Here's a series of drabbles about nights of John's life, following the song Some Nights by Fun. Hope you like it! Reviews are love!
Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck.
John Watson groaned loudly as he sunk into his armchair; the flat was quiet and somber. Sherlock had been in one of his moods since the last case ended, and he rarely did anything that didn't involve sulking on the sofa or sighing at his microscope. When he was in these moods, he refused to talk to John, which meant that John's already lonely night was getting lonelier.
He had had a date earlier that night. A nice girl named Lucy. She was pretty enough, and rather polite, but nothing could make up for how uninteresting she was. Her personality was blander than the white sauce on his spaghetti. He'd spent an hour and a half trying to get her to talk about anything, before finally throwing some money on the table and excusing himself.
And now, he was at home in his flat, and was it too much to ask for a little stimulating conversation?
He looked at the blue lump that was Sherlock, curled up in the foetal position on the sofa, and sighed loudly. "Goodnight Sherlock," he said sourly.
He didn't even wait for the replying grunt.
