As she turns away from him he kisses her temple, just a quick press of lips against her damp hair. He may never quite get used to the fact that he wants to touch her more than he's ever wanted physical contact with any other single person--and that having her physically close, while it may be distracting, is pleasant. It doesn't feel invasive, the way it usually does. (John's seen him flinch from a stranger touching him without warning, a handful of times.) And there's always some familiar sensory input nearby, calming him, helping soften the sometimes-overwhelming rush of stimulus that can come at him while he's trying to find a focus on something.
Yeah, he's definitely nicking a pillowcase. Or maybe this sheet.
He takes a quick detour before the shower, though, to hang up his Belstaff and her own coat--both utterly forgotten the night before--and grab his overnight bag from the hallway.
Again the shower feels like the best part of a very mellow high. A bit like one of the better strains of cannabis he'd tried in university, really: his skin is warm and tingling, details feel vivid without being too sharp or coming at him too quickly, and an easy smile tilts his mouth. There's none of the sluggishness or confusion of weed, though, even if he is ravenously hungry.
(He is momentarily a bit distracted by the detachable shower head, now that he knows what Molly does with it besides washing her hair, but... actually there might still be time to redo his bathroom at 221B so it's got more space for sex. He'll save that thought for later.)
Once he's toweled off and dressed he practically swaggers back into the kitchen, barefoot and still a bit rumpled but looking as if he's about to explain to everyone exactly how he knows the murder weapon they're looking for is a toffee hammer.
The flat is rapidly filling with the delicious scent of cooking crepes. His mouth waters, and for a second it's hard to tell whether that's over Molly in his shirt or the smell of what's shaping up to be a good breakfast.
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Date: 2017-03-06 11:10 pm (UTC)As she turns away from him he kisses her temple, just a quick press of lips against her damp hair. He may never quite get used to the fact that he wants to touch her more than he's ever wanted physical contact with any other single person--and that having her physically close, while it may be distracting, is pleasant. It doesn't feel invasive, the way it usually does. (John's seen him flinch from a stranger touching him without warning, a handful of times.) And there's always some familiar sensory input nearby, calming him, helping soften the sometimes-overwhelming rush of stimulus that can come at him while he's trying to find a focus on something.
Yeah, he's definitely nicking a pillowcase. Or maybe this sheet.
He takes a quick detour before the shower, though, to hang up his Belstaff and her own coat--both utterly forgotten the night before--and grab his overnight bag from the hallway.
Again the shower feels like the best part of a very mellow high. A bit like one of the better strains of cannabis he'd tried in university, really: his skin is warm and tingling, details feel vivid without being too sharp or coming at him too quickly, and an easy smile tilts his mouth. There's none of the sluggishness or confusion of weed, though, even if he is ravenously hungry.
(He is momentarily a bit distracted by the detachable shower head, now that he knows what Molly does with it besides washing her hair, but... actually there might still be time to redo his bathroom at 221B so it's got more space for sex. He'll save that thought for later.)
Once he's toweled off and dressed he practically swaggers back into the kitchen, barefoot and still a bit rumpled but looking as if he's about to explain to everyone exactly how he knows the murder weapon they're looking for is a toffee hammer.
The flat is rapidly filling with the delicious scent of cooking crepes. His mouth waters, and for a second it's hard to tell whether that's over Molly in his shirt or the smell of what's shaping up to be a good breakfast.