âI think Iâm a coward.â
Theyâve been snogging lazily for the better part of half an hour, down to their pants just because they can be, hands roving without intention beyond the routine of mapping out each otherâs skin. Sherlock had even been quietly reciting each of Johnâs bones (Johnâs, specifically, phrasing them as âWatsonâs fibula, Watsonâs tibia, Watsonâs patellaâ, and so on and so forth) only moments before. He blinks drowsily at John now, through a haze of gentle intimacy.
âAlright,â Sherlock says slowly, accompanying the word with a languid gesture that might be a shrug. He returns to mouthing at Johnâs wrist, murmuring something about Watsonâs carpals.
once again shouting out the incomparable (yes, thatâs the only word for it) @abstractfrog for their breathtaking illustration of a scene from my fic, i could stare at your back all day, which explores the aftermath of a few difficult cases in the world of sherlock & co for john and sherlock.














