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It had been a several days since the bomb had gone off across from 221B and blown the windows out. Now, they were boarded over since it was taking longer than expected for the repairs to be completed. As a result, the flat was cold. Only the fire served to keep the occupants warm during the daytime. At night, when the flames died down to nothing but embers, it started to get cold again.
John had long since gone to bed, leaving Sherlock to his musings. He couldn’t get his mind off Moriarty and the showdown at the pool. There had been the moment of stunned disbelief when John had stepped out, appearing to be the criminal mastermind behind the bizarre game Sherlock had been pulled into. The moment was only made worse when John had revealed the explosives that were hidden under his coat. Sherlock’s heart had been pounding in horror at the sight. It was a few minutes later when John offered his own life to save that Sherlock had understood. Moriarty intended to burn the heart out of him by killing John. The rest of the encounter was a blur. It was a miracle that they had both got out with their lives. Now, Sherlock’s once dormant heart ached with the fear of losing John. It was an eventuality to be avoided at all costs.
As the living room got colder and colder, Sherlock kept looking upwards to where John lay in bed sleeping. He needed to be close to him. A shiver ran through Sherlock, his transport refusing to ignore the cold. After several more minutes of pacing, he left the living room for the landing, and then he started climbing the stairs as quietly as he could.
Outside John’s door, Sherlock paused. He knew he shouldn’t do what he was contemplating, but his heart and transport were insisting that he carry on. Opening the door slowly, he held his breath, afraid that he would wake John. Fortunately, that didn’t happen
Sherlock crossed over and stood by John’s bed, looking down at him. He was uncomfortably aware of his sentimental weakness, but he didn’t care. Stealthily, he climbed into bed beside John and pulled the covers over himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when John continued sleeping uninterrupted.
Lying next to John, Sherlock felt the chill that had set in both figuratively and literally begin to thaw. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy John’s proximity. After a few minutes, John shifted closer to him and wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock held his breath until he was forced to breathe. John didn’t stir.
It took a while, but Sherlock finally fell asleep, trusting his inner clock to wake him before John stirred. The next morning, he slid out of bed and left John snoring, unaware of what had transpired. This happened for several nights, and the routine remained the same each time.
After a few days, Sherlock felt confident in his routine. He waited until John went to bed, gave him time to fall asleep, and then joined him.
On this night, however, things changed. Sherlock lay, content, next to John. His mind was calm and placid in a way that only occurred when he slipped into the bed by John. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him. A few minutes later, John wrapped his arm around him as he usually did. What happened next came as a shock.
John shifted and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock stopped breathing. He needed to get out of there right then. If John woke kissing Sherlock... It didn’t bear thinking about. He started to disentangle himself from John’s grasp when John said, “Stay.”
Sherlock whipped his head around and was surprised to see John’s deep blue eyes watching him. “John, I can explain. It was cold, and I-“ He was interrupted by a kiss on the lips. Stunned, he didn’t react.
“Not good?” John asked.
In response, Sherlock kissed John passionately. He nipped at John’s lips, sucked on them, and pressed his tongue between them.
John pulled back and laughed. “I take it that means it was good. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Same.” Sherlock kissed John again.
Kissing progressed to groping, and groping progressed quickly to sex.
They fell asleep, limbs entwined and messy from their lovemaking.
The next day, they came downstairs and showered together. After that, they set about making breakfast. Just as they finished eating, there came the familiar sound of Mycroft, with umbrella, climbing the stairs to 221B.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and went to the living room where he sat in his accustomed chair. John joined him, taking a seat as well.
“Mycroft,” Sherlock sniped, “why haven’t the repairs been done? Are you here to force me into taking a case in order for the work to be done?”
Mycroft gave his non-smile. “No, baby brother. I came to tell you that, now that certain things have come about, the repairs will commence immediately.”
John looked confused.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked at his brother. “You delayed the repairs on purpose!” Sherlock said indignantly.
“You’re welcome, baby brother.” With that, Mycroft turned and went back the way he had come, satisfied with a job well done.