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It took him a while to wake up. The fuzziness of sleep kept trying to pull him back. It was warm and soft and it smelled like Sherlock. That thought seemed to push through his unconscious. Why did it smell like Sherlock? Moving seemed to be incredibly difficult, like he was under the influence of some drug. At least they were at home he thought as he saw the periodic table on the wall. They were in Sherlock’s bedroom, in his bed. John managed to turn his head, Sherlock was in a similar condition next to him still unconscious.
“Urggg.” John moaned, and Sherlock opened his eyes. “Why does my mouth taste like the inside of a hamster’s cage?” Sherlock closed his eyes again. John moved, trying to find a cool spot for his head on his pillow.
“No idea.” Said Sherlock, his voice was rough and sounded sore. John moved again, and felt a sudden sharp pain.
“Why does my ass hurt?” Sherlock couldn’t help it, he burst into laughter. “We didn’t, did we?” Sherlock managed to suppress his amusement.
“Highly doubtful John.” John was relieved, not that he didn’t want to, he just imagined “Sherlock would be the bottom.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
“I’d be the bottom?” Replied Sherlock, the corner of his mouth turning up. John realised he’d said it out loud and would have curled into a ball and died, if he could move his body. “John?” Sherlock turned awkwardly so that he could look John in the eyes.
“I think we’ve been drugged Sherlock.” John said hoping it would explain his slip up. He looked into Sherlock’s sky blue eyes, and reached out and brushed away a stray curl. Sherlock’s skin was warm and oddly paler than usual, like the ivory keys on a piano. His lips curved into a perfect baby pink cupid’s bow. A smile, the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.
“You’re a beautiful man Sherlock, almost feminine. If we had made love in some drugged haze I imagine that I would have taken advantage of you, rather than the other way around.” John frowned. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Sherlock touched his face.
“You’re not the first man to say that to me John.” Sherlock lowered his eyes, and John felt tightness in his chest. He was jealous, had someone touched his Sherlock? He moved his head forward ready to mark Sherlock for his own. Sherlock’s head moved to the side lips almost meeting….
The door opened, and Gladstone walked in followed by Mycroft. They pulled back.
“Nice to see you two are awake.” Mycroft grinned. “Mrs Hudson called me last night. It appears you have food poisoning.”
John and Sherlock were sat swaddled in blankets on the sofa. Mycroft had left and Mrs Hudson was taking care of them.
“The last thing I remember was eating Indian from that new restaurant.” John said as Mrs Hudson shook her head.
“You boys should be more careful where you eat. I had to call your brother because I couldn’t lift either of you. My hip you know.” Sherlock sipped his tea. Gladstone was snuggled under John’s blankets and wouldn’t stop licking him. “I knew something was wrong, Gladstone wouldn’t stop wailing until I came up.” John looked embarrassed.
“I am so sorry Mrs Hudson.” She walked over to him and kissed him on the forehead.
“It’s not your fault, these things do happen. Be grateful you can’t remember anything. The sight of you glued to the toilet while Sherlock was throwing up in the bath. You had the runs something terrible John.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Fortunately I found one of Sherlock’s ‘gas mask’ things and cleaned everything up.”
“Thank you Mrs Hudson. Don’t you have some crap telly to watch?” Sherlock groaned.
“Oh yes, Jeremy Kyle is on.” Mrs Hudson moved quite quickly on occasion, usually when one of her programs was on. “Call me if you need me.” She shouted half way down the stairs. John looked over at Sherlock.
“That explains my sore ass then.” Sherlock smirked and they both started to laugh.