The morning light filtered dimly through the jade curtains, another gray morning in London, and another long night for Dr. John Watson. Running his hands through his hair, he lets out a quiet sigh. Haven't heard from Holmes today, wonder what he is up too?
Brushing away the thought, he picks up the nearest bottle from his dark mahogany bureau. Sleep first then I'll clean up whatever mess Sherlock has gotten himself into while I'm gone. He fumbles with the cap in his haste, just for him to discover his all of his sleeping pills have disappeared.
Holmes, He thinks in exasperation, now how am I supposed to get any sleep without my pills? Glancing over at his bedside table he notices something that wasn't there when he had left the day before, curious he shuffled closer to get a better look. Watson brow furrowed as he lifted the aubergine phial. Lifting the cork, he smells the mysterious liquid wrinkling his nose as he registers the cloying medicinal odor.
Cough medicine? I asked Holmes to pick this up weeks ago. Watson shakes his head, taking a swig of the bitter serum. Well at least it will be put to use, if not for the intended purpose, cough medicine always puts me straight to bed. Watson feels exhaustion pulling at him instantly.
Not wanting to waste his energy getting changed, Watson kicks his loafers off, strips away his shirt and climbs between his olive bedsheets. The soft flannel and feather pillows encasing him with comfort pulls John almost instantly into a deep slumber.