#johnlockstrade

A scramble for an alarm setting. 

An ease of folding the covers down.

A pull on a pillow to put over a head.

The groans and huffs of aching joints or stiff muscles. 

The need for a quick kiss or a small 'I love you' answered.

(In Sherlock's case on a light affection day, an easy touch or two. Nothing more. On a heavier day, a stroke through his curls, a thorough kiss, and soft pets anywhere the other two pleased.)

On a Sunday in the middle of October, with all three of them home, it finally shook awake in Sherlock, the realisation that his relationship with John and Greg had finally fallen on stable footing. He should have known it ages ago but- he didn't and it blindsided him in a good way. 

He was awake exactly 5 minutes before 7:30am, when the first alarm on John's phone goes off on weekdays. A habit he had picked up about a month after they started waking up in the same bed. It’s still wonderfully dark out and won’t be bright for a little while yet. He’s happy Greg turned the heat on before they piled into bed after a long Saturday. Hunches being batted away and sifted through within an inch of their worth. Otherwise the room would have been ice cold and they all would suffer the consequences of trying to get out of a warm bed into the frigid air.

He turns his head on the pillow towards his two lovers, his two boyfriends, his two partners. Years ago, when John had asked him a few leading questions while they were first learning of each other as roommates, Sherlock never could have imagined he’d be here.

He lets his open eyes roam over the pair.  

The slackness of Greg's face is wonderful. The lines of worry and anger and disappointment are gone from between his eyebrows and his forehead. The sad twist of his mouth that is usually there on a case is wiped away while in sleep. Silvered hair that's growing out from another tight cut is sticking up stiff at odd angles on the one side. Chances are it's flat to his skull on the other. Sherlock won't tell him outright, at least not sober, but it's sweet and sexy. The Silver Fox look is something Sherlock has come to love over the years he’s known Greg Lestrade. He's pretty sure he caused most of the greys there anyway. 

Paired with deep doe brown eyes and a solid body, Greg is every bit of a fantasy as Sherlock had panted after when he first had known the D.I.. Said fantasy loves him dearly and would do almost anything for him. Sherlock can see the crusted sleep in the corners of those closed eyes. Knows there’s a high chance for a little dried line of drool down his cheek.

Sherlock smiles softly to himself. He loves to observe and commit things to memory. This is one of the best images to do that with.

He drags his eyes toward his first love, the one he had fallen so fast for that it took his breath away. He won’t admit it. And he won't admit that having John tinker and operate on Sherlock’s dormant heart gave way for Sherlock to see he was in love with both John and Greg. It took a while for him to settle that issue within himself. 

John is between them, curled away from Sherlock and huddled under the covers for warmth. The quilt pulled up high to his ear. He got in late from the clinic on Friday night, an emergency he needed to follow through on, which had delayed him a few hours. The thick jumper he wore over his button up and tie didn't do much to keep him warm in the evening. He didn't expect to be caught out in the bitter cold though, only the cooling air after a warm afternoon. 

He has been chilled to the bone since then, and both Greg and Sherlock have tried to warm him up in many ways. For now however, he sleeps on, tucked in tight between Sherlock on his back and Greg on his side facing towards the Doctor. The light grey-blond, but mostly grey, hair was softer than Greg's and was plastered to John's head from him rolling around in sleep. Sherlock knows that John's mouth is open because he's snoring softly into the edge of the pillow he shared with Sherlock. 

Carefully he shuffled onto his own side and pressed up close to John’s back, infusing his own warmth into the warm skin pressed against him. He leans in to kiss the starburst of a scar on John’s shoulder, breathing against it and nuzzling the tender skin there. 

He’s woken up into a life he never thought he’d have. Something like stability. A strong bond between the three of them. A little girl snoring away in what was ‘John’s Room’ with the monitor on Sherlock’s bedside table. He was the one most likely to be awake and notice if something was wrong. He had developed a sense for Rosie and her whims or whoa or wonder. 

Currently it is quiet. An enveloping quiet that settled Sherlock’s inner workings as he settled in to a cuddle with his partners. He closed his eyes and listened to the world around him. He could hear cars faintly through the door to their bedroom and the front windows. He heard a bus break a bit up the street. The soft snores of John. The light and somewhat uneven breaths of Greg that no longer worried either Doctor Watson or Medically Curious Sherlock. And he finally heard the soft huffs of an awakening little girl through the monitor.