A/N: What can I say…I was asked…[writers are such egotistical people, haha]

John entered the building and nearly ran into Mrs. Hudson.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hudson," he said cheerily. The look on her face made him wonder if it was not a pleasant evening after all. Usually there was one common factor. "What has he done now? Mixing chemicals, shooting the wall, playing the violin?"

She frowned, "That's just it, John, he hasn't done a thing. He was in an incredibly good mood earlier. Is he doing…alright?" she asked carefully.

John raised his eyebrows, "I'm sure he's fine, Mrs. Hudson. Nevertheless, I will keep an extra watch on him."

"Such a good boy," she said as she patted his shoulder and moved down the hall.

"Shooting the wall?" she called anxiously from behind her.

"Good night!" he called as he bounded up the stairs.

Watson contemplated the reasons Holmes would be in a good mood. He hadn't had a case since the end of the Second Stain incident nearly two weeks ago. In fact, he had been moping for the last week and hadn't slept for a few days. Watson imagined he must have gotten a new case today.

He opened the door to the flat and found Sherlock lounging in his tattered old bathrobe.

"Evening," he said happily.

Sherlock acted as though raising his head was too much effort. "Hullo," he muttered.

Not expecting as much, John pulled his coat off and hung it over one of the chairs.

"Busy?" he asked Sherlock.

"Does it look like it?"

He made an agreeing noise and moved into the kitchen to get a glass of milk. There were hardly any groceries in the refrigerator.

"I thought maybe you would go shopping today; without having a case and all. You don't have a case, do you?"

Sherlock put forth the effort of moving his head this time, "Does it look like it?"

"I ran into Mrs. Hudson, on the way up. She said you seemed in quite a good mood actually. I thought maybe you had gotten a case."

"Do you really spend that much time talking about me?" he asked as he resumed his spot on the couch, his voice deep as he mumbled.

"Yes, my life practically revolves around you, Holmes," he said as he took a drink. "Well, if you're not doing anything I suppose I'm going to check my email and go to bed."

"Really, I figured you would want to see this. There is a special on about World War II bunkers. But if you don't want to stay up that late, I can just tell you what happens."

John stuck his hand in his pocket as he walked over, "Oh?"

"I'll even take notes if you like," he said sarcastically.

"Well scoot over then; I could watch part of it before I check my mail."

Smiling, Sherlock moved to the other side of the couch as John sat down. The programme was something Sherlock had already seen and he used the time to calculate the fingerings on the third movement of Beethoven's Violin Concerto that he was having a slight difficulty with. Periodically he would glance over at Watson who seemed to be honestly interested in what was being said.

"Isn't that fascinating?" he would ask from time to time to which Sherlock would agree to no end.

Over the course of the show, his eyes didn't droop once. When the credits rolled, John shifted as though to stand up.

"Wait," Sherlock said, putting out a hand as though to force him to stay on the couch, "Reruns of Dr. Who?"

"What?" Watson said, confused, "Oh, for God's sake Holmes. I'm not going to sleep with you!"

Holmes feigned a scowl when he had been found out. A knock at the door startled them both.

"Who is it?" Watson called, rising and heading for the door.

"Mrs. Hudson," a voice called, "I've got some of your mail by accident."

Watson opened the door to find Mrs. Hudson making a strange face. She handed over the mail.

"Thank you," he said politely.

"Well now we know why he was in a good mood," she said under her breath trying to look around Watson.

"Good night Mrs. Hudson." He flushed, practically shutting the door in her face.

Holmes was trying to hide the smirk on his face.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," Watson said, tossing the mail on the table.

"Amusing? Not in the least. Tiring? Yes."

John sat in a chair by the couch, "Well I'm not tired. I'm going to check my mail and go to sleep. And lock the door first."

"I'm not trying to murder you, John. I'm trying to use you as a pillow."

"See, most people would not be friends with people who say things like that. There must be something wrong with me."

"What's wrong is that you're tired." He patted the couch next to him.

"You are absolutely ridiculous," he said as he slumped onto the couch. "It had better be a good episode of Dr. Who."

As soon as John had sat down, Sherlock nestled his head on his shoulder. "You know, most people would take it as a compliment that they make a good pillow."

"Most people wouldn't be able to live with you as a flat mate."

"Stop talking," Sherlock commanded.

John tried to frown, but he knew it just came out a grin.