Consulting Savior (Jimlock/Sheriarty)

Chapter Fourteen - Worth A Thousand Words

"We keep this love in this photograph,
We made these memories for ourselves.
Where our eyes are never closing,
Hearts were never broken,
And time's forever frozen still."

~'Photograph' by Ed Sheeran

Sherlock awoke slowly. The first thing he noticed was his pounding headache and dire wish to vomit. The second thing he noticed was his shirt across the room, tossed in a careless heap. Now, why was that over there? Had he changed into his pajamas late the previous night? The third thing he noticed was his muscles - specifically his hips - screaming at him in protest as soon as he tried to sit up to gather more information about his own room. And finally, the last thing he noticed - Jim beside him, one hand curled around Sherlock's bicep, completely nude. Without a sound, Sherlock simply raised his brows as if finally solving a mathematical equation, laying back down next to his lover. They had... Ah. That explained much.

The detective would have moved to get dressed or clean himself up, his own nakedness rather embarrassing, but seeing Jim's innocent face, his mouth slightly agape, compelled him to stay put. He pulled Jim closer, causing the man to shift and rest his head on Sherlock's bare chest. Sherlock smiled, stroked the back of his head lightly, and began to hum.

"Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur. Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr," he sang quietly, smiling at Jim's reaction. The man curled further into his chest just like a kitten, wrapping his arms around him. Sherlock continued to repeat the song, Jim steadily growing more cuddly.

"You know, I haven't been asleep since song number twelve," Jim smirked, looking up at the man stroking his hair. He didn't want to admit he was awake, too in love with the sound of Sherlock singing to him and calling him "kitty" and playing with his hair. "You know, I like that new nickname you've given me."

Sherlock raised his brows. "Dearie?"

Jim smacked his arm playfully. "You bastard, don't you dare start that up again," he hissed, though the amusement was evident in his voice. "No, not that. 'Kitty'. I feel all soft and fluffy even though I'm really just an asshole."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "Alright, then you're my kitten," he murmured, laughing again at the blush that spread across Jim's cheeks. "My fluffy little calico kitty."

Jim frowned, furrowing his brows. "Only about point-zero-three percent of calicos are male. Are you calling me a woman?"

Somehow, Sherlock wasn't surprised by Jim's precise knowledge of cats. "Not necessarily. But maybe you're part of that point-zero-three percent," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Jim's head. "After all, you are quite the rarity."

"Oh, shush," Jim muttered, burying his face in Sherlock's bare chest. His next words were spoken blandly, as if they were a completely normal thing to say. "My ass hurts."

Sherlock blushed, struggling to find words that wouldn't cause him to stutter. "Hm," he said simply. "Wonder why?"

Jim looked up at him with an amused smirk, cocking one brow. "Well, probably because you-" Before he could get his sentence out, Sherlock had whipped the pillow from under his curls and smothered him with it, completely straight-faced though his cheeks were red as a cherry.

He pulled the pillow away just for Jim to breathe, frowning over at the thin, panting man. "Well, my hips hurt."

Then, they both spoke simultaneously. "And my head."

Sherlock groaned, putting the pillow behind his head again. "I don't even want to put clothes on," he muttered, clumsily wrapping his arms around Jim again. "Vomit, yes. Put a shirt on, not so much."