The first thing John noticed, when he entered the small flat was his companion, passed out on the couch. He sighed, shook his head and watched the pale, tired face. Sherlock had not been sleeping for day's on end because the two had been working on a challenging case but that usually did not exhaust Sherlock this much! Concerned, John came closer, when he stood only a few feet away from the passed out body, he noticed the syringe, that was laying on the coffee-table. "That explains a lot!" John admonished his friend: "You know you're not supposed to use this stuff! If Lestrade finds it, he will have to arrest you and by the way it makes you a horrible person, you always get so weepy when you take drugs!"

John stared at his friend for a moment, as if he expected an answer, than he took one of the wooly blankets from the big armchair, wrapped it around Sherlocks body and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner for himself. He opened the fridge and trying to ignore the bag of eyes, he took out the leftovers from two days ago, they looked more or less eatable.

A few hours later, John had just finished the dishes and cleaned up some of the mess in the kitchen, that Sherlock had made during their investigation, there wasn't much he wouldn't do for his friend! In return, Sherlock kept Johns depressing thoughts away with their investigations and adventures in the heart of London… with his beautiful laugh and his crazy ideas, he craved to know how these hands felt on… "No!" John said out loud to stop these thoughts!

"Whaddidyousaay?!"

John jumped, startled, as he heard a voice from the living room.

"Are you awake Sherlock?" He shouted.

"Yep, never more so!"

When John reentered the living room to check on Sherlock, the handsome man was unbuttoning his purple shirt.

"Sherlock why are you undressing?" Johns voice was slightly more annoyed, than he intended to.

"The shirt is weaty… aaaaah I mean sewaty!" But he could not quite open the last few buttons, because his fingers were shaking. If John was only able deduce Sherlocks mind, he would have known that it was not only because of the after-effect of the drugs.

"Come on boy!" The solider said in a fatherly voice, went over to Sherlock and helped him unbutton the last three buttons, with every button his own hands started to shake more, and Sherlocks muscles got stiffer but both men tried to ignore the obvious tension between them.

John pushed his friend back onto the sofa, careful to not touch too much of the pale soft skin on his chest. "You should sleep a little more!" The fact, that he did not complain proofed the weakened state the detective was in. Sherlock fell asleep the next moment, and John sat there. He just sat there and watched the mans beautiful face, these dark curls that built a perfect frame around the fine face, fine but also slightly odd. Then Johns gaze wandered down Sherlocks body, his oh so perfect body: the white skin stretched beautifully over these prominent collarbones, and then Sherlocks chest… how would it feel, to touch his chest? A burning desire suddenly filled him, made his fingertips tingle and then, with out John being able to stop himself, his hand stretched out and carefully touched Sherlocks chest, John had never felt such an urge to be close to someone, to touch someone. Sure it had been nice to wrap his arms around Janettes fragile body but he had always done it to please her, but now he felt like the only thing that could fill the emptiness in his body, his heart was touching Sherlocks smooth body, being closer to him than he ever had. And so John quietly laid down next to his friend and closed his eyes.