"You should rest John; you haven't slept more than 20 minutes at a time all week."
"That's fresh coming from you." John snaps weakly. He yawns as he pours the boiling water into his mug, watching the water turn into a murky brown; the water seeping into the tea bag. "Maybe if you got more sleep then I will.."
"We both know that my sleeping habits have no effect on yours John."
John grunts in reply, pulling out the bag and dropping it into the trash. "I'll just sleep later on tonight okay?"
John watches Sherlock from over the rim of his mug, his gray eyes swiping over his face, taking in everything.
"Are you aware of the time John?"
John blinks, blowing air to slightly cool down his tea. "Um. No, not really to be honest," he takes a small sip before lowing it, " I have no idea to what the time is."
"It's 11:30. At night John, you need rest, not tea."
"Oh."
John's legs give out slightly, the lack of sleep finally registering. He catches himself on the counter with his elbow, his hand still clutching the mug of tea. He looks over to Sherlock, eyes roaming over his neck, shoulder, and chest; everywhere but his face.
"I… yeah, okay. Sleep. I'll sleep now."
John watches Sherlock walk forward, stopping in front of him, his chest brushing against John's with every inhale. Leaning his head, he rests it on Sherlock.
"I'm really tired Sherlock."
Long, slender fingers creep over John's warm hand, prying away the mug still held in his hand.
"I know John." The low, deep rumble of Sherlock's voice vibrates through John.
He shivers.
Sherlock pulls away, heading for his room.
John follows.
But he continues up to his own room, pushing the door; he doesn't bother to close it again. He goes into his cold bed, still dressed in his night clothes from the day before. The dulled down noises of Sherlock moving around his room carries up the stairs. A sense of familiarity. He closes his eyes and waits for sleep.
It doesn't come.
Instead, John hears the soft padding of Sherlock's feet climbing up the stairs. With his back to the door, John can almost feel Sherlock's sharp eyes tracing over the outline of his hidden body. He moves silently forward, the only telling of his presence is the soft cotton of his bottoms rubbing together.
A sudden rush of cold air travels along John's backside as Sherlock lifts the cover and slips in behind him, his warmth overtaking the chill that clings to John's raised skin. John makes no acknowledgment of Sherlock; he just accepts the fact that Sherlock just joined him in bed. His bed.
Sherlock snakes his arm over John's waist, hand resting on his stomach causing John to jerk in surprise. His hand moves back and grips John's hip, pulling him closer until his back is pressed to Sherlock's chest.
"Go to sleep John. It's fine."
"Goodnight Sherlock."
He receives a hum in response.
The last thing John remembers before darkness drags him down is the soft press of Sherlock's lips on his neck.
"Goodnight John," whispered into his skin.