(10/5/12 this is me betaing the thing - and correcting the A/N's - only minor corrections)

A/N: Everything unbeta'ed, my apologies.

1: Disclaimer! I do not own the characters, Sherlock or anything in that regard – they belong to the authors/creators of BBC's Sherlock, Sir ACD and those who legally hold any rights in that regard. I own nothing; they own everything.

2: Warning! Slight spoilers for ASiB + blasphemy may occur throughout the story – I do not easily take offence by stuff like that, so I do not know if I'm being blasphemous.

3: Plea! Yes this got out of hand, it should have been a one-shot, so please be gentle and please review.


In the darkness of the night
John's POV

"John, John… John wake up!"

The insisting voice crept inside Johns dream, and along with it came the sound of the rain and wind outside banging on the window. This had to be a figment of his imagination. It was too early, deeming by the light, or rather the lack of light, coming trough his eyelids, it was somewhere between the hour at which he had went to bed (obviously Sherlock's voice rang through his brain) and before his alarm clock would go off – meaning that it had to be somewhere between 1:23 am and 7:45 am. In a word: Ungodlyhourofthebleedingnight (Okay that wasn't technically one word but, to be fair, it was the most accurate one).

"JOHN!"

Nope, not his imagination. And the insisting voice was far too close. He peeked one eye open and was met by Sherlock's intense stare. This was either really good or really, really bad. Probably a combination, or a matter of perspective, depending on whether you were the corpse (presumably) that could make Sherlock this enthusiastic, John (clearly) or Sherlock – the only one who would only be happy about the corpse of a, to him, unknown person. To his dismay John realised that this line of thought implicated that he himself was caught somewhere between 'really good' and 'really, really bad'. And mostly the 'really, really bad' was due to the fact that his flatmate tried to wake him before his alarm clock. If Sherlock had been the alarm clock John would have slammed him hard to get another 10 minutes of sleep. Unfortunately, Sherlock was not the alarm clock.

"Your mind is clearly not capable of handling the long line of thought that you are trying to press upon it right now."

Sherlock kept staring at him, and John registered that he was fully dressed, so case it was, since he had discarded the pyjamas and dressing gown John had last seen him wear.

"Sherlock what time is it exactly?"

John forced both of his eyes open, debt perception setting in, and yes, the man hovering over him was not as close as he had first presumed.

"Hmm… If you find it relevant, I will answer you – but if you're just stalling to stay under your duvet, then I most certainly will not."

The eyes beaming down at him had a slightly annoyed expression in them. John let out a sigh; the battle for the comfort of the bed was lost. He tossed the duvet aside and his feet found the discomforting coldness of the floor. Sherlock moved swiftly to the doorway of John's bedroom, making him look like a tall silhouette against the light that crept in all the way from the staircase, through the hallway and just poked an annoyingly happy gleam inside the room.

"Fine, now you're up I can tell you that it's 3:38 am, and I would have preferred it to only be 3:30 am, but since you weren't keen on getting up, here we are."

The dark silhouette made a small movement and was lit up by the cold light of a mobile phone,

"I got a text…"

He continued while John started searching in the dark for his clothes, too tired to handle just the thought of turning on the lights.

"… from what appears to be Lestrade."

"Appears to be Lestrade? Why just appears to be?"

John frowned; it sounded a little odd.

"Yes, as I said, appears to be."

There was a slight annoyance in Sherlock's voice,

"See for yourself."

Sherlock made a movement and stretched out his phone to John. Typical, just as he was trapped in his jumper. He fought a little with the wool, tucked his shirt in his trousers and reached for the phone just as Sherlock started to make small sounds to tell him that he disapproved of his dressing rate. Easy enough when you are already dressed John thought. He looked down at the phone in his hand to see what appears-to-be-Lestrade had texted:

Lestrade – Message received 03:11 am
What I rell don't understand, is why you just don't leave me alone, I looove you, always has, aalways will. Bud u cant do this to me, yu can CAN NOT!

John looked up at Sherlock, feeling just a little confused,

"Sherlock what is this?"

"Read on."

Message send 03:13 am
Lestrade, besides from your appalling grammar and spelling, the content of your text would imply that you are drunk and unable to locate the right contact in your phonebook – SH

Lestrade – Message received 03:17 am
Shrlock, I'm srry. I was texting my EXwife. The bloody womn ceeps shoving up nd run away agan with some bloody idot. I hpe I dint wake u

"Oh dear God, the man must be really pissed." John half smiled, half cringed his eyebrows in a worried expression. The poor man was obviously hurt by that bloody ex-wife of his, which really was unfair because he was a good, warm man. Hell, if John was his wife, he surely wouldn't treat him like that; and yes, he was well aware of the fact that he was not a woman, nor wished to be one, and that he officially still held the role as being 'not gay' (he was still quite impressed by the fact that the brilliant Sherlock Holmes had not even once commented on the fact that he never said 'I'm not attracted to men', but then again the genius himself had displayed inclinations to the common misconceptions of gender and sexuality, the perfect example being the Harry mistake). The smile lingering on John lips wouldn't dissipate because it was rather funny to observe yet another example of the poor spellings of drunk people.

