My second fic.
I didn't write this as slash. I specifically wrote it to be non-sexual. I see Sherlock and John as platonic life-partners,(If that makes any sense) and I try to reflect that here. But you can interpret it however you want.
Constructive criticism is always appreciated, and reviews are much beloved.
Empty Bed
It had started because of an argument. Nothing big, just the sort of little squabble that comes from living with another person. Still, looking back, John found it ironic that it was the most tiny, ordinary little tiff that had started to bring the walls down.
That night he had come home late after a long, stressful day at work. It was the middle of flu season and the clinic was over-run. Sherlock, who was examining some mold John was pretty sure he had been cultivating in the bathroom, didn't even look up. That was fine by John for tonight. He didn't have the energy to put up with Sherlock's oddities tonight.
John threw his coat onto the hanger and sat down heavily on the couch. He closed his eyes and put his head back, enjoying the quiet. He was exhausted. Perhaps he would just go to sleep right here.
"John."
John ignored him. Sherlock hadn't had a case for days and was undoubtedly in one of his moods. John didn't fancy trying to placate him at the moment.
"John!"
John groaned and rubbed his eyes. "What is it?"
"Get off."
John lifted his head up. "Excuse me?"
"Get off the couch, I want to lie down there." Sherlock was still examining the mold.
Normally John would have just gotten up and spared himself from a confrontation. But he was tired, irritated, and this was his couch too, dammit! "No," he said.
Sherlock looked up. "No?" he asked it as if he didn't understand what John was trying to say. "What do you mean, no?" "I'm on the couch now. If you want to lie down, go to your bed."
Sherlock frowned and moved to stand in front of John. "But I don't want to lie on my bed, I want to lie on the couch."
John rubbed his temples. "You have had all day to lie on the couch." "But I didn't want to then." "That's not the point. The point is it's unfair for you to demand me to move from the couch five minutes after I've arrived, when you've had all day to lie on it."
The space between Sherlock's eyebrows crinkled. "So you won't get off?" "That's right."
Sherlock looked at him carefully, then walked back to his desk and began poking at the mold. After a few minutes, he looked back at John. "Now can I get on?"
John could barely believe what he was hearing. It was amazing how such a brilliant man could be so child-like at times.
"No, Sherlock, you cannot get on. And you will not be able to get on until I decide to get off, which may not be for quite a while since I am tired from working all day to earn enough money to keep this roof over our heads. So unless you want to use me as a pillow, you are not getting on the couch."
Sherlock looked at John blankly for a few seconds. Then his face took on a pouty expression usually reserved for teenagers who didn't want to do their chores.
"Fine. I will."
John had closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. "Will what?" he asked dully.
"Use you as a pillow." And with that Sherlock positioned himself on the couch so that his feet were resting on the arm and his back was leaning against John's side.
John gaped at him. "Sherlock, what are you - Jesus, get off already!" "No." "But you're-" "Not getting off."
John had had it. Tired as he was, he was not going to let Sherlock drive him off. Limits had to be set somewhere.
"Fine," he said. "Fine. Just don't wake me up." And he leaned back and closed his eyes.
When he opened them, sunlight was filtering in through the window. John lay still, enjoying the rested feeling, when he noticed the weight pressing down on his side.
Sherlock's head was on John's shoulder and his mouth was slightly open. He was fast asleep.
Oddly, John didn't find himself too desperate to get out of the situation. Sherlock's weight felt good pressed against him; not in a sexual way, certainly not, but it was a comforting presence. John was surprised to find that he wasn't at all uncomfortable with the proximity of their bodies. Maybe it was because Sherlock was still asleep, or maybe it was because it wasn't a sexual being, but there was no awkwardness.
John remained there for a few minutes before gently pulling himself out and laying Sherlock's head on the couch. Then he went and began preparing for the day.
When John got out of the shower, Sherlock was up and preparing breakfast. They were both silent as they sat down and began to eat, until Sherlock abruptly asked, "Did you sleep well?"
John paused. He wasn't sure if the question was intended to be a jibe. For most people it would be, but Sherlock had asked it quite casually, without a hint of awkwardness. And God knows he wasn't the greatest actor. John decided to answer normally.
"I did, thanks." And they continued as if nothing had happened.
That night John was late again. When he did get home, he promptly collapsed on the couch, ignoring Sherlock in his armchair.
When he felt Sherlock lean against him, he didn't react. It didn't bother him, and this way they didn't have to argue.
When John woke up, Sherlock was gone. For some reason, John felt tiniest bit sad.
The next night, Sherlock was lying on the couch, leaving no room for John. John sighed and began to walk towards his room when Sherlock grabbed his wrist.
"John," he said as he sat up and gestured to the cushion that he had vacated. "Here."
John didn't hesitate.
As flu season ended, John's hours returned to normal. He went back to sleeping in his bed. Though it had never bothered him before, he felt slightly lonely without someone beside him.
The first time they shared a bed was at the inn in Baskerville. While they started on opposite sides of the bed, by morning they met in the middle, with John pressed against Sherlock's back.
The first night back from Baskerville, Sherlock had a nightmare about the hound. John sat on his bed all night.
A few days later, Sherlock crawled into John's bed in the middle of the night. He was gone in the morning.
The next night the same thing, only when he tried to leave in the early morning, John held him back.
After a few weeks of this, Sherlock stopped going to his own bed all together and began getting into John's when he was ready to sleep.
They didn't talk about other than to ask the other if they were ready to go to bed. John thought it was for the best. This... thing they had was delicate, and he felt as if a single word could shatter it.
The last time they slept together was the night before Moriarty's trial.
John didn't sleep the night after Sherlock jumped.
It took him a long time to be able to sleep through the night again.
It was hard to sleep in an empty bed.