I want one scene, just one, or five, but one will do, of John and Sherlock in bed on a stormy Sunday morning, dim blue cloudy light, newspapers scattered everywhere, tea cups leaving rings on night stands, feet hanging out of rumpled covers, bare chests, reading glasses, pass me the crime action, I don’t have it, yes you do, no I don’t, dammit John - oh, lightning and thunder, mid-morning yawns, fluffing up pillows, slouching down, leaning over, head on shoulder, affectionate hair ruffling, arm around waist, nuzzling bicep, hand slipping lower, oi - what’re you doing there, just this, just that, stop reading, make me, come down here, mmm, and I don’t think it’s too much to ask.