Prompt: Hey cookie, how about this: John checking on Sherlock after an extremely stressful case, only to discover how cute a sleepy soft and weak Sherlock is. Bonus points if he also want to cuddle.
The case had been a doozy, definitely one for the books, and Sherlock had been running nonstop for 4 days. He'd hardly eaten or slept as the days passed. It was children. Cases with children always put Sherlock into a strop, but this one had been extremely difficult, as well as gruesome. They'd just returned from Scotland Yard and had hardly spared one another a glance when they arrived home; Sherlock went off towards his room, feet shuffling like a zombie, and John tramped heavy steps up the staircase to his room to change into the most comfortable pair of night clothes he owned. When he returned downstairs, expecting to find Sherlock curled up in his armchair where he normally crashed after a difficult case, but found the sitting room uncharacteristically empty of half-asleep Consulting Detective. He checked the kitchen, turning on the kettle as he did, and the bathroom, which also was unusually dry for a post case evening.
He returned to the kitchen to wait on the kettle, assuming that Sherlock was just taking a little longer to get changed than usual, but when water had been poured and tea had been steeped, and still no Sherlock appeared, john decided to go check on him. It had occurred, though only once or twice, that Sherlock passed out from either the exhaustion or the malnutrition after a difficult case. On the rare occasion this occurred it often left Sherlock with an impressive bump to his head, so it was best to be than sorry and check on him. John heaved himself from his place leaning heavily against the worktop, set his blessedly steaming mug down, and worked his way through the cluttered hallway to Sherlock's room.
The sight that met him had John huffing with an affectionate chuckle. Sherlock had made it about as far as untucking his shirt and undoing 3 buttons before collapsing in a sprawling heap halfway on the bed, sideways. His feet, still sheathed in inordinately expensive dress shoes, dangled inelegantly off the edge, and his face was squished tightly against the thick duvet. John stood and studied him for a moment before moving to help his exhausted flatmate at least into the bed. He had one shoe off and was untying the other when Sherlock shifted on the bed, a half-awake attempt to see what was happening around him. His curls formed a disastrous clump on one side of his head where he'd lain on them and his eyes were only half open, peering around bleerily before focusing on John.
"John? Watya doin'?" He slurred.
"I'm just helping you out a bit. You need to get in bed, preferably without your shoes on."
"Hmmmmm" he hummed sleepily, "Yes, I suppose shoes aren't good for the bed. Make everything dirty and . . . something." He flopped his head back down on the duvet.
"Ah, ah, ah!" John tsked, "Come on Sherlock, you need to get changed." John pulled on his arm futilely to get him up, but Sherlock's body was complete dead weight and the man, even half-asleep, was more stubborn than a bull.
"Nooooo, John! I'm tired!" He whined, voice muffled slightly by the soft blanket. John, even irritated because Sherlock was being difficult, couldn't help but be enamoured by the adorable detective.
"Well, sit up and let me help you dress and then you can sleep for as long as you'd like. Okay?"
"Fine." Sherlock huffed, and with weary, heavy limbs he ever so dramatically dragged himself up to sitting at the edge of the bed. He sat pliantly as John undid his shirt the rest of the way and pulled it off, replacing it with a soft, worn, cotton tee, then repeating the same process with his trousers. Occasionally Sherlock listed dangerously and John had to scramble to catch him before he tumbled off the bed.
When finally Sherlock was dressed Joh guided him gently down towards the pillows and tucked him in snugly. He was just turning to leave when Sherlock turned over and called his name softly.
"Yes Sherlock?"
"I'm lonely." He sniffled sadly. "Stay with me?"
John could only smile, blatant adoration written across his face, at the unexpected request. "Alright." He shuffled quietly to the far side of the bed and snuggled in, Sherlock's bed being far superior to his in terms of comfort. "Good night Sherlock." He called behind him, shutting his eyes and quickly beginning to doze. Just as he was on the edge of deeper sleep he felt a warm presence at his back, like someone trying to snuggle as close as possible without being intrusive. Without acknowledging it at all, he turned over to face Sherlock who was once again steadfastly asleep and wrapped his arms around the detective and pulled him in closer. "Good night, Sherlock." And together they drifted into peaceful slumber.