"I don't understand why people go camping," said Sherlock Holmes very clearly and loudly, his voice echoing into the night with that particular sort of superiority and disgust that he usually reserved for stupid people who were being even more stupid than usual. "It's not relaxing, or a vacation. An all-inclusive resort with tropical drinks is a vacation. Camping is just controlled homelessness."
"Go to sleep," John muttered, considering throwing a pillow at him, and then dismissing it as too much effort, especially this late at night. "You were the one who suggested this." He paused, and frowned into his army-issue sleeping bag. "'Controlled homelessness'?"
"I suggested going on a trip across the countryside in order to find a witness to a murder that traumatized the people involved so much that they moved to remote parts of Great Britain. I was thinking more along the lines of taking a plane."
"That's nice," said John, squinting at his watch. "However, it's about eleven-thirty pm and you're not shutting up. I'm considering committing murder myself in order to shut you up. Go. To. Sleep."
Sherlock muttered something in a dark and sulky tone of voice, but appeared to take John's advice and settle down.
It lasted all of five minutes.
"John," said Sherlock brightly.
"What," said John, wondering if he could list 'Sherlock Holmes' as a reason for attempted manslaughter.
"Look up at the sky and tell me what you see."
John sighed, accepting the fact that he likely wasn't going to get a wink of sleep tonight, and decided to indulge him. "I see stars. Lots of them. And the moon, which appears to be full tonight."
"Well," said Sherlock, frowning. "Do you deduce anything from this?"
John rolled his eyes. "Well… for one thing, it tells me there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets- which I know you don't know, so that's one up on you. Astrologically, it tells me that Saturn is in Leo tonight, which probably means that I'm going to burn myself making tea tomorrow or something else ridiculous."
"Very good," said Sherlock, and it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "Go on."
Slightly encouraged by this, John continued. "Well, then… er, the amount of stars tells me that the light pollution is not as bad as it is in the city, which means that we're a relatively far way from any sort of civilization. The full moon… tells me that we're going to be eaten by werewolves?"
Sherlock did his best to hide a snort, but John heard him anyway. "Hardly," he said dryly. "Be a bit more serious."
John smiled. "Fine. The sky is clear, so there's going to be good weather tomorrow, and the position of the moon from here tells me that the sun's coming up early tomorrow."
"That's it?" Sherlock asked.
"What, you want more from me?" he retorted. "It's nearly midnight, Sherlock. Not exactly the best time to be making assumptions about the stars in the middle of a field."
"Hm," said the detective, and was silent for a moment.
"Well, go on," said John sardonically. "Tell me what amazing thing you've inferred from seeing the stars in the sky tonight. I'm sure you're dying to tell me, and I'm sure it's just as brilliant as you claim you-"
"John," interrupted Sherlock.
"Yes?"
"John, you idiot."
"Yes, what?"
"The amazing thing I've realized about the fact that we can see the stars tonight, this amazing deduction that I've made… you want to know what it is?"
"Just tell me."
"Somebody's stolen our tent."