"Come on, Sherlock," John coaxed the wary man to the bedroom doorway.
"Is this really necessary?" asked Sherlock dubiously, pausing in the door frame.
"Yes, I can't believe you've survived this long without a full night's sleep."
"I nap during the day and I'm perfectly alright!" he protested.
John gave him a look.
"Well, I'm not tired," the detective reasoned.
"Sherlock, you agreed to do this."
"Yeah, yeah, doesn't mean I have to like it," grumbled said man.
Taking charge, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and pulled him through the doorway, blushing at the contact. His touch, however, seemed to placate Sherlock, and the sociopath let himself be pulled across the room and over to the bed.
Standing at the foot of the bed, the two men stared at the single large bed supplied to them by Ms. Hudson. Suddenly conscious that they were still holding hands, John suddenly snatched his hand away, leaving his flat mate disappointed. The latter had briefly though that for once he would not have to make the first move.
"You know what to do right?"
"I'm not stupid, John," replied Sherlock, halfheartedly.
Choosing to ignore this, John was unfazed, "Humor me."
Taking a deep breath, Sherlock recited, "Lie down, close eyes, stop thinking, let self fall asleep, don't question anything."
"Good. And what if you wake up in the middle of the night?"
"Don't get up, don't do a thing, just repeat steps 2-5."
"Right." They stayed silent but still side-by-side, staring at the headboard from across the bed.
"Erm, right, let's get ready, then." John got a silent nod in response and nothing else was said between the two as they went to the bathroom and, side-by-side, brushed their teeth.
John was washing his face when he was surprised to see Sherlock pulling out his contacts. Looking to his side, Sherlock smirked, amused.
John inwardly groaned, realizing how much harder the night was going to be as Sherlock's newly contact-less eyes became all the bluer - contrasting perfectly with his pale complexion and dark curls that were…No, John. Don't even continue those thoughts. You have to spend the whole night with him. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing…
Sherlock watched curiously from the corner of his eyes as different emotions flitted across his friend's face, currently setting on frustration.
Suddenly, the man in observation turned and headed out, presumably to change into his pajamas. Sherlock himself, long since without his signature coat and scarf, stripped himself of his black dress shirt and slacks.
Leaving the bathroom, he noticed John was not in the room. Grinning, he moved towards the dresser, emptying the top drawer and dumping its contents into the next one down.
He then proceeded to drop his two articles of clothing into the recently vacated drawer. Turning, he stopped to acknowledge his fully pajama clad flat mate standing stock-still in the doorway.
"All right, then, John?" Asked Sherlock, slightly more cheerful at the turn of events, if not a bit nervous as to how John's reaction would be.
Tonight was the night - he was positive. And Sherlock Holmes was never wrong.
John had returned from his closet having already dressed, conscious Sherlock was in his –well, their, or was it his?-room. He had stopped short upon seeing Sherlock, back turned, clad only in his boxers – that in itself had taken John a minute to process - and rearranging John's drawers.
As he watched, John couldn't help but question Sherlock's actions. A small hopeful part of him thought just maybe …no, it couldn't be.
Sherlock was probably just being inconsiderate and had needed somewhere to put his clothes for the night. But still…maybe…
John's train of thought was this time cut off by Sherlock turning around and his own audible - he winced - gulp.
He had obviously known Sherlock was only clad in his underpants, and had mentally admired the view, but John was in no way prepared for the other side. As he thought about it, John had never really seen Sherlock with so little on – he'd never had a reason to.
So he was not prepared to see the sight in front of him. Sherlock was fit, with slight muscles defined underneath smooth, pale skin and…God, John! Stop it! Wait Sherlock was speaking….
A thought suddenly struck John: what if he had noticed his stares? Oh, God, of course he did! He was Sherlock Holmes after all.
Ah! Look up, look up, stop staring and look up. His lips were so pink and… Higher. Look higher. His eyes really were so blue. They were like…John Watson!
He locked his gaze on Sherlock's forehead. If the detective noticed, he didn't say a thing and instead moved towards the bed. John followed the action by in turn moving towards the other side.
Each climbing in, Sherlock was disappointed to find John scooting as far away as he could from Sherlock, lying on his side at the edge of the bed. An hour later and neither had moved, too conscious of the other.
Later though, John heard Sherlock mumbling in his sleep. He rolled his eyes; the man could never be completely quiet.
Shifting closer to the center, more comfortable now that Sherlock was asleep, he heard Sherlock's speech clearer.
"John…"
It was faint but obviously his name. A wayward arm suddenly draped itself across John's waist. Yes, he definitely had said 'John'.
Smiling, John shifted backwards once again, pressing his body to Sherlock's. Maybe Sherlock was on to something – being awake really did have its benefits.
He fell asleep, his arm over Sherlock's, their hands locked together. Sherlock smiled into the back of John's head.
Maybe John was onto something – this whole sleeping thing. And he too, drifted off.
A/N: ta-da! Waddya guys think? Lol I was kinda iffy on the whole 'into the back of John's head' thing 'cuz that sounds a bit odd but I couldn't think of anything else… =)
Disclaimer: don't own Sherlock