Johnlock Oneshots

oblivion

a/n: this is the first oneshot I ever wrote, and looking back at it now, I realize how much I've grown as a writer. this has been slightly edited from when I first wrote it, but it's not quite yet to the perfection I want it to be. enjoy : -)

We had been watching Doctor Who. John had fixed me my usual--black coffee with two sugars, and then sat beside me, hands folded in his lap.

"I thought you didn't like Doctor Who," John remarked, sipping his tea.

"I don't." But you do.

"Okay then."

I shifted my position on the couch, sitting cross-legged. My eyes flicked over to my blogger from time to time, studying him. Studying the way he murmured to himself while he watched the telly, studying the way his tongue occasionally slipped out to wet his narrow lips, studying the way his eyes would widen at a surprising part in the episode or would dim at a sad part. I studied the way his slender fingers gripped the handle of the cermic mug he held. I studied the way he slowly drifted off to sleep.

It had been a long, hard week. I wasn't particulary surprised at how fast his brown eyes fluttered closed and he began snoring softly. I was surprised though, when he muttered my name.

when you fall asleep, with your head upon my shoulder. when you're in my arms, and you've gone somewhere deeper

"Sherlock." It was filled to the brim with care. I cocked my head to the side, wishing I was somehow telepathic so I could know what he was dreaming about me. Such an immature thought.

"Sherrrrlock." This time it was more of a whisper, a growl almost. And then John's head tipped to the side, landing on my shoulder. I sucked in a breath and cautiously placed my coffee cup on the groun, careful not to disturb him.

I looked down at my blogger. My eyes searched over his sandy, blonde hair, taking in the little tufts sticking up, the little grey hairs mixed in with the blonde. I held up my hand and ever so softly grazed over his hair with my fingers. It was wiry, but smooth, and so soft. I repeated the gesutre multiple times, and John didn't even stir once.

I eventually returned my hand to my lap, and my eyes darted down to his peaceful face. His lips were parted slightly; I could feel his warm breath on my chin.

<are you going to age with grace? are you going to age without mistakes? are you going to age with grace? or only to wake and hide your face?>

I watched his chest move up and down slowly before I raised my hand again. I brushed my thumb over his bottom lip slightly. He still stayed frozen in sleep. I moved my thumb over to the edge of his mouth, where both his top and bottom lip met, where the skin curled up when he smiled at me. I trace around his cracked lips, putting all of the memories and feelings into my mind palace.

I drag my digit down to his chin. Where the wrinkles appeared if he clenched his jaw whenever Donovan called me a freak. Where the wrinkles appeared if he was too focused on writing the blog and too engrossed in his thoughts.

<when oblivion is calling out your name, you always take it furtherr than i ever can>

He was so beautiful when he slept. That was the only word for it. Beautiful. All the worries were strewn away from his face. All the relaxtion appeared. Peace overcame his features. And it was beautiful, to say the least.

I lean foward and softly kiss his forehead.

He shifts beside me, and I instantly go rigid. I close my eyes quickly, thinking that if he woke up, he would suppose I had been asleep also.

<when you play it hard, and i try to follow you there. it's not about control, but i turn back when i see where you've gone>

It feels like time slows down, and it is literally forever before I crack one eye open. His breathing is steady, his eyes closed. I let out a little breath of relief before moving my hand down his leg. I stop at his knee, moving my fingers over the jeans fabric. His leg twitches suddenly and I have another moment of panic. His eyes stay closed as I retract my hand.

I inhale deeply, recieving a whiff of John's scent. He smells like coffee with a hint of lemon. Maybe from his bodywash. His spicy cologne stands out the most though. It entrances me.

<are you going to age with grace? are you going to leave a path to trace?>

"Sherlock." My name floats out of his lips oncemore. I smile faintly before ducking my head down. My lips brush against his ever so slightly. The soft touch makes shivers run down my spin.

"John," I whispers, lips against lips.

And then his eyes whip open.

<when oblivion is calling out your name, you always take it further than i ever can>

His brilliant brown eyes. I can see now they have tiny, gold flecks in them. Those familiar pupils dilate very quickly as we stare at each other. I can see his pulse in his neck speed up.

"John," I whisper again before pressing my lips to his softly. He doesn't respond for a moment, probably shocked. But then his dry lips are moving against mine. Passionately. Needily. Vigorously.

All sorts of feelings shoot through me. But one overpowers all. And that is pleasure. I had wanted this for so long, and now I had it.

I had my John.