He should have checked before they turned in for the night, but they'd both been so exhausted after chasing down the suspect through the back alleys of Edinburgh, not to mention the brief but intense fight it had taken to bring the bastard down, that it simply hadn't occurred to him. So when the hotel room's clock radio alarm went off at 3:45 a.m., blasting out one of his least favourite '80s songs, it came as something of a shock to his system.
"We've got each other and that's a lot for love. We'll give it a shot. Oh-oh, we're half way there. Oh-oh, livin' on a prayer. Take my hand and we'll make it I swear. Oh-oh, livin' on a prayer!"
"Christ!" John swore vehemently, heart racing like he'd just sprinted a mile. He fumbled in the dark for the damned radio, and failing to find the alarm's off switch, yanked the blasted thing out of the wall, knocking over the bedside lamp in the process.
Blessed silence fell, and he lay there, willing the adrenaline rush to pass. "Why do people do that?"
Sherlock rolled over beside him, seemingly undisturbed by the unexpected and painfully early wake-up call. "Obviously the room's previous occupant had to catch a flight to Palma, Amsterdam, or Paris. He was leaving it a bit late for Brussels."
"Yeah but-- Forget it." There was no point arguing. Sherlock was undoubtedly correct and there was nothing to be done about it anyway. Now if he could just calm down enough to get back to sleep.
He felt Sherlock's long fingers slide up his belly and come to rest on chest, just over his pounding heart. The hand was warm against his bare skin and he felt himself slowly relaxing under the weight of it, comfortable and familiar.
Sherlock snuggled closer. His hand slipped back down John's stomach and proceeded lower, reaching under the waistband of John's boxer shorts.
Sherlock knew exactly what it took. John was half-hard in seconds, and fully aroused moments later. He shoved his pants out of the way with one hand and the covers off with the other. It was a heady interval later that Sherlock's knowing hands brought him to the brink and over it.
John felt all his tension release with his climax. His body went limp against the mattress and pillow. His eyes fluttered shut as his breath slowed towards sleep. In this half-daze, he felt Sherlock leave the bed and soon return. He fell asleep to the touch of Sherlock cleaning him up with a warm, wet flannel, and the thought that 3:45 a.m. wasn't such a bad time to wake up after all.