"Yes, he must be…" Sherlock said.

John lifted his gaze to see Sherlock standing in the hallway, now in vague colours due to the dim light from the staircase, his expression tightened just a fraction of a second before the blank, almost unreadable mask came over him. John wondered if Sherlock was aware of the fact that the expression in his eyes didn't always quite make it to the mask-like state that the rest of his face adopted, at least not to the people who really knew him (which, admittedly, was a number that could be counted on even an injured hand). The faint hint of an emotion that still lingered in his eyes almost seemed like hurt.

"As you already know by now, I pointed it out to him. What I don't understand right now is the ridiculous smile you have on your face alongside your 'worried look', since you clearly haven't read the last of the texts."

"I'm simply just finding it a little amusing how badly drunk people in general are at hitting the right keys."

"You must be used to that by now."

"Gee, thanks Sherlock, and Harry usually calls, if she gives any sign of life to me that is."

"Oh, yes, well… Just…"

Sherlock fluttered his hand in the direction of John and the phone with an impatient expression.

"Read the rest of the texts."

John sighed, not really understanding why on earth he was dragged out of bed and forced (well yes, he had actually done it of his own free will and because it had looked like they were about to go to a crime scene) to get dressed. Reluctantly he read on:

Message send 03:18 am
You disturbed my violin, actually. You should go home, or find a place to sleep. –SH

Lestrade – Message received 03:22 am
No plaseelse I can bear to go. Im texting wit u! And I'm not sur yo evn lik me tryn to be friends with yu

Message send 03:23 am
Where are you? – SH

Lestrade – Message received 03:26 am
Im a the pub jst across from the Yard – and I don't meen the on wit flowers an threes! Andrson dragd me here, he left. Easy wen y hav two pepl to choos from

John looked up to meet Sherlock's gaze, the excitement had come back in his expression.

"Tell me why you think I should be dragged out of bed at half past four…"

"Tree-thirty-eight." Sherlock interjected.

"Fine, tree-thirty-eight in the morning to go pick up a very drunk Lestrade? Surely you could have done that yourself."

"Well... I just need you to film him…"

"Sherlock! What are you thinking? The man is pissed out of his mind and unhappy, and you want to film him and what, leave him there?"

"Of course we are going to bring him home to his flat – and I'm not going to handle him myself – and since you are a doctor, you would be able to make sure that he was in a condition to be brought to his flat, instead of the hospital."

"But still, Sherlock, film him?"

"Why yes, he filmed me when The Woman had drugged me, so surely this is what people do when their acquaintances are in a state where they are not able to think straight… Besides, it might just bring me leverage if there is an interesting case I want in on."

"So… You are going to blackmail a DI from the Yard? Honestly Sherlock that's just stupid – and besides, he always calls you in on the more interesting cases anyway."

"Fine…" Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh, "We will not film him, but I suspect we should be going, if we want to find Lestrade in any state of awareness."

"You're probably right. But I'm going to call him just to make sure he is still there."

John fumbled with Sherlock's phone, still a little weary-eyed, and pressed the call-button. There was no answer, it rung out and went to voicemail,

"Greg? It's John, I'm, well we, are a little worried about you. Please call if you hear this; I'm going to call you again in a little while, and we are coming to get you, okay. Bye."

John hung up and resigned. Now he was definitely not going back to sleep any time soon.

"Greg? First name basis then."

The small annoyance in Sherlock's voice was a little bewildering to John, did the Consulting Detective actually think that John was not allowed to be friends with Lestrade. Surely even a man with Sherlock's lack of understanding people and friendships in general couldn't just assume that it was okay to try to monopolise a person. Besides, John needed to get out of the flat now and then, to see his mates, to go on dates. Sometimes it was just to keep the insanity of what had become his everyday life at bay, at other times it was to keep his ridiculous feelings from making him do something tremendously stupid,

"Well off course, he is a friend, you do know that he and I go out for a pint now and then." John snapped.

Sherlock made a huffing sound, swivelled on his heel and disappeared down the stairs in a way that almost made it sound like he was deliberately compelling each step to make as much noise as possible. John sighed, not only had he been awakened from a perfectly nice sleep, he now also had to go pick up a drunken friend and deal with an inexplicably sulking flatmate. Fantastic.