A Slow Morning at Baker Street (слэш)

John hummed happily, letting his eyes close for just a second. Damn you, Lestrade, John thought as he felt Sherlock’s eyelashes tickling his skin as Sherlock blinked, still waking himself up. You couldn’t have picked a worse morning to ask us on a case.
“Who is it, John?” Sherlock asked, the words partially obscured by John’s shoulder. His fingers were skimming softly over John’s collar bones, and his feet had found John’s under the covers. His toes were somehow still cold, despite the rest of him being warm, but John let him tangle their legs together nonetheless.