Sherlock was already up and about when he heard John start to move around upstairs. He'd played the violin until he was sure that John was not going to have any nightmares that night. Music often seemed to calk his mind, even if it was subconsciously.
He was in the kitchen at his microscope, studying the remains of the rat livers that he had started days ago, the day of the argument.
The day he almost lost John.
At first he paid no attention to the man when he came into the kitchen and started coffee, mumbling a "Good morning, John."
That was, until he had to look up to readjust his slide.
And he saw that John was wearing nothing but his pants.
That was very strange for John, usually he was fully kitted in a sleep shirt and pajama bottoms, but he had forgone both of them this morning it seemed.
It took too many heartbeats for Sherlock to remind himself not to stare, and he quickly went back to his microscope, almost jamming his eyes into the lens in his haste.
no subject
He was in the kitchen at his microscope, studying the remains of the rat livers that he had started days ago, the day of the argument.
The day he almost lost John.
At first he paid no attention to the man when he came into the kitchen and started coffee, mumbling a "Good morning, John."
That was, until he had to look up to readjust his slide.
And he saw that John was wearing nothing but his pants.
That was very strange for John, usually he was fully kitted in a sleep shirt and pajama bottoms, but he had forgone both of them this morning it seemed.
It took too many heartbeats for Sherlock to remind himself not to stare, and he quickly went back to his microscope, almost jamming his eyes into the lens in his haste.