Tradition (BBC Sherlock 221B)
Title: Tradition
Rating: R
Characters: Sherlock/John
Spoilers: None
A/N: 221B, only my second fic in this fandom, feedback is greatly appreciated.
There were not very many things John could remember making him feel quite this comfortable and satisfied at any other time during his entire life.
Still dressed in sleep pants and an old cotton t-shirt, he padded around the kitchen barefoot to start the kettle and make their morning tea and toast. It had become a ritual, a daily occurrence. Sherlock doing whatever it was that he happened to be doing at the time while John went about the motions of preparing their breakfast.
On this particular morning, John had a genuine appreciation of the soreness that he felt in his muscles. No longer just from his military training and his years in combat, now it was as much a result of exceptionally enthusiastic sex with his…his flatmate? His lover? His Sherlock. Yes, that was it.
Taking the tray with tea and toast into the living room, he stood for just a moment and watched as Sherlock played a magnificent rendition of the instrumental piece of “Tradition” from Fiddler on the Roof, staring out of their window. It was simultaneously haunting and beautiful, turning from one part to the next from melancholy to exciting.
As the last notes were finished, John cleared his throat and said, “I’ve got breakfast.”
Sherlock smiled and set down his bow.
Rating: R
Characters: Sherlock/John
Spoilers: None
A/N: 221B, only my second fic in this fandom, feedback is greatly appreciated.
There were not very many things John could remember making him feel quite this comfortable and satisfied at any other time during his entire life.
Still dressed in sleep pants and an old cotton t-shirt, he padded around the kitchen barefoot to start the kettle and make their morning tea and toast. It had become a ritual, a daily occurrence. Sherlock doing whatever it was that he happened to be doing at the time while John went about the motions of preparing their breakfast.
On this particular morning, John had a genuine appreciation of the soreness that he felt in his muscles. No longer just from his military training and his years in combat, now it was as much a result of exceptionally enthusiastic sex with his…his flatmate? His lover? His Sherlock. Yes, that was it.
Taking the tray with tea and toast into the living room, he stood for just a moment and watched as Sherlock played a magnificent rendition of the instrumental piece of “Tradition” from Fiddler on the Roof, staring out of their window. It was simultaneously haunting and beautiful, turning from one part to the next from melancholy to exciting.
As the last notes were finished, John cleared his throat and said, “I’ve got breakfast.”
Sherlock smiled and set down his bow.