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“I was in the middle of deducing, John,” Sherlock said as he felt his flatmate slip beneath his coat so that his cheek rested against his chest.
“I was cold,” John mumbled, still slightly drunk.
“It’s your fault you’re not wearing your jumper,” Sherlock sighed, but doing nothing to remove John.
“…warm,” John murmured, leaning forward.
Sherlock froze slightly before wrapping an arm tentatively around John’s waist. “Yes, as a human being, I’m a warm-blooded organism. Let’s get you home, shall we?”
“You’re warm,” John repeated, nuzzling the detective’s chest slightly. Sherlock felt his cheeks heating up uncomfortably.
“I’m well aware of the fact that I’m…warm, John.”
“Bump. Bump. Bumpbumpbumpbumpbump,” John tapped his fingers on Sherlock’s ribcage, mimicking the heart whose beat was starting to pick up too quickly.
Sherlock considered moving them out of the street and toward the flat. He didn’t really care about what people thought, of course, but he knew John did. If John was sober, he would never be doing this.
Maybe they could just stand here.
Just for a moment more.