For the second time in a week, John found himself on the floor.
He was aware that it wasn't entirely Sherlock's fault- he was used to sleeping alone, and some people just tended to sprawl across the mattress with complete disregard for whoever they shared their bed with- but it was still irritating and frustrating and rude and John spent at least a full minute staring up at the dark ceiling of their bedroom and being annoyed.
He was tired and cold, and he hadn't exactly fallen gracefully out of bed, and he had half a mind to push Sherlock out and climb into bed himself and see how he liked it.
But if anyone had gotten less sleep than John lately, it was Sherlock- John had wandered into the living room more than once over two weeks (after waking up from various nightmares mostly caused by Sherlock's absence when John woke up) to find the detective at his laptop or staring very intently at another sample under his microscope; when John touched him, he'd felt cold, but Sherlock didn't seem to notice with his sleeves rolled up and the window pouring frigid air into the room. He didn't seem entirely conscious lately either, and that worried John a lot (although he did tend to worry about everyone he cared about to the point where he regularly lost sleep himself).
And Sherlock looked peaceful now anyway, John thought, lifting himself from the floor to look at his partner's face. He looked more human when he was asleep, even with one arm and leg stretched across John's space: vulnerable and almost fragile, and John couldn't really stay angry when Sherlock finally looked relaxed.
So he got up and took himself to his old bedroom upstairs.
It hadn't been long since they'd started sleeping together, and John's room was still relatively in the same state as it had been a few months ago (albeit with a few more boxes and the more worrying experiments that Sherlock thankfully kept upstairs and out of the food). It was colder and the bed felt more stiff than he remembered, but after wrestling the frozen sheets off the bed and climbing in, he was exhausted enough to fall asleep again after a few minutes of shivering.
He felt warmer when he woke up, and at first he thought it was because he'd just gotten used to the cold; the sun was brighter here too, and he briefly considered migrating upstairs again for it (and taking Sherlock with him of course) ; but as he slowly slipped back into consciousness, he became aware of the arms around his waist, and breathing behind him; the rise and fall of a chest and the press of another body.
"You could have woken me up."
Sherlock's voice was deep but soft in a way it was in the mornings when he'd slept; restful, calm and comforting and John leaned back a little into the other man's touch.
"I didn't want to wake you," John murmured, closing his eyes again.
Sherlock was silent for a while, and John drifted off a little; it was easier to forget the press of the springs in his sore shoulder with Sherlock as a pleasant distraction, and John was just glad that it was a weekend and that he didn't have to leave early for work. Work was blessedly normal, but sometimes- especially times like these- he almost regretted having to the flat early.
"But I pushed you out of bed."
"Hmm?"
"That's why you had to sleep up here. You couldn't wake me up so you moved."
"Well. Yeah. There's another bedroom."
"So you're not-"
"I'm not going to be angry because you're finally sleeping. If I woke you up you'd probably kick me out again anyway."
When John turned to look at him, Sherlock's lips were pursed, almost as if he was irritated at the doctor's lack of irritation. John sighed.
"I'm not saying it's not annoying," he conceded, "I just wanted to let you sleep. It didn't look like you were going to wake up for anything less than nuclear fallout anyway."
Sherlock smiled a little at that even though he tried not to. John laughed.
"Just do me a favour," John said.
"What?"
He kissed Sherlock's forehead before he reluctantly got out of bed and headed for the shower (there was a case, and John decided he'd rather get up out of his own volition than wait for the Sherlock to ungracefully tip him out of bed again). "Go to bed when your doctor tells you to."
Sherlock started to protest, but John ignored him, although he was fairly sure that he'd hear about it later.