But he didn't have a cuppa. Sherlock rubbed his face with his hand and a yawn escaped his cuppid bow lips, sitting upright.

"Jesus, John." He just laughed, with a genuine smile spread across his face, making John's heart skip more beats than he thought was healthy. John cleared his throat, looking at his feet.

"Yes... Sorry about that." He muttered. Sherlock rolled his eyes with a tiny smile and stood up, he began walking towards the kitchen, wanting to make tea for John. And decided to drink tea as well, truly hoping that Ms. Hudson won't walk in, seeing him drinking tea. When he passed John, he squeezed his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile and walked into the kitchen, preparing tea.