“Can you…?” Sherlock blushes. “Can you call me what you called me earlier?”
John’s brow knits as he tries to remember. “What did I call you?”
“You’re going to make me say it?”
“Well, how else would I know what you mean if you don’t say it?”
Sherlock yields. “Earlier…when you came to kiss me good morning,” He hesitates. “I was working on an experiment and you called me a-”
Sherlock reddens further. “Y-Yes.” He clears his throat. “But could you just call me…?”
John raises his brows slightly. “Bee?”
When Sherlock nods, he ducks his head shyly. “Yes…”
John’s face loses any and all tension, his entire face softens in a way that it only ever does for Sherlock. “Of course,” He smiles. “You’re my bee.” John laughs fondly when Sherlock makes the smallest, shyest sound and covers his face. “My honey bee.”
“Okay, thank you – that’s enough!” Sherlock couldn’t be redder if he tried.
“What the matter, bumble bee?”
Sherlock is about to tell John that the nicknames needed to stop – because there must be a limit to this. It’s embarrassing to be this flustered by simple pet names.
But before he got a chance, he felt John’s face press into his neck. And then, Sherlock felt tiny, tickling vibrations on his skin.
John was buzzing, making soft buzzing noises into Sherlock’s neck. “Bzzz!”
Sherlock yelps and then involuntarily giggles.
Mrs. Hudson is hardly surprised when she comes upstairs and finds the two of them writhing about on the sofa, with John buzzing over Sherlock’s skin and Sherlock giggling into John’s.