Voice of a Stranger (Johnlock)

The Work

"Sherlock..." John reluctantly stopped the hand that was sliding downwards on his chest.

Kisses were pressed against the nape of his neck, sending a shiver through John. Amazing how even after hours in bed, he still responded so easily to Sherlock's touch.

"Yes, John?" The half-whispered question against his skin had a similar effect. The detective knew it. Did it deliberately.

Turning onto his back, John lifted a hand to push back Sherlock's messy curls. "I'd love to keep going, but I have to get up and be somewhat awake at the clinic tomorrow." He pulled Sherlock down to deliver a light kiss to soften his words.

"Work. Boring." Sherlock huffed against John's mouth, before deepening the kiss until John felt a bit dizzy.

Chuckling, John pushed Sherlock back, and shuffled a few inches away. "You say that because it's mine. Once you are cleared for work, I'm sure you will be singing a different tune."

Sherlock stilled, blinking slowly for a few moments. He settled beside John, cuddling against his shoulder. "I got the all clear, John."

John wondered if he had heard Sherlock right, and wished he could see his face more clearly, but the bedroom was dark. Only the glow from London streetlights dimly illuminated the room. He gazed over at Sherlock, not sure of what to say, so he eventually settled back on his pillow.

---

John woke to his alarm and his bed was empty. It was the first time Sherlock had not been there to wake up together for so long.

Missing the morning kisses that often led to other things, John got out of bed. Coming downstairs, Sherlock's bedroom door was open and his big ass coat was missing from the hook near the door. The flat was quiet. Where would he have gone this early in the day?

Shrugging, John showered and went to work.

---

The next few days were similar. Sherlock gone before John got up, and he heard him returning late at night when John was already in bed. There was some evidence that he was in the flat during the day, like a tea mug left on the desk.

Experiments had started to reappear in the kitchen, and soon took over most of the kitchen table, and a lot of the counter and refrigerator. John learned to not look too closely at anything, least his appetite leave him as he prepared a meal.

It was almost a surprise to come home and find Sherlock in the flat after three days had passed. He was at the kitchen table, peering through the microscope, and making notes.

"Oh...Hi." John said with an awkward half-smile. Should he go over and kiss him hello? Leave him to his work? This was all new to John.

Sherlock's gaze flicked up and scanned over John quickly. "Hello, John." He went back to his slide.

"I was going to make a stir-fry. Want some?" John unpacked his grocery bag, and searched for the cutting board in the cupboard.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm working."

John gave him a quizzical look. "So, no food when you work? For God's sake, you need to eat."

"No, you need to eat. I need to think. The brain's what counts. Everything else is transport." Sherlock waved a dismissive hand without looking up from his project.

Rolling his eyes, John prepared his meal, and was able to find a space at the crowded kitchen table. "So, what are you working on?"

"Molly's research on my old experiments was a little sloppy. I have to redo some of the tests to check her results." Sherlock only glanced up quickly at John before looking back down.