Someone Like You

The Morning After

The soft rainfall outside accompanies the sharp trill of an alarm, pulling a hungover John Watson from his slumber. His movement to turn off the sound is halted by an arm flung across his midsection, a head of dishevelled ebony curls tucked against his shoulder. John carefully wriggles out of the other boy's grasp, shivering as the white sheet slips off his torso despite his efforts to stay under the covers as he swats at his mobile screen. The other boy doesn't wake, mumbling softly as John slips out of the bed and covers him back up with the cream comforter. Their clothes are still strewn about the bedroom, forming a trail from the door to the bed where, as of last night, both boys had decided clothes were too cumbersome for their wants. John shivers in the coolness of the room, mind flashing back to the previous drunken evening. Roaming hands and lips sending bolts of energy through the pair, bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. He makes his way through the room to find the washroom, nudging open the door with his shoulder and grabbing a towel off the shelf before starting the shower. The glass door of the shower opens after a few minutes, John jumping slightly at the silent appearance of Sherlock.

"Mind if I join you?" He's already closing the door behind him as he speaks, gauging John's reaction before he steps closer to the shorter boy.

"Not at all," John replies quietly, trying not to be too loud for fear of waking anyone else up.

Quite a few people passed out on the floor downstairs, a few others scattered about in some of the guest rooms of the Holmes' residence. Hungover teens are not the type of people John wants to wake up at six in the morning, especially not people he doesn't know. Sherlock, of course, makes it his personal mission to make this difficult for John, backing the smaller boy against a wall as he trails sloppy kisses down his neck.

"You comfortable with this?" Sherlock's voice is a few tones deeper than normal, sending shivers down John's spine.

John can't find it in him to reply, not verbally at least, instead pulling Sherlock's body flush against his own. The slowness of Sherlock's movements drives John crazy, a much different experience than last night's, and he finds himself growing somewhat impatient by the time they start moving. The water makes movement more difficult than expected, but Sherlock manages to keep both of them upright after they finish. John grips the taller boy tightly, fingernails digging into his skin as he goes limp. Sherlock manages to get them both cleaned up, pressing feather-light kisses to John's skin as the water rinses them clean. A knock on the door draws their attention, Sherlock wriggles into a pair of pants before making his way across the room to open the door. John remains in the washroom, struggling into a set of clothes before he moves to sit on the bed.

He's still there, lacing up his shoes, when Sherlock comes back into the room, a ginger-haired boy following him closely. The pair seem to ignore John, though Sherlock's cheeks are tinged crimson when he sees him. No words are spoken, John assumes none are needed to explain his being here, but he realises the other boy looks even more uncomfortable than Sherlock, if that's possible at this point.

"Save us the drama Sherlock, just tell me where he went," The redhead speaks finally, letting out a sigh of discontent as Sherlock sits down at the desk and opens his laptop.

"I'm not being dramatic, I'm trying to help you," His voice is laced with sarcasm, John can almost see him rolling his eyes.

He continues typing, hardly sparing either of the others a glance until he finds what he's looking for. The redhead steps closer, peering over Sherlock's shoulder to see whatever he has found.

"I told you he didn't leave. Honestly Mycroft, you need to keep a better eye on your goldfish," The sarcastic tone hasn't left Sherlock, though the shift in how he is sitting indicates that he has tired of Mycroft's presence.

He leaves, shutting the door behind him as Sherlock snaps the laptop shut and makes his way back over to the bed.

"Are you staying for breakfast?" His expression melts from its previously irritated state, shifting into something closer to joy.

"I don't want to be any trouble, and my mum's already going to kill me, she expected me home after school yesterday," John speaks cautiously, still confused by the interaction with Mycroft.

"You sure? It doesn't look like it, but Mycroft can cook alright." He's still excited John realises, eventually convincing him to stay for breakfast.