its ok with the posts! take your time most of us understand if you are busy!
Aww, well thank you, I appreciate it! It’s just that different times of the school year are busier than others planning-wise, and right now all the students in my six classes are about to start some big projects that require a lot of planning and preparation. So between that, handling real-life biz, and working on FE I don’t have much time to do too much else, which makes me sad. It won’t last forever, it’s just…really makes me sad sometimes that I can’t do more.
Whoever decided we need to spend precious hours sleeping in order to function should be pinched really hard. >:/
Anywho, I’m rambling! I think for now I’ll set up a queue once I get the chance, and then maybe when I have more free time I’ll post submissions on one day of the week again.
I want John and Sherlock to have all the mornings together from now on. I want them to have early fogs behind lukewarm cups of coffee. I want them to have slow snuggles and drowsy morning, sleepyhead, soft smiles and hands in hair. Coming home from a case and collapsing in a heap on the sofa, John with his fingers on Sherlock’s cheeks, come to bed, sweetheart, come on, just a little further. Mornings full of clients and mornings full of experiments, mornings full of laughter at Mycroft’s latest scheme, mornings full of feet knocking together underneath the table and the certain comforting quiet that’s made by newspapers turning pages in the rain and the knowledge of where they each are in relation to the other: close, close, closer. I want them sneaking kisses as the sun streams through the windows, kisses that taste like toast and tea, kisses that seem brisk but for the affection pulling at the corners of their lips and kisses that linger, deepen, speak to the marrow in their bones, an awakening and a promise both. I want mornings where they’re apart, driven by the necessity of the case or by the dull needs in a world that sometimes demands a morning, mornings shared via text messages about the price of croissants and the queue at the post office, not together, but still not quite separate, always with their feet pointed toward one another, always with their eyes looking back toward home. I want mornings where they drift, slip out of sleep and into dreams made reality, into each other’s arms, the way Sherlock smells when he’s over-warm and flushed with sleep, the way John’s eyes crinkles at the corner as he kisses Sherlock’s cheekbones, shoulders, fingertips, mornings with love made solid, mornings with love held in the tangle of their hands, mornings bright and soft and grey and brilliantly full of love.