Goodnight, Sherlock
John groaned into his pillow. Perhaps the party hadn't been such a good idea, after all. If only he'd listened to Sherlock and hadn't gone. Darn, why did the insufferable man have to be right all the time? But it had partly been John's own fault…he really shouldn't have had that much to eat and drink. Downstairs, he heard a door close. Sherlock was home. Groaning even more dismally, John rolled over and faced the window to block out the thoughts about having to face Sherlock and the tedious lecture that was surely not far away.
Sure enough, a moment later, John heard a loud knock on his door. John, too tired to speak, remained silent. Sherlock, ever being Sherlock, ignored the silence and threw the door open with a loud crash and strode in. "John." he said sharply, standing by the bed. He was about to mutter something about how interesting the party could have been compared to the case Sherlock had invited him to, but when he saw John, his gaze softened. "John…" he said again, gently, kneeling down by the bed. "John, are you okay?" John wanted to snap something back, but somehow he felt weak, and needed to be comforted…comforted by Sherlock. But that wouldn't happen. Sherlock would probably be furious at him, not empathetic!
"No, Sherlock. I'm not okay." he closed his eyes, and reached for Sherlock's hand, "Come here." he added, and the detective sat down on the edge of John's bed. "Drank too much?" he smiled fondly. John nodded, "Hang over. I suppose you're going to lecture me about it, yeah?" "Don't be silly, John. Does your head hurt?" the doctor nodded. Smiling kindly, Sherlock reached forward and gently massaged his friend's forehead with delicate, warm fingers. John sighed into his safe, loving touch. Just as John tried to sit up, his stomach protested, and he remembered that he'd overeaten as well. Being the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock noticed.
"Overate too, I see. Really, John, I told you that you shouldn't have gone!" he sighed dramatically, but his tone was affectionate. He placed his other hand upon John's middle and rubbed his stomach slowly. John snuggled in against Sherlock's thigh and drew him closer, grateful for his consolation. Sherlock eventually lay down by his faithful blogger, never ceasing his gentle rubbing. "Tired?" Sherlock asked fondly. "Mm." John nodded into his best friend's chest drowsily. "Then relax, and go to sleep, John. You'll feel better in the morning." Sherlock put his arm around John and the latter closed his eyes in the security of Sherlock's hold. He smiled, feeling better already. "Goodnight, John." Sherlock murmured. The returned soldier pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek, "Goodnight, Sherlock."
