A/N; Maybe slight warnings for this. There's some intense making out and a few love bites…nothing the fandom isn't used to, though, right? Right? *attempts to justify self for writing pure Sherlock lip porn* But it's mostly fluffy Johnlock goodness, which I wrote to stop crying and cheer up after I read a beautifully written Sherlock deathfic by my dear Sherlock ADD buddy :').

I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to everyone (the two f's and r's) for keeping me going. Reviews are to me what cake is to Mycroft…stuff of the gods.

Ta,

Anonymoustache.

Late one night, John awoke to complete silence.

For once, Sherlock was actually sleeping.

He looked down at his lover, so peaceful and calm, smooth alabaster skin shining in the moonlight. Sherlock was beautiful when he slept, even more so than in the daytime.

I love you so much, Sherlock.

Do you even know how much?

I would be so lost without you.

It was almost midnight. The night was silent, stars shining in the black night.

John skimmed his fingers gently along Sherlock's cheekbones, using a gossamer's touch as to not wake up his beautiful detective. He traced along the man's jaw line and lightly caressed his silky brown curls.

You're my whole life.

He lay back next to his lover, hand softly tracing circles on Sherlock's chest, and looked up at the ceiling, watching the unwavering streams of moonlight.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. It was early, early morning (most likely around three forty-five or four at the latest, said his brain). John was sleeping next to him, one arm draped across Sherlock's chest. His mouth was open ever so slightly, emitting little sighing sounds that made Sherlock's heart melt.

He resembles an angel when he sleeps.

How beautiful.

He gently slipped an arm around John's bare shoulders, fingers caressing the tan, weather-scarred skin. He brought up his other hand, tracing around the sunburst-shaped scar on his shoulder.

John, the brave soldier. My brave soldier.

The scar had always fascinated him. He thought of it as John's special mark. The mark that branded John singular and unique from the rest of the population.

His John, the exceptional soldier, blogger, and part-time conductor of light.

I love you, John.

Probably more than you'll ever know.

John opened his eyes to sunbeams streaming into their bedroom. Sherlock was snuggled up next to him, arms encircled around the army doctor. His eyelashes glittered in the morning light as they fluttered while he slept.

A wave of fondness crashed over John.

Sherlock.

The detective's eyes suddenly opened, as though he could hear John's thoughts. His brilliantly colored green-blue eyes shined as they focused upon John.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," John said teasingly.

Sherlock let go of the army doctor and he yawned and stretched, reminding John strongly of a fluffy cat. He ran his hand through his dark curls, making them stand on end and giving him an adorably tousled look. "What time is it?" he asked sleepily.

"Nine o'clock love. You slept late today." John said kindly.

"Lestrade's probably having a fit wondering where I am," Sherlock said, grinning.

"Let him whine," John whispered, leaning down to his lover, "I plan on keeping you here for a long while yet."

"Oh, really, Doctor Watson?" Sherlock asked in a mock sarcastic tone. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"Like this," John said quietly, and he leaned down and locked his lips with Sherlock's.

Sherlock let out a quiet mewling sound and wrapped his arms back around John. He tilted his neck back, allowing John to kiss up and down his neck, leaving small love bites in his wake. His lips met John's again and kissed him passionately. John responded with equal zeal, pushing Sherlock down and putting his arms around him, encircling him for a deep, bruising kiss.

They lay like that for several minutes, engaged in what seemed to be a kissing tug-of-war. Suddenly, Sherlock let out a yelp and pulled away, turning his head to the side and reflexively putting a hand up to his mouth.

John raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock?" he asked, confused. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock waved him away. "Nothing, nothing, it's fine, it wasn't your fault…" he babbled on.

"Sherlock, tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock shook his head adamantly, hand still covering his mouth. "It's nothing, John, really…"

John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled it away from his mouth.

John gasped. "Oh, Jesus. Did I…was that…"

Sherlock's lip was split in the middle, blood dripping slowly down his chin.

John jumped out of bed and, opening the bedside drawer, grabbed a hand towel. He climbed back in and gently dabbed at Sherlock's lip. "Christ. I am so sorry, 'Lock, I didn't mean to…"

Sherlock laid a hand over John's, stilling it. "John. It's okay. It's just a bitten lip."

"I BIT you?" John said, horrified. "Oh, God…Sherlock, if you never want me to kiss you again, that's okay, I am so sorry…"

"John!" Sherlock shouted. John stopped talking, completely still.

Sherlock leaned up and chastely kissed him, bloody lip and all. "It wasn't intentional. That's all that matters. And even if it was, I hardly think I could ever stop myself from wanting to kiss you," he looked gently up into John's eyes.

"I'll always love you, even if you accidently draw blood when we're kissing."

John would always remember that as the sweetest thing Sherlock had ever said to him.