A/N I wrote this out and then my laptop died and I had a slight mental breakdown (sorry to the girl I room with) Anyway, thanks to everyone who read my other story, and to everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed. Send me your address and I'll send you Nutella. You're welcome. I am officially a review whore, and will send Galaxy Ripples for reviews. My make out scenes are worse than Mycrofts hair, so I apologize for that. Thanks for reading:)
God damn it Sherlock Holmes. It's 3 AM. 3 AM and he's playing that violin. I know, I know, he warned me about that but still, at 3 AM when I've got to be up at 7? It's ridiculous. If I wasn't so madly in love with the brilliant man, I swear to god I would have beheaded him (or maybe moved out, same thing).
It's happened every single night, for the past 6 days. I'd wake up at some ungodly hour to hear Sherlock plucking away. Despite my anger I had to admit he really is amazing at playing. Surely It's not fair, how could one average man be so intelligent, beautiful and musically talented. But then Sherlock is not an average man, is he? He's phenomenal. But right now all I can think about is getting some god dam sleep, which is obviously not going to happen, which is weird, because I usually fall right back asleep after I hear Sherlock playing.
I really do need some sleep, so I will have to confront Sherlock in the morning. Scratch that, I'm going to confront him right now. Quickly adjusting my pajamas to look slightly presentable, I clamber down the stairs, making probably too much noise. I hope Mrs Hudson doesn't wake, there might be some awkward questions if she walks in on me murdering Sherlock.
Sherlock is still wearing yesterdays suit, so I'm guessing he hasn't slept yet. He hasn't even touched the food I left out for him, I guess we need to have another 'you need to look after your body, Sherlock' talk. But not now. Right now he's going to stop playing the violin at 3 AM! My presence hasn't been noticed yet, and he's swaying slightly to the music, with his eyes closed. He looks so peaceful, and the music is so beautiful, that I almost go back to bed, and let it go. Almost.
"Sherlock, put the goddamn violin down" I try and sound intimidating, but my voice cracks from fatigue.
"Sorry?" Sherlock doesn't stop playing, but his eyes do open, so I know he's paying attention.
"Sherlock, I need rest, which I can't get if you're making so much noise. We can't all be insomniacs who don't need sleep! I need sleep. I'll be up at 7 for work, and I can't be falling asleep on my desk! So please, can you put the violin down, and get some rest, so I can as well. Or maybe just shut the hell up for once in your life?" With every word I inch closer to Sherlock, until I'm right in his face, and I'm practically shouting at him.
"Do you mean to say that you haven't noticed why I play early in the morning?" The words are uttered so quietly, I almost didn't catch them.
"Because you're a head case?"
"Because you have nightmares, John." I know I do. Mostly about the war, about the people I should have saved, and couldn't. The death, the blood, it all comes back to me at night. But how does that have anything to do with the violin?
"Yes, I did realize. How does that have anything to do with anything?"
"When I play it wakes you up, mid nightmare. I know you're not supposed to manually wake someone up, and if I play loud enough, you wake. Then, after, you usually go back to a nice peaceful sleep. You know that I care about you, John, and I don't like the thought of you in pain, even if it is only through dreams. Music seems to soothe you. But I guess I was wrong? I can stop if you so desire."
Oh. Now I feel terrible. My nightmares are pretty bad, and he's right, after waking up, I always fall back asleep listening to the sweet sounds of his music. Gratitude fills me, and I can't help myself from walking over to Sherlock, and wrapping my arms around his thin waist, and leaning against him, putting my face on his chest. We've never really hugged before, only after adrenaline fueled cases and I don't know what possessed me to do it. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was because of the fact that I've been in love with him for a year, I don't know. But I'm glad I did it, because it's very comfortable, even more so when Sherlock wraps his long arms around me also.
We stay like that in companionable silence for what feels like decades, but what only could be seconds. Then I pull back slightly, and stare into those crystal clear eyes, before leaning in to press my lips against his lightly. I expected him to walk away, to scream at me, not to start kissing me back enthusiastically. It's an amazing feeling, and soon Sherlock parts his mouth, and I slip my tongue in, and stroke it against every part of his mouth that I encounter. I don't think about the future, about what this could mean for us, our friendship. All I can think about is Sherlocks hands on my back and his lips on my own. After a few minutes, we pull back, and stare at each other, before I let out a shaky breath.
"You can wake me at 3 AM to do that any day you like"