Promises Series

Promise of Love - Ride

A/N: Apologies for my lengthy hiatus! I hope you enjoy these last six chapters of this series, which I'm panic-uploading now.

The title of this chapter is "Ride" by Twenty One Pilots.

"John, come back to bed."

"You brought Julia to school already? She's got football practice today, right?" the doctor questioned, pouring water into a pair of coffee mugs. John turned and paused when his eyes landed on Sherlock, who was already taking off various articles of clothing. He smiled. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get back into bed."

"I thought your body was just transport," John replied. "Why would you want to go back to sleep?"

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

"You dirty man," laughed John.

Sherlock couldn't help but grin at John's amusement. He started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked down the hall and into the bedroom. His heart stuttered for a moment before he heard John come down the hall after him. Sherlock was already in bed by the time John stood in the doorway.

"This tea isn't going to waste."

"Bring it here, then."

John smirked, set the mugs down on the bedside table, and crawled into bed. He untangled the sheets from Sherlock's legs and covered them both neatly. Sherlock immediately moved closer to John, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Let me get settled, first, love."

Sherlock sighed. John took a few sips of his tea before rolling over and gathering Sherlock in his arms.

The detective's mind turned to molasses. It was still the same onslaught of information rampaging through his brain, but kissing John, holding John, even being near the doctor was enough to slow it all down. Wrapped up in everything John, it was unbelievably peaceful inside Sherlock's head.

John rested his chin on Sherlock's head, one hand carding through his curls. Sherlock buried his face in John's neck, breathing in the doctor's scent: tea and aftershave. The men's legs were entwined, and Sherlock couldn't care less that they were were going to sweat practically through the bedsheets.

They ended up like this on most nights - wrapped up in each other until they were merely a mess of tangled limbs. More often than not, they were in the other's arms. Sherlock particularly liked this, having John so close to him. They slept peacefully, although every once in a while one was awoken by the nightmares of the other. On those nights, they managed.

"So," John began softly, stroking Sherlock's hair, "what's all this about, then?"

"Nothing," Sherlock replied. "My mind was loud this morning. I wanted to calm it down. You work like a charm, John."

"That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"And, um... Sherlock."

"Yes, John?"

"I... I've tried to avoid asking. I know it's not- not my business, but- And you don't have to tell me, either. This is just me asking." John rubbed his palms across the planes of Sherlock's back, soothing him, making his eyes droop. "Where did you get the scars on your back, Sherlock?"

The detective froze. His heart sped up. He swallowed, preparing himself.

"While I was... away, I was frequently undercover. Most of the time, I went unnoticed. Sometimes, I didn't."