Author's Note: The next chapter I've scheduled should be twice as long, considering the brief length of my past uploads. Thank you for reading!
"It's not that difficult, Sherlock. Sleeping is natural."
In response, the violinist flipped his body over and grunted with a long, fulfilling sigh, which seemed to push John over the edge.
The detective's fingers slid his phone out from underneath the pillow, turned it on, and pushed his boredom away briefly- but the doctor wasn't blind.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, forcing his own frame off the bed to retrieve the phone. After he had done so, John sat on the border of the mattress nearest to the other man.
The detective swept the covers over his face, a flash of memory perking past his thoughts, reminding him that John thought he could cut fabric with his cheekbones. Sherlock snickered replying, "Give me back my phone."
"No," John remarked, "I've hidden it."
It wasn't that complicated. "Dresser, bottom right drawer. Under the grey shirt."
"You're not playing on it, even if you know where it is."
John groaned, moving over to Sherlock's side and pulling the covers away from the infamous sea green eyes and firm chin. His fingers found their way to the consulting detective's back and began swirling patterns onto the cotton. It always did seem to relax Sherlock.
After a few moments, Sherlock mumbled a practically incoherent "Thank you" into his sheets.
John nodded as he realized the violinist was drifting off and made himself more comfortable within the blankets, netting his body beside Sherlock's. In the end, John decided, it wasn't difficult for the detective to sleep. It was strenuous for Sherlock to let go, giving up all his worries and leaving his so called "mind palace".
John let himself wonder how the palace visually materialized. Were there curtains or blinds? Blue accents or brown? Carpet or wooden flooring? Knowing Sherlock, John presumed that this "palace" didn't look like a place at all. Eventually, he gave up faultlessly and followed Sherlock's lead- sleeping.