This scene takes place during "The Blind Banker." I was inspired to write it while listening to the score "Crates of Books" from the first season soundtrack of Sherlock (hence the title). This is my first fanfic :P Please feel free to comment and tell me what you think.

Disclaimer - Characters, book references, and original TV series belong to BBC, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, ACD, and JRRT.

As the whole of London lay asleep in their beds, Sherlock and John were still up, sorting through the hundreds of books that had come from Lukis' and Van Coon's apartments. Although they had already gone through twenty boxes, they still had twelve more to go. John took another sip of his lukewarm coffee. He looked up at the clock and sighed. It was two in the morning. The idea of going to work in four hours made him feel even more tired. Reaching into another box, he pulled out a battered copy of 'The Hobbit.' "Sherlock?"
An uninterested 'hmm' sounded from behind the stack of books that surrounded Sherlock next to the fireplace.
"Didn't you come across this one awhile back?"
Sherlock's head popped up, saw the book, ducked down, then resurfaced again. Books in hand, they both flipped to the 15th page and read the first word.
"Far," they said simultaneously.
"Nope, not it." Sherlock tossed the book onto the desk for John to catalog.
John, on the other hand, continued to hold the book. He smiled. "It is a marvelous story. Did you ever read it, Sherlock?"
"Yes, but only because it was required in school. It useless to me."
"Useless? This is wonderful piece of English literature! Let me guess; you were more interested in reading textbooks on human physiology in 6th grade then fun literature like this?"
"John, please," Sherlock drawled, "I was reading human physiology in 4th grade, not 6th."
Rolling his eyes, John turned back to the pairs of books that Sherlock had already set on the desk. Everything was quiet except for the slight mummer of leafing pages.
"Bilbo Baggins."
John looked up. "What?"
"Bilbo Baggins, John. You are quite like him."
"Really? How so?"
"You are very fond of food and drink, annoyingly polite, incredibly loyal, you don't know what to do with yourself when company comes over, and you don't like adventures."
John gawked at Sherlock. "Wait, I don't know what to do with company!? And I do too like adventures!"
"Really? Just last week you were talking to Mrs. Hudson and you said, and I quote, 'Sharing a flat with Sherlock; that's enough adventure for me right now. Getting married to a wonderful women and having kids is the last adventure that I want to have'."
John sat sullenly in his chair. Why did Sherlock always have to be right? "Fine. Well then, in that case, you are like Smaug."
"Because I am smart and cunning?"
"No, because you're a bloody, narcissistic prat," John muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Do you want coffee?"
"Definitely not, it'll slow me down."
John was too tired to argue. "Of course." Getting up, he went into the kitchen to refill his mug. As he drank his coffee, John looked out of their kitchen window, wishing he was asleep along with the rest of London.
Sherlock peeked over the crates of books to make sure that John was thoroughly preoccupied with his drink. Snatching the book back off the desk, he sat down and flipped to a page towards the end of the book. He read silently: "Dazzlingly marvelous! Perfect! Flawless! Staggering!" exclaimed Bilbo aloud..."
Hmm, perhaps I am all those things. Smirking quietly to himself, Sherlock replaced the book and continued sorting.