John was asleep, his head burrowed beneath Sherlocks sharp jaw. They had been like this for an hour now, the TV played an annoying game show in the background. He smiled down at the snoring man apathetically, rubbing his shoulder to comfort him.

It had been two months since Sherlocks triumphant (his word) return home. He was greeted by a sad small man who looked like he had been broken down to nearly nothing. John kissed him that night and every night since, swearing that he'd never let Holmes get into danger again. He tells Sherlock every day.

So this was it now, tea, cable, and asleep by ten. His life seemed dismal and Sherlock was growing to hate it more and more with each creeping minute. He didn't care what happened at the bank today and he didn't care who won 'QI' and he definitely didn't care for being treated like a house cat.

Sighing as he did so, the detective flicked off the tube and carried the smaller man to bed. His mobile was laid to rest on the nightstand while he changed out of his collared shirt. The brunette sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his eyes, he was going crazy, of this he was sure. A loud snore came from behind him and brought a small smile to the corner of Sherlocks mouth. He leaned over and planted a small pity kiss on Johns face. He gazed at him for a short time, silently apologizing over and over for hating the second life that Watson had provided.

Accepting defeat in the day Sherlock laid down and stared absently at the ceiling. He checked his phone almost impatiently, as if he had a sleep schedule. The digital clock on the phones screen showed 11:56. Almost another day done. He flicked through his phone, trying to pass time until he found solace in sleep, an activity he told himself he would never do, because 'only lonely pathetic people go looking for contact at this time of night'.

Moriarty. He clenched his eyes tight then peered back at the phone intensely. The name brought forth a heat in his chest. Sherlock blinked again, staring at the phone until its time had changed to midnight.

Options New Text Message

He paused as the cursor prompted for a message, but he had no words for the dead man. A long while passed while he glared at the screen, the cursor blinking in more of a taunt than a prompt now. Sherlock closed the open message and put the phone back to its place on the nightstand. He lay there in the darkness, waiting for nothing it appeared, staring dismally at the foot of their bed.

Holmes exhaled sharply and snatched the phone back.

Moriarty Options New Text Message

'Wish you weren't dead -SH'. Was the best he could muster. Sent at 12:06 a.m.

Received.

Now he panicked noiselessly in his own mind, entertaining himself with thoughts of an answer from beyond the grave. Perhaps something that would cure him of this eternal boredom, this life without thrill was getting old. But the phone lay on his chest, holding no answers. After nearly ten minutes of waiting the detective gave up on his wild thoughts and closed his eyes, sleep coming nearly an hour later.

It was 3:25 a.m. when he awoke to a loud beep. His phone had gone off, still laying on his chest. Checking to see if John was awake first, he kept his wits about him. Seeing as the doctor was asleep Sherlock nearly smiled to see a reply from Moriarty waiting for him.

'Sometimes wishes come true Sherly~. -Jim Moriarty X'.

Fingers curled around the phone, his mind went a million places with a million replies. The one that jumped out at him however, was a bit more of a desperate plea than a clever remark.

Reply 'Care for a nightcap? -SH' Sent at 3:27. Received.

Sherlock looked guiltily down at the slumbering Watson.

'Crowne Plaza Hotel, room 56. Mini bar is stocked. -Jim Moriarty X'.