"Watson! Watson!"
John Watson was rudely awoken by one man yelling his name, and it didn't take the most deductive person to figure out who it was.
"Go away, Holmes... It's barely quarter past six," he grumbled as he had snatched his pocketwatch off the end table, letting it fall limply from his fingers and onto the blankets when he'd seen the time.
"Watson, get up. Get up now, it's important."
He only chose to ignore the detective, even though, after seven long months, it should have been painfully obvious to John that he couldn't ignore Sherlock Holmes.
"Watson! Chop chop!" The sudden rebounding echo of a gun, somewhere over his head but far too close for comfort, was the persuasion he needed to move. Rather, his body moved of its own accord as he nearly rolled out of bed, grabbed his revolver, and followed Holmes at a quick trot out of his quarters.
"Holmes, what is it now? What is the problem?"
Holmes had jumped the last four stairs in the case and ran face first into the door before he'd wrenched it open, running out into the street.
"Holmes!"
Breathless and shaken, he came to a hurried stop next to his wide-awake friend at the end of the road, revolver held tight in his hand and ready for use. He saw no adversary, however, prompting him to fix the now calm Holmes with an unemotionless stare.
"Isn't it a wonderful sunrise, Watson? I've rarely seen one of such... magnificence."
John, letting out a hearty sigh whilst forcing himself to relax, followed the strange detective's gaze towards the sunrise that he spoke of. John rarely saw the sunrise; he did rise early, but no earlier than Holmes did. A sunrise was a beautiful thing; John wasn't one to disgrace against beauty, but, quite frankly, it was only a sunrise.
What an odd pairing they might have been! Two grown men, one clad in neon orange spandex, and the other in pyjamas that had seen better days, in the middle of the road watching the sunrise. What a sight, what a sight, indeed.
He raised a hand, smacking the back of his partner's head none too kindly. Holmes made a noise half between disgust and pain, looking at him.
"For God's sake, it's a sunrise. If you must show me these things, next time, take a picture, Holmes!"
John turned with a sigh, trudging back to the house. He ignored the chilly nip of morning September air as he rubbed his eyes, and wondered, briefly, if he would ever have a good night's sleep.
Recently fell face-first into the fandom of Sherlock Holmes. [Note: Literally, like, four days ago.] Fell in love with Holmes/Watson's interaction, and it provided me to write this little drabble. Unbeta'd and new to the characterization. Thanks for reading!