Since the case on the domestic murder, there had been non-stop cases for around a week now.

John hadn't gotten proper nights sleep because Sherlock kept dragging him round. It wasn't like he couldn't have stayed home and rested, but being with Sherlock and running across the rooftops of London or something was a perfect feeling, and John didn't want to miss anything.

That being said, he'd had more sleep than Sherlock, who was never still for more than two minutes any more. And that was only when John physically restrained him from moving around. And eating was just out of the window.

That was especially true now.

John was sat in his armchair, watching as Sherlock paced round the room, muttering to himself about the latest case and trying to work it out. John was pretty sure his observations had begun to border on extreme, and a slight amount of delirium may have set into the Consulting Detective.

Every now and then John noticed he'd had to close his eyes tightly for a few seconds or rub a hand across his face, and whenever he'd typed something he had to keep going back and trying to fix the grammar that was usually flawless. But fatigue was setting in, and his words were becoming a little out of normality.

"Sherlock?" He didn't answer, too wrapped in his own thoughts.

"Sherlock!"

"Hmm?" The consulting Detective was still looking at the floor, not really paying attention.

"You need to rest."

"No I don't. I'm fine."

"Sherlock, you've not properly rested for far too long, and I've not seen you properly eating in God knows how long. Please, as your Doctor and friend, please rest?"

"Not until I complete the case. Stop fussing John, I'm…fine."

Of course, as was Sods Law, that was when Sherlock's body realised that it was running on empty, and collapsed.

John cursed quietly and leapt forward to see if he was okay. The heart rate was okay, just a bit in shock from the sudden lack of needed energy.

John stood up slightly and stooped to lift up Sherlock into his arms. The man was surprisingly light, too light for the height of him.

He pulled the Unconscious Consulting Detective onto his couch and rushed upstairs as fast and quietly as he could and grabbing a cover from his own room and bringing it back down, covering Sherlock in it and sitting back.

John mildly noticed he'd never actually seen Sherlock sleep. His face became so calm, free of smart comments and a sharp sense of deep concentration.

In all truth, John could sort of see why Mycroft worried about Sherlock all the time. Aside from being a self confessed Sociopath, he was really so young, and so reliant on other people. If Mrs. Hudson wasn't looking after him, god knows what he'd do.

John smiled to himself. Sherlock pretended to be heartless and mean, but John knew there was something else.

Sherlock shifted slightly, expression troubled suddenly. John shifted closer, in case Sherlock was being de hydrated or something.

The problem was sorted quickly, as Sherlock's pale, slender hand curled round the edge of the cover, tugging it closer so he could bury his face in it and clutch a bundle of the cover in his hands as a child would do with a teddy bear.

John smiled again, leaning back. Sherlock was just seeking the comfort of his flatmates scent.

Sherlocks' phone lit up on the table next to where he was sleeping, suggesting a call about to happen. John picked it up as quietly as he could and rushed out of the room, answering it before Sherlock would wake up and answer it, therefore rejecting sleep.

"Hello?"

'John? Where's Sherlock?' Lestrade asked down the line, obviously confused as to why the Detective hadn't answered his own mobile. 'And why are you speaking really quietly?'

"Sherlock's asleep." John explained.

'Oh, at last. How did you get him to do it?'

"I didn't. His body did. Finally just keeled over."

'Well then, I see your point for not waking him. Tell him to call me when he wakes up for a case, yea? We've got a sudden build up. And he still didn't tell us who the last person was.'

"Oh, he was muttering something about the step sisters' fiancé?" John tried. "But then again, he also muttered something about a cheesecake in the shower, so I wouldn't take it too importantly. He started getting a little delirious." John apologised.

'Sisters Fiancé, of course. Tell him thanks. I'll text you when we catch him.'

They exchanged goodbyes, and John hung up, slipping Sherlock's phone into his pocket and going back into the living room.

"What did Lestrade say?" A quiet voice asked from the couch. John looked over, smiling at the bleary-eyed Sherlock, who was clearly fighting to keep his eyes open.

"He wants you to call him." Sherlock began to sit up, and John lurched forward, pushing Sherlock back down. "But only when you've rested."

Sherlock scowled and pouted a little. "But John…" John noted how petulant Sherlock became just after waking.

"No Sherlock. Rest."

Sherlock obliged grudgingly and relaxed back. "Does rest mean sleep?" He asked drowsily.

"Yes."

"Well then, I'm not resting."

"I'm staying here to watch over you like a child until you do." John sat on the armchair, watching Sherlock until he sighed and closed his eyes, resting them closed until he fell asleep.

John smiled, and let his own eyes rest shut, please at last to be able to rest.

A soft moan woke John about an hour later. He quickly looked across at Sherlock, and saw him shivering slightly, a look of concern on his face. John frowned, it was perfectly warm in the house.

He decided Sherlock may have gained some sort of illness, as his body had been robbed of its main needs and might have been forced to lower its guard.

John sat up and moved over to the couch, sitting on the space where Sherlock's legs had vacated in his attempt to keep warm by curling up. The best way to keep his friend warm was body heat, an inexhaustible source.

He reluctantly lifted Sherlock's completely unconscious form until he was rested against Johns' chest. It felt a little strange, having a man lean against him. But the sleeping conditions had been bad in the war, so this should be nothing.

Sherlock was still shaking slightly, and had a bit of a fever. It wouldn't be much, but John worked out he probably just needed rest, food, and fluids. And no cases, or the adrenaline would throw him of balance.

John carefully pulled the blanket over himself too, to keep in the heat, and slowly draped an arm round Sherlock's shoulders, surrounding him with Johns' own body heat.

He tried not to think what the self-confessed Sociopath would think of this when he woke, and settled for just making sure Sherlock was warm enough and not likely to get too cold, and let himself slip into sleep.

XxXxXxX

Mrs. Hudson knocked lightly on the door, stepping into the flat and looking around for it's inhabitants.

She smiled, seeing them both asleep on Sherlock's couch – which no one else was allowed on – with Sherlock leaning against John, one arm draped across him and clutching a bundle of Johns' jumper in his hand.

She knew it was going to happen sooner or later. No one ever got close to Sherlock, so John was obviously important to him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A/N: Um, SORRY! The original Chapter Two had a chunk missing, so this is the second version. Sorry everyone!