Cuddles Are Never Tedious

John considers him for a moment. Sherlock’s hair is in disarray, and his bathrobe is falling from one shoulder, and his bare feet tap angry little notes against the carpet. His eyes have slitted back into their glare, and he’s aiming it at John as if he can control him just by staring long enough. Ignoring the fact that he apparently can, John closes his book and sets it aside. It seems blowing things up isn’t on Sherlock’s agenda today.