SORRY WE COULDN'T GET A DOUBLE ROOM FOR YOU BOYS

John waited patiently by the counter of the pub for the key for their room. He was feeling rather annoyed because the man behind the counter was taking his sweet time. After several more moments, he turned and dropped the room key into John's waiting hand.

"Sorry we couldn't get a double room for you boys." He said.

"No, it's fine." John replied, then he added quickly, "We're not..."

The other man was giving him a questioning look. John sighed, "Never mind." He said quietly, and then proceeded to make his way back out to the table where Sherlock was sitting.

"Did you get the key?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah." John replied, "it's not a double room, though." He added.

Sherlock shrugged, "You know I don't sleep on cases anyway."

"Right...should we...go umm, put our stuff in?"

"You can."

John chuckled, "Ha ha, no, you are a grown man, Sherlock, you are perfectly capable of taking a few minutes to put your stuff in the room."

The curly-dark-haired detective huffed. "Fine." He stalked to their land rover and took out his luggage, and John went after. They walked to the room and unlocked the door. The curtains were cracked, so a bit of light shone through, to reveal a room that was small in size consisting of a lamp and nightstand, a separated bathroom, a chair, a small balcony, and one single queen bed. "For once, Sherlock, please avoid sleep tonight." John muttered. They both avoided looking at the bed as they deposited their things and John hoped to God that he was not blushing.

-xXx-

That night, John returned to the room in a rather pissed off mood at Sherlock. The detective had gotten scared when they had gone to the hollow, and was angry with himself, and had made a scene in the restraunt and taken it out on the doctor. He did not appreciate that one bit. On top of that, he was absolutely exhausted.

He turned the knob and stalked into the room, grabbing his duffel and heading straight toward the bathroom. He immediately stripped off his jumper and button up so he was in his white undershirt. Then he kicked off his shoes and took off his jeans, strongly debating whether or not he wanted to put on his grey sweats. He decided he was too hot in them...and he never slept with sweats on. He shrugged and hastily brushed his teeth. Right now, all the tired, pissed doctor wanted to do was curl up and sleep. He finished brushing, washed his face and stepped out into the main room, it was cooler in there. He went to open up the blinds and door to let some more air in, and then stepped toward the bed, then froze as he caught sight of the back of a curly brunette head and a bare, pale-skinned back. Sherlock was lying in the bed, stretched so he was taking up the entire thing. John blushed at his state, best mate or not, John did not want him to see him in his boxers and t-shirt "Please be wearing something under those sheets." He said. The other man did not respond. John chuckled to himself.

"Giving me the silent treatment now, are you?" He asked, voice betraying annoyance. He sighed and thought maybe Sherlock was in one of his silent thinking stages.

"Sherlock?" He questioned. He still did not respond. John raised an eyebrow before walking over to the side the detective was facing. The brunette' s eyes were closed and he was lying on his side. His hair was wild and some ringlets ghosted over his face. One arm was folded toward him, and the other was hanging off the bed. He looked young and peaceful, and not as bitter. His breathing was deep, slow and rhythmic. Sherlock was sleeping? On a case? Odd.

John thought he was faking. "Sherlock?" He called, "Sherlock?" He tapped his shoulder. Sherlock groaned and moved a bit. "Sherlock?" No response. Slow, rhythmic breathing. He really was asleep.

John felt himself flush red again as he realized he was going to have to share a bed with him. Careful no to wake him, John pulled back the covers on the other side, only to find Sherlock's body lying in the bed at an angle, and his long, pale legs together in a relaxed state, but thank God the man was wearing pants. "Sorry, Sherlock, but I need room too." He moved Sherlock's legs away and adjusted his body, and scooted in awkwardly beside him. He shifted and moved, trying to get comfortable, but it was kind of hard to do that, when there was a tall, sleeping, lanky man beside him, taking up most of the room. "For God sakes."John muttered. He turned with his back to Sherlock's, curling up with his arms curled to his body, one hand pressed to the side of his head and the other into his chest, as far away from Sherlock as he could get, which was only a bit, because the bed was small. Their backs were practically touching. John cursed to himself and he continued to try and get comfortable. Eventually he did, and was about to fall asleep, only to be rudely awakened by getting struck across the face. "Ow! Shit!" He exclaimed. Sherlock had rolled onto his back, and his long arm had stretched its full length, catching John across the face so it was lying across it. John lifted the arm and folded it into Sherlock's chest. "You have your own side." He said, "Stay there." Then he resumed his comfortable position. Eventually he got a few winks.

-xXx-

Something tickling the back of his neck nearly caused John to scream and jump a mile. Was there a bloody spider in his bed? He opened his eyes and found an arm draped across his body. He also realized that the "spider" was actually Sherlock's hair. "What on earth?" John thought. The man was sleeping soundly, and had somehow rolled so he was pressed against John, nose on his shoulder and hair tickling his neck. One of his arms was folded, and resting on his cheek and the other, as said, was draped loosely across John's body. John sighed and moved Sherlock's arm and pushed him away. Sherlock made a noise. John froze, afraid he may have woken up the slumbering detective, but then smiled slightly, before closing his eyes again.

-xXx-

It seemed like no time passed at all when ticklish hair woke John again, and he found Sherlock in the same position he had just moved him out of. John peered at the time; half passed three. He huffed and tried to move Sherlock again, only to have the detective to suddenly tighten his grip on John and pull him into his chest. His other arm soon joined him, and he put one leg over John's and squirmed a bit before sighing and lying still. John was bright red and more annoyed than ever and he tried to squirm his way out of the uncomfortable position. Sherlock made a noise and muttered something that sounded like, "Stop moving." And John froze. The last thing he wanted was his flatmate waking up and finding them in this awkward position; because Sherlock bloody Holmes, along with being a restless sleeper, was a cuddler and John was stuck getting bloody spooned by his decidedly male flatmate.

John huffed and tried to move again, but the bloody detective was strong, so John had no choice but to get comfortable where he was. Besides, it was cold and Sherlock was warm.

Still, John Watson had never been more annoyed in his life...but, he decided, Sherlock cuddling him felt kind of nice... "But we're not a bloody couple!" John thought. Then he muttered, "I'd better get a sincere apology and a complimentary breakfast for this." And that was his last thought of the night.