Rock-a-Bye
It never did fail.
The moment that Holmes stepped onto a train was, in the moments following, where he would undoubtedly and irrevocably fall asleep.
For all of our old cases, and all of Holmes's nervous excitement over the development of a new case, every time would come for the need to travel and every time there would be my friend, silently slumbering in the carriage as though he had no care in the world.
Indeed, it was the most peaceful that I would see Holmes in the upcoming days, to be sure.
I still wasn't sure if the rocking motion of the train put him to sleep, or if it was the lull in between action on the case. Perhaps it was a natural instinct; Holmes knew that he would not be sleeping during a case, and so he slept in the moments between.
It was almost humorous.
It was something that I never failed to bring up to my friend, one tiny bit of leverage that I had to jest with the detective. It was something that never particularly seemed to bother the him, though that wasn't about to dissuade me.
I had noticed before I had begun to speak that Holmes was already sitting silently, eyes closed, head fallen low upon his breast for an instant now and then. But I had had questions, not that I had gotten any answers (only more questions, only ever more questions), so I had spoke. Holmes had responded in his own cryptic way, and silence had reigned upon the carriage again.
It had taken mere moments for Holmes to drop off.
I had been able to tell by the way the detective's breathing evened, how the shoulders relaxed slightly, eyes hidden away beneath the hat as his head tipped forward. Holmes did not snore - which was just as well, I supposed - but the steady inhale and exhale through slightly parted lips was somehow comforting in the otherwise silence blanketing the train.
While Mary and I had been courting, we had both sat and witnessed our friend sleeping, after which Mary had declared him precious and that she liked him. I had found it funny at the time and, quite honestly, still did.
The train jolted; I reached to steady myself. At the same moment, Holmes slumped sideways against the door - and did not wake up. Certainly I would have reached to steady him had the bump not been so unexpected, but even still, nothing bothered the sleeping detective.
With a slight chuckle, I shook my head and turned my attention to the sights.
When we arrived at our station, Holmes was still sleeping. He'd managed only to slump further down the door, but otherwise hadn't moved. I had been keeping an eye on him lest he pitched forward onto the floor, but even as the train jolted and jerked to a stop, he stayed resolutely in his seat. Through willpower, apparently.
With a soft exhale, I levered myself to my feet to cross the short distance between us. I leaned over to my friend's level, putting my hand to his shoulder.
"Holmes."
Holmes did not startle awake. That was also not a surprise. He could sleep like the dead on any given circumstance, especially on a stretch of time where his sleeping habits were lacking. Every now and then, usually on a pressing case, he could jump awake and be out the door in mere moments. This was not one of those days.
I shook his shoulder gently. "Holmes, you must wake up. We've arrived."
The detective stirred slightly, mumbling under his breath. When I listened closer, it sounded as though he were mumbling about... swamp adders?
I huffed a laugh, although the memory was hardly humorous. "The speckled band was years ago, my friend. We're looking for a more supernatural fiend this time."
Holmes raised his head from his chest, looking blearily up at him. Then he smiled softly, eyes still half lidded with the sleep that he had been in desperate need of. "... There's no ghosts, my dear Watson," he said out loud, voice deep and rumbling.
"Save the ones we make ourselves?" I asked.
Holmes breathed out with that same, small smile. "Indeed that." He straightened up, back arching slightly in a subtle stretch. His fingers swept away from being tangled in his travelling cape and to the hat, pushing it back. "Very well. Let us find the trick behind this spectre."
When he stood, he swayed, and I reached out, instinctively, to steady him. He smiled and brushed off my concern, even though he had reached for my shoulder at the same moment.
"And then return home so that you may catch up on your lost sleep in full," I commented, smiling in only exasperated amusement at my friend.
"Mm, yes." He stretched. "I would have thought it not time to wake up yet, but needs must. Come along, Watson. Sir Eustace is to die, and I daresay we're supposed to stop it."
"Yes," I agreed seriously, and followed my companion off the train.
A/N: For no other reason than writing Victorian sleepy!lock. I mean, he looked so tired on the train? Just kind of zoning out. Maybe he was meditating. But you know, I went to sleepy xP
I do not own Sherlock. Thanks for reading!