Arnyri

Weekend Mornings "Goooood morning!" "Mm. Wha'?" "I said good morning." "Oh. M'rning." "You're really not a morning person, are you, Yan?" "Nope..." "Much as I love the cuddling, don't you think it's time to get out of bed now?" "Why?" "That was such a moan." "Yes." "Because it's Saturday!" "Jack, Saturday means lie in. Go 'way." "But..." "When'd you get here anyway?" "About three in the morning." "Guh." "What? I like watching you sleep." "That's creepy..." "Is not. You're cute when you're asleep." "..." "Don't you growl at me, Ianto Jones." "Not. Cute." "Yes you are." "Not!" "Ow! Hey, hey, alright, you're not cute."

Obviously it took years for them to ever get around to speaking to each other. Sherlock reasoned that it was natural: as well as being in different, some might even say rival, houses, there was also the social class divide and the fact that Sherlock always gave off the general air of someone who never wanted to talk to anyone, in his life, ever. As a general rule Sherlock felt that unless someone was directly benefitting him by being alive in his presence he would do his best to tolerate them, but if not they could bloody well bugger off and do their dull living /breathing /sleeping /eating /talking /having fun business  somewhere e