AN: This is probably going to be a many chapter-ed fic, about how John came to care for Sherlock Holmes. The storyline will be more of a slow romance because I always enjoy those most, but hopefully, if you enjoy it, you'll stick with it. The first chapter isn't very lively and the subsequent ones will probably be longer, but I hope you like it, and please, even if not, I always appreciate reviews.
Sherlock couldn't sleep. Whatever he did he just couldn't sleep. They'd been on a case for two days straight and John had practically passed out as soon as they had returned to the flat. But here was the sound of the clock tower ringing three times and still sleep evaded the exhausted detective.
The thing was, his mind just would not stop!
Over and over he kept seeing the various scenes of the past days flash in his mind as if on fast forward. There seemed to be an unintelligible running commentary in the back ground that was going over the clues, snippets of overheard conversation, snatches of music, yet the case was solved!
And still he couldn't sleep.
John had woken suddenly and it took him a minute to realise it must have been because of the almost crippling thirst that he suddenly felt. Blearily he reached clumsily for the small digital alarm clock that he knew was somewhere on the side table. He groped around for several minutes before giving in and switching on the lamp, hissing at the sudden intrusion of light. He sat up slightly squinting around the small room.
"Sherlock?" He rubbed his eyes and frowned as he saw the familiar form of the detective sat frozen, hugging his knees staring at John unblinkingly with a look that made John's frown deepen.
"Sherlock, are you alright?" Sherlock continued to stare at him as his mouth twisted into a derisive grimace. He shook his head slightly, almost disbelievingly at the stupidity of his flat mate.
"Yes John, I am perfectly alright, that is why my pulse is raised and my muscles tensed and why I can't sleep!"
John stood up slowly, trying to push away his sleepy stupor. Sherlock began chewing on his bottom lip.
"It won't stop John- my mind it just won't stop it just keeps going and going and going and just won't SHUT UP!" He was shaking his head, moving his hand towards his hair as if to begin pulling it out.
"Alright Sherlock. Alright." John replied calmly but with a tone of authority. He walked towards the man he knew so well and gently peeled his hands away from his hair and held them tight in his own. He bent down slightly so he was looking Sherlock directly in the eyes. He had seen him like this only a few times before- his eyes unfocussed, his breathing erratic, an air of hopeless frenzy about him. John's thirst was utterly forgotten.
"Sherlock, I want you to listen to me, have you taken anything?" Sherlock clenched and unclenched his hands inside of John's and rolled his eyes.
"Do really think I'd be like this if I had!" He spat. "Dear Mrs Hudson threw out all of my chemicals. I can't even improvise!" John made a mental note to thank Mrs Hudson sincerely, whilst trying to figure out what to do.
"Sugar," he said suddenly. "You need sugar, here." He temporarily released the detective and fetched a small pack of overly sweetened chewing gum out of his top draw. He had picked it up just by chance when he'd gone to buy milk the other day. He presented the packet to Sherlock who stared at it blankly. John took out a stick, unwrapped it, and held it out.
"I want you to take it and chew it." Sherlock glared at him, obviously about to argue when John opened his mouth again.
"If you don't I will call Mycroft for assistance."
Grudgingly, Sherlock took the stick and placed it in his mouth.
"Good, now, take your jacket off." John watched the detective pull at the jacket, almost threatening to rip it as it got caught around his elbow. John merely reached out and gently but firmly removed it for him.
Next he convinced Sherlock to stand and he removed his trousers. In any other situation, John would have been extremely embarrassed to be removing Sherlock Holmes' trousers, but right now he had greater concerns. His friend stood before him, eyes darting around as his hands kept clenching and unclenching, wearing nothing but a shirt and his underwear.
"Sherlock, no arguments, I want you to get into the bed please." He held the sheets up and waited expectantly. Sherlock laughed harshly but complied.
"How will you explain this Doctor Watson? Ordering your flat mate into bed- people will talk." His tone was harsh and cutting. John paused, licked his lips and looked to the ceiling. Oh why couldn't he have just ignored Stamford when he had suggested a flat share, he could be curled up asleep in his cold army pension flat, not dealing with a manic ex-addict.
He moved around to the other side of the bed and climbed in, silently. Sherlock was sat in a similar position he had occupied on the chair, chewing the sweet gum rather ferociously. John leant across him and placed the nearly full packet on the table next to Sherlock. Sherlock snatched another piece and continued chewing. John nodded approvingly.
In Afghanistan some of the soldiers would chew gum when they ran out of cigarettes, it helped with the craving they said. John also knew that sugary items were often consumed by recovering cocaine addicts. He hoped that somehow this would work on Sherlock.
He lay back in silence for nearly half an hour, his eyes stinging with tiredness as he watched his friend. Sherlock had stopped clenching his hands and appeared to be blinking furiously. John knew he must be exhausted. He had neither slept nor eaten for nearly three days, which was probably what had brought on this current state.
Yawning slightly, John reached out and pulled at Sherlock's sleeve until the detective complied, moving to lie on his side in the foetal position, his face several inches from John's. He still chewed the gum compulsively.
John smiled sadly at the man. Sherlock's eyes merely flicked over his face, blank of expression. His hands were tucked under his chin and John reached out for one, blinking as Sherlock consented to meet the doctor half way and gripped his hand with a strength that John knew meant he was scared. However deep down and unconsciously, Sherlock Holmes was scared.
John shifted closer, moving fully onto his side and pressing Sherlock's hand to his chest. He reached out his other hand and began stroking the detective's dark curls, watching some of the tension leave his dear friend.
It didn't really strike John that this was an odd position to be in. For once he was hardly aware of how compromising and intimate the gestures were, all he knew was that Sherlock needed to be calmed, he needed to be safe.
Slowly, the detective's eyes began to droop and his chewing became less frequent. John had found he was practically holding Sherlock now, their hands still clasped against his chest, but the pressure more relaxed. As Sherlock's eyes finally closed, John moved to his back again and Sherlock instinctively nestled his head into the doctor's shoulder, making John smile at the pure innocent childishness of the action. He pulled the blankets a little tighter, ensuring they were both well covered and finally relaxed. It barely took his two minutes to fall asleep, both of them exhausted and comfortable in each other's arms.
That night at least, Sherlock Holmes was safe.