His orbit decays.
John smiles because of a kiss. Then he wonders if he imagined the the touch. Not quite sure. He almost doesn’t feel the gentle pressure against his hair, being so tired from a too long day. He sits on the sofa, the cushions keep him something resembling upright. He is quiet and he drifts, his eyelids slip closed. The world is broken up with black. The sound of Sherlock, busy in their space sometimes breaks through. Sometimes it lulls him.
John sways as Sherlock settles on the sofa. His orbit decays. He leans against Sherlock side.
The kiss is soft against his hair as if not to wake him. I’m not yet all the way down, he would say, if he was lucid enough for words. Don’t stop, he would say, but he hums instead in hopes of continuing, in hopes of being kissed. Gentle fingers pull through his hair and he smiles, his sound has sufficed. Sherlock knows all of his sounds, he told him once.
Sherlock speaks quiet words against him, and John doesn’t understand them, but he nods, somewhere on the edge of a dream. He will have to, if he can remember, ask Sherlock what he agreed with, or agreed to, with his nod. But not right now. Now he drifts. His orbit decays. He smiles because…
Happy Birthday, x0chi my dear dear friend. Here are some words. I wrote 221 of them for you, like right now. They are unedited. Which gives me agita. I wish you the best of years. :-) xoxox
Thank you so much mugenmine! This was one of the nicest gifts I’ve received in a long time! Mugen is a kickass writer, you should check her stuff out!