John's Point of View:

I didn't arrive home til about 11:30 that night. I tried to be as quiet as possible when I entered the flat, in fear of waking a sleeping Sherlock. 'Ha. Sherlock sleeping.' now that was a thought. That man never slept it seemed, it wasn't healthy, but even as a doctor I couldn't persuade him to do other wise.

The room was pitch black when I finally got in. I guess he really did go to sleep. I fumbled around until I found my chair and put my phone, jacket, and keys in it. I didn't really feel tired but I knew I needed some kind of rest. I thought about taking a shower but dismissed it when I realized that I only had 20 minutes left of my birthday and thought I should take this time to reflect on my year.

My eyes still hadn't adjusted to the lack of light but I made my way to the sofa and laid down. As harsh as this is about to sound, my life was shit until I met Sherlock. That handsome devil of a man had turned my world inside out, and I believe I owe him for that. After my time in Afghanistan, I wished that shot through my shoulder would've killed me. Every day I wished I could go back in time and make that bullet drive straight through my heart. I let out a deep sigh not wanting to continue, but then I remembered Sherlock. I started to vocalize my thoughts without being too loud. It made me feel better when I wasn't just thinking.

"Oh Sherlock, all the hell you put me through. It seems unbearable sometimes. You are aggravating, selfish, beautiful..." I started to doze off.

"But I would take Afghanistan 100 times over as long as it meant I could be by your side Sherlock." I felt my body relax realizing laying down was probably not the best idea.

I stood up and went for my phone. 12 on the dot. Well, I guess that's it. The end of another year of my life, and all I knew is that I was going to make it the best.

I heard a shuffle from across the room and immediately went into soldier mode, only to find a drowsy Sherlock creeping from his room. He was still fully dressed, except for his shoes. He must of passed out while I was gone. I waited for a moment and then made my way to him.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? Why are you out of bed?" I reached out to him and he slowly sank into my arms, his head on my shoulder, nuzzling into my neck.

"I heard your voice John, I was trying to wait for you, are you okay?" With every word his warm breath tickled my skin. This is not good.

"It's quite alright Sherlock, you didn't need to try to wait for me, you knew I would come home." I felt him smile on the skin of my neck which made me shiver.

"Are you cold John?" The sleepy Sherlock questioned.

"Yea, a bit but I'm fine. You won't be though if you don't get some more sleep." I said trying to get him to stand on his own. He let out a sharp sigh.

"Fine, if my doctor says so." He pushed himself upright and headed into his dark room.

The words 'my doctor' rang through my ears so loudly I couldn't hear myself think. I came back to reality remembering how tired Sherlock is and wondering if he could get in bed safely. I rushed in. The only light in the room was coming in from the window, and all I could see was Sherlock sitting on the floor fiddling with his shirt buttons. He probably sat down so he wouldn't fall. Luckily he was awake enough to do that. I softly knocked on the door, he look up quickly. The pale light danced slowly over his flawless facial features. From his strong cheek bones to his perfect little nose.

"Yes?" he said in his usual tone, but I knew he was faking it.

"Would you like some help?" I said without regarding the actions of my words. He stared at me for a while but was too tired to argue.

"Can you help me up?" he asked almost sweetly I had to silence myself from laughing. I walked over to him and put both of my hands under his arms and instructed him to put his on my shoulders.

"On three." I said softly. "one... two... three" I lifted him as gently as possible, treating his fragile frame like an artistic masterpiece that was not to be damaged. I helped to the be cautious and laid him down. Not sure if I was done I inquired...

"Anything else sir?" with a slight chuckle. He shook his head 'no' and reached his arms straight up at me. I wasn't sure what he wanted...a hug maybe? But that's not Sherlock... but then again why wouldn't I hug him.

I smiled and leaned in between his arms. Putting one arm behind his head where I rested all my weight, and my hand on his waist just above his hip. He swung his long arms around me and tightened his grip. As confusing as today has been I didn't mind the attention I was getting from Sherlock, who knows, I may never see this side of him again. I rose a bit to look into his eyes. The were open just enough for the dim light to ripple in them.

"I'll be on the sofa if you need me. I don't want you getting up anymore tonight. Understood."

I heard a small groan. I guess that was him agreeing with me as he wrapped his arms tighter around me until our foreheads met.

I felt hot, leaning over Sherlock's long, magnificent, gorgeous body feeling his breath across my lips. I felt overwhelmed. What am I supposed to do.

"Goodnight John." He said softly and almost unconsciously. I had to do something, this was killing me. I tilted my head up just enough for my lips to rest on his forehead.

"Goodnight Sherlock." I said back dislodging myself from him and walking towards the door. I turned to ask him if he wanted it left open, but he was already asleep. I smiled and left it open. Taking my place on the sofa.