John rolled over and curled his arm around Sherlock's diminutive waist, burying his cheek against the smooth pectorals. "I still can't believe I was nominated for an Oscar," he grinned down towards Sherlock's navel, the buzz of the telly washing over them both as the sun struggled to rise.
Long, thin fingers combed through his hair, returning in the other direction with a gentle application of fingernail. "Believe it," Sherlock purred beneath him, wishing the birds would hold off on their infernal chirping for just one day.
John arched his neck to look up at his partner, one leg curled up over his. "I mean, it's a bloody Oscar! Where do you go from there? What's left to do?"
Sherlock smirked and leaned in to kiss and nibble gently at John's prolific nose. "Win, of course." He sincerely hoped John would win against him and of course, against Moriarty. He deserved the award the most. There would be plenty of chances for Sherlock to win in the future, but there wouldn't be any more for John if he didn't win this one. It was crucial.
John hummed happily and toyed with Sherlock's navel, curling his toes in against the bony shins as he tried to calm himself enough to get another couple hours of sleep.