John Watson was many things. Doctor. Soldier. Muggle. Assistant to the world’s only Consulting Detective. Only friend of said detective. Official blogger for that very same detective.
And a terrible boyfriend.
Only, for the last five months, three days and roughly four hours, he hadn’t been a terrible boyfriend. He’d been a bloody marvelous one.
As evidenced by the fact he woke one morning five months, three days, and roughly four hours after becoming the best boyfriend ever, to stare straight into a pair of alert ashen eyes. And they were staring straight back at him.
John gave a dopey grin, remembering how bloody marvelous a boyfriend he had been the night before while reveling in the warmth of the body clinging to him. “Mmm… Morning, Sher,” he said sleepily. “Thought-” Yawn. “You’d be up and banging about by now.”
”I will not leave this bed,” Sherlock stated as if he were pointing out a clue at a crime scene.
John smiled a bit more. “That’s all well for you, but I’m dying for some tea.”
”You are not leaving this bed,” Sherlock stated in that same tone.
John sighed. “Sherlock, both of us are going to have to leave this bed at some point.”
Sherlock lifted his head just a little to get a better look at John’s face. He seemed greatly offended by the suggestion of leaving the safety and comfort of the bed. “Why?”
John’s brain tried to scratch around inside his skull for a vital piece of information. Something he knew was important, but was too sleepy and too happy at the moment to bother trying to recall. Something about Nymphs, and something he’d read had to read a magical creatures book somewhere…
His mind gave up on it and instead he said, “Food. Tea. The loo.”
”Boring. All of it.” Sherlock put his head back down and clung to John tighter.
”But necessary. Not to mention a shower wouldn’t kill either of us.”
In the end they had, indeed, left the bed. But Sherlock had to be touching John at all times. John managed to win some semblance of privacy when he’d kicked Sherlock out of the bathroom, leaving the wizard to sit on the floor, right in front of the door, ready to pounce him the moment it opened.
This pattern of behavior lasted for two weeks when finally John had to do something about it. So he stole Sherlock’s wand, tied him to a chair, and escaped to go grocery shopping. He was only gone for a few hours.
When John returned he found Sherlock had managed to get untied, was sitting in his chair, and was wearing his favorite tan jumper. After this, Sherlock realized that when John left the flat alone, yes, he would return. Often with food and definately not another muggle unless that muggle was a client. Or Mrs. Hudson.
Things then returned to normal, mostly. The only exception had become Sherlock’s seemingly permanent attitude towards attractive females. Rather, what he knew John had found attractive in that species of muggle. Sherlock didn’t realize he’d be more rude to them, nor was he aware of the fact that he was intimidating them into not aproaching John to speak with, even if they were a client in need of their services. This greatly annoyed John, and he was constantly reassuring the detective that no, he was not interrested in anyone else. No, he wasn’t going to run off with anyone else. And no, he wasn’t going to let Sherlock continue this behavior.
Usually when this happened, the moment the case was over and the pair were safely back in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock’s nymphae instincts would kick in, leaving John dazed, confused, and thoroughly shagged.
And then John would remember exactly what that book he’d been made to read had said, and he would remind himself that Sherlock really couldn’t help it.
It was his nature to be posessive.