In the Quiet
Living with Sherlock Holmes is not always conducive for getting a good night's sleep. Joan has been woken up at all hours of the nights. She has gone many nights without sleep. And on the nights that she does get to bed at a good time she can usually hear Sherlock puttering around the brownstone, talking to himself or doing experiments or just being loud.
Sherlock himself does not seem to sleep that much. He will go for days with very little sleep. His behavior getting more and more erratic before he crashes and sleeps for a full day or so.
So when Joan's bedroom door is opened at three in the morning she was not surprised, annoyed but definitely not surprised.
"What?" she mumbled irritably into her pillow not even bothering to look up.
"I would like to sleep with you tonight." Sherlock tells her matter-of- factly.
That got her to look up.
Sherlock is standing in her doorway, one hand on the doorknob the other holding Clyde to his chest. The tortoise seems perfectly content in his hands. Sherlock has on flannel pajama bottoms and one of his many t-shirt, both look wrinkled. He is only wearing one sock and his hair sticks up on the right side. Joan takes in the dark circles under his eyes with some worry. He had refused to sleep for two days and had, when she had gone to bed, been sleeping fitfully on the couch.
"What?" she manages to say keeping her voice calm. Living with Sherlock had taught her not to jump to conclusions, especially about what Sherlock would blurt out randomly.
"I" he told her pointing to himself "would like to sleep next to you tonight." He points to the bed.
"Why?" seems to be only thing she can say.
To her surprise he looks slightly embarrassed. There is a pink tingle to his cheeks and he scratches his ear. "Sometimes, when sleep eludes me, I like to sleep next to someone I trust. Their presence seems to soothe me and allows me to sleep better."
She was actually quite touched that he trusted her enough to sleep next to her but she still wasn't she that she wanted that.
He seems to sense her hesitation and adds. "I used to crawl in with my brother Mycroft." She smiles as she pictures a little Sherlock.
"What if I said no?" Joan asks.
"Well then I would have to go back downstairs and sleep on the couch. Which is starting to hurt my back." As if to prove his point he placed the hand not holding Clyde on his back and winced.
"What about your bed?" She asks slightly afraid of the answer.
"There might have been a slight accident regarding an experiment I was conducting on the flammability of bed sheets. Apparently I made a small miscalculation and now I have to buy a new mattress."
Well that would explain the slight burnt smell she had noticed that afternoon.
She can feel her resolve waving and makes the mistake of glancing at him. He looks so sad and puppy like that she gave a defeated sigh. "Fine, but no funny business."
Before she had finished speaking Sherlock was by the bed. "Please," he snorts. "If that was what I was after I would not come to you."
Joan doesn't know how to take this so she ignores him.
Sherlock was at that time pulling the blanket off her so he could climb in. She whined as the cold air blew across her body. She snatched the blanket back from him glaring daggers at him. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her behavior.
"Don't mess with my blankets." She tells him. He nods sensing that he should not test her.
He lies down on his back and is silent for a few seconds. Joan takes a deep calming breath. Then he flips to his side facing the door way. When he does so he jostles the bed and Joan makes an annoyed sound in her throat but says nothing. Joan closes her eyes and tries to fall asleep again.
She is surprisingly okay with this situation. It is weird but then again so is Sherlock. They practically live in each other's pockets as it is, sharing a bed is just another strange thing they do together. She is just starting to think that this will turn out just fine when Sherlock flips back onto his back jostling the bed again.
"Never mind, I regret this already." Joan mutters to herself.
She hears a rustle next to her and turns her head to see Clyde crawling towards her.
She is not even surprised. "No turtles in the bed." She tells him feeling like she is talking to a five year old. Which with Sherlock is not far off the mark.
"Tortoise." He replies.
"Whatever."
He makes no move to remove Clyde and she is too tired to fight with him. She closes her eyes again hoping that she will fall asleep very fast. Or that he will disappear. Neither happens.
"Watson" he says suddenly. His voice sounds sleepy and he turns his head to face her. "Thank you." He sounds surprisingly young and sincere.
She smiles into the darkness. "You're welcome." She whispers to him. "Good night Sherlock."
"Good night Joan."
She smiles again, closed her eyes one more time and is asleep within minutes.
She wakes up to Clyde sitting on her pillow.