Hey, Steampunk Kimono here! I have returned from a long hiatus and am currently working on updating my stories. I recently became sort of obsessed with Sherlock, so I wrote a little ficlet for you. Enjoy~
.:|Sherlock Needs to Sleep More|:.
"John." Sherlock called softly, his voice muffled by his pillow.
I stopped typing on my laptop and turned my attention to the brunette curled contently against my form. "Mmm? What is it?"
"Turn off the bloody light, will you?" He muttered, shifting on the bed so his head nestled into the crook of my arm. He raised his hand, and despite his eyes being shut, pointed to the lamp on the bedside table. "Just do it, John. I'm tired. You can type your ridiculous blog in the morning."
I smiled and leaned down to peck his cheek before shutting my laptop and setting it on the bedside table. I reached an arm out and pulled the cord, turning off the lamp. "Well thank God. You haven't slept in what, four days?"
"Five."
I gave a light-hearted laugh. "Okay, then. Five." I lied down on the mattress and pulled the sheets over both of us, even though he batted them away like he does every night. He shifted around impatiently for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable, before settling into his original position, curled against me. I wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed my lips to his temple. "Try not to wake up too early. You're only human. You need some rest."
He shuddered at the word human.
I rolled my eyes and tightened my hold on his frame, kissing his forehead once. "Night, love."
He sighed quietly and leaned into my touch before yawning and resting his head on my chest. "Goodnight, John."
He was asleep within minutes, of course. I can't see how the idiot can go for so long without a blink of sleep and still function the way he does. It isn't good for him, and we both know it. Once, he went without sleep for nearly two weeks, and I can say, it wasn't pretty. It's all because of the damn cases. LeStrade had told me that Sherlock was their trump card, their 'emergency contact', so to speak. But, in reality, Interpol is so full of imbeciles like Anderson that they can't solve a single bloody case without Sherlock's help. Sometimes he's working on three cases at a time, and as a result, he doesn't sleep. Sure, he'll try to, but he'll shoot out of bed in the middle of the night, screaming, "I've got it, John! It was the busboy!" or something of that nature, and rush to the police headquarters. It's great for Interpol (as well as Sherlock's ego), but I'm worried about him.
A soft sigh jarred me from my thoughts. Looking down at the brunette, I couldn't help but smile. Sherlock looks like a cherub when he's asleep. His soft hair frames his face like a halo, kicking out in tufts in the back, curling around his ears and along his forehead, its dark color contrasting beautifully with his pale skin.
I lean down to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind his ear. His slender hands fist themselves in my shirt, bunching the fabric. Damn, he's too cute when he's asleep. You could almost call it fascinating. During the day, Sherlock is never still. It's pleasant to see him like this, serene, without his constantly fluttering hands and ever-changing demeanor. Asleep, he could be compared to a child. So innocent, fragile, like a porcelain doll that might break if you dropped it.
He shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent, and presses closer to me. I look down at him to see that his lips are curved upwards slightly in a small smile, barely there. I cradle him in my arms before yawning and relaxing on the bed, wondering what the hell I did to deserve such a beautiful, sensitive, loving, sleep-deprived sociopath like Sherlock Holmes.
I hope you liked it! Reviews are like cupcakes! Mmm cupcakes...
