One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

Tired of the rain

Sherlock and john had just finished a case and were sat in the back of the cab, still on the adrenaline high but slowly coming down.

Sherlock faced out the window, it was raining and the streetlights splintered through the water speckled glass like a broken mirror and Sherlock could think of nothing but beautiful.

"I love the rain" Sherlock whispered.

"You'd have to if you live in England, all it ever does it rain" John sighed, ruffling the water out his hair.

"Some people feel the rain, others just get wet." Sherlock quoted, his eyes feeling heavy and tired.

When the cab pulled up in Baker Street, Sherlocks tired body hauled itself out the cab, stumbling over his own feet as John came to join him at the door.

They climbed up the stairs two at a time and then Sherlock collapsed backwards onto the sofa, his legs stretching out to the end as he rested his head on the armrest. John smiled softly at him and went to the window after hanging up his coat, still raining softly, gently flecks against the glass.

He could see what Sherlock liked but sometimes the rain was just so annoying, soaking to the bone and giving you near hyperthermia, but other times you could smell it in the grass, the wet concrete, the gentle slap of your soles on the slippery pavement, a gentle patter on rooftops and windows and just generally the perfectness of it all.

And he finally understood what Sherlock meant.

He looked back over his shoulder at Sherlock, he'd fallen asleep in his coat and scarf, still soaked from the rain and he'd have a cold in the morning unless he got changed.

John sighed and turned fully to the detective, walking up to the man on the sofa. He crouched down next to the sofa and lifted Sherlocks shoulders up gently receiving a small groan in return. He then slid the detectives coat off his shoulders and undid the scarf and then lay him back down into the sofa as he went to hang up his coat and scarf to dry.

The detectives clothes underneath were thankfully dry so john fetched a blanket and pillow from the detectives room and lay the blanket over him and lifted his head, placing the pillow underneath.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around the pillow and snuggled his face into it and John couldn't help but chuckle, the detectives hair was curlier than usual from the damp and was doing little ringlets all over his head. John smiled down at the detective and went to the bathroom to fetch a towel.

Once he had the towel, he gently ruffled Sherlocks curls, careful not too wake him and took most of the damp out before he went to his own room, humming quietly to himself as he walked up the stairs.

He lay quietly in his bed until he fade off into a peaceful sleep.

*****

John woke the next morning having slept well, he could still hear rain pattering against the window but he could hear something more beautiful than the rain. Something that made him want to start his day.

He could hear Sherlocks violin, he could hear the voice of Sherlocks heart and that was always worth living for, because no matter how melancholy or screechy, how happy or sad, it was Sherlocks heart and it was like finding a thousand year old pearl in a clam, like the key to a chest that had never been opened. It was unused and weak but loving and strong.