Author's Note: To be completely honest, I never saw myself shipping Johnlock. I really thought it would just be that ship that everyone who loved the gay-ships-that-make-no-sense-because-neither-of-the-parties-are-gay would ship.
But no, I start watching Sherlock (the television series) and immediately it's all like bam in my face. Like, where did you two come from, and how has my life been this good without you?
Okay, so maybe not that drastic, but it was still pretty great.
Sherlock Holmes had been working a case for 8 days straight.
You could tell.
He had dark bags under his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled, and he was continually snapping at John. Sherlock was normally an irritable jerk, but now he was especially and irritable jerk.
When he was on a case, he didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't take care of himself.
It honestly drove John crazy, and not just because he was constantly the target of Sherlock's snapping and orders and accusations. John got worried, especially on a case this long. There was only so long someone could go without nourishment or sleep.
John knew for a fact that Sherlock could go 96 hours without it having any effects. By the time he got to 5 days with minimal food and no sleep, he started to get cranky and unfocused. 6 days brought around the staring off into space, lost of interest and inability to make a complete sentence 100% of the time. 7 days was straight up torture for both them.
8 days hadn't yet happened. Usually by this time Sherlock and John had finished up with their case and were checking off the last of the clues and suspects and getting their much needed rest.
Day 8, John found Sherlock sprawled in the middle of the floor of their flat.
4 things went through his mind, rapid fire. The first was that Sherlock was dead. The second was that he had been attacked, the third that he was conducting some sort of suitably strange experiment that needed him to lie down on the floor in an uncomfortable position with his eyes closed and not move. The fourth (the last, the correct guess), was then he was passed out from more natural health causes.
John ran over and knelt next to Sherlock's body. He checked for a pulse first- a little high, but steady- and then examined his head for signs of trauma. There was a small bump growing at the back of his skull, probably when when he hit his head landing on the floor, but nothing to show signs of being knocked out by an attacker. There was no blood, and no sign of any sort of injury other then the small bump on his head.
John let out a long sigh and sat back on his heels, "Why do you have to do this to yourself, Sherlock?" he muttered, leaning over and starting to slid his arm around Sherlock's back.
For such a skinny man, Sherlock was surprisingly heavy. It took John seven minutes and a whole lot of huffing and puffing to actually drag him off the floor and to his bed.
As usual, the bed was in disarray. There was a pillow on the floor and one that somehow ended up on the windowsill, and the coverlet was all twisted and half on the floor.
John let out a groan and lugged Sherlock up onto the mattress, straightening out his sheets and pulling them over the unconscious man. Then he located the pillows and arranged those, too.
After he had closed the curtains and left the room, he went to make a cup of tea. He had no idea how long Sherlock would be out for, or whether unconsciousness would give way to sleep after awhile. It was best that he stay in the apartment and wait.
It was only a half hour later that he heard a loud groan and the sound of heavy footsteps on the floor. John looked up from his tea and his book and frowned. "What are you doing up?"
"I've... got a case..." Sherlock mumbled, leaning against the doorframe, "Sleeping slows me down."
"You know what slows you down more?" John asked dryly, "Collapsing in the middle of the kitchen."
"I didn't collapse," Sherlock said with dignity, trying to straighten up and being overcome with dizziness, "I merely laid down for a moment to get my thoughts together."
"Uh huh," John said skeptically, taking Sherlock's arm, "Well, you are going to continue to lie down and get your thoughts together. On the bed. With your eyes closed."
"In other words you just want me to sleep," Sherlock grumped, though he allowed himself to get lead back over to his bed.
"Basically," John agreed, covering him with the blanket, "I'm going to bring you something to eat, and if you're asleep by the time I get back I'll just leave it on the bedside table."
"I don't-'
"You don't eat when you're on the case, I know. I know," John interrupted, already heading for the door, "But when you're on the case with me, you do."
He walked out of the room and grabbed a box of crackers from the kitchen, along with half of a slightly brown banana.
When he returned to the bedroom, Sherlock was still awake, staring at the ceiling. It didn't look like he had moved since John left.
"You know why I can't sleep when I'm on the case?" Sherlock asked abruptly.
"Because it slows you down, I know. You've told me before," John sighed as he put down the food down and opened up the box of crackers.
"No."
John's hands stilled and he frowned "Then why don't you sleep on the case?"
"I can't," Sherlock murmured, "I physically cannot. When I am on the case, my mind is constantly overanalyzing every little detail of every fact of every clue I find. It's why I can solve so many cases in the time that I do."
John raised an eyebrow, "I see."
"Usually, I can push my... observations to the back of my head. It's like white noise, there all the time and occasionally annoying but I can manage. But when I'm on the case I can't do that, in case I come up with something and don't notice I've come up with it because I'm ignoring my brain."
John took a seat on the bed.
"When I'm on the case, trying to sleep with all of my thoughts inside my brain is like trying to sleep with a 4 trumpet band playing into my ear," Sherlock continued.
John pictured his knowledge of Sherlock's brain like a window. When he just met Sherlock, the window was dirty and locked, with shutters firmly shut over the glass. Over time those shutters had begun to raise, and the window had slowly cleared.
With Sherlock's explanation, an entire pane of Sherlock's window became sparklingly clear. It amazed John how quickly he could go from being almost completely in the dark to suddenly understanding so much about Sherlock.
"I... I never knew," John said softly, watching Sherlock's face, "I just thought that you were an overachiever that didn't know when to stop."
A faint smirk crossed Sherlock's face, "Well, I'm that, too," He said, only half-joking. He sent John a wink, "Can't let my reputation get ruined, now can we?"
"I promise, I won't tell a soul," John smiled, shaking his head. Then he grew serious and sent Sherlock a glare, "However, I will tell everyone if you don't sleep."
Sherlock pulled a face, "I see. You're playing dirty."
"Not quite as dirty as I could," John grinned, patting Sherlock on the shoulder, "Try to tone down 4 trumpet orchestra and get some sleep, will you?" He asked.
Once he had left the room John crossed to the CD player in the corner and put in a CD. It was one of the many classical CDs that Sherlock loved and John quickly got bored off, but tonight it was just the thing they both needed.
As Mozart's 6 symphony spun itself into the air, both John and Sherlock fell asleep.
Author's Note: And there is my first Johnlock fic.
You may have noticed how it's not really a romantic fic, exactly. I really like John and Sherlock's relationship that isn't necessarily all holding hands and kissing and such. I think that they are stronger then that emotionally, which is why I focus more on their friendship, almost. It's kind of hard to explain.