Sherlock woke up the next morning with a small groan. His neck and his back ached and all because of John's uncomfortable mattress. He told the good doctor to get a new one. With a jaw-cracking yawn, the detective sat up and looked at the man sleeping next to him. If anyone else were to look at John, they would see him sleeping peacefully, but Sherlock knew better.

A few more grey patches, complexion paler than normal. Stress lines and wrinkles more prominent from stress. Weight loss of, about, a stone since my return. Note: must order more take away for more calories. Slight morning erection, however, dream isn't erotic to remember upon waking. Conclusion: John needs to get laid. Sherlock thought with a smirk. After his deduction, he meandered downstairs to start his morning routine.

When John headed downstairs after waking, he went right into the kitchen to make tea. "Morning, Sherlock."

He received a grunt for his efforts. "Morning, breakfast?

"You're cooking?"

"Don't be absurd. I was going to call for Mrs. Hudson."

John rolled his eyes and began pulling out cookware. When tea was ready he made Sherlock a cup, sipping his while he cooked. He poured himself another when everything was finished and he set down two plates. Sherlock looked up from the newspaper he was reading and quirked an eyebrow at the full plate in front of him. He noticed John's portion was smaller than his. He switched the plates while John's back was turned and made a show of eating.

"You cooked?"

"Yes," John sighed, "like I do every other day. We're two grown men, so I refuse to make Mrs. Hudson cook for us just because you're lazy."

Sherlock harrumphed and went back to his paper until John left. When the door to 221B noisily shut on his flatmate's way out, he through the news down onto the table and rushed to grab his coat and scarf before flying through the flat and out into London.

There were many things that Sherlock Holmes found tedious and filling out paperwork for the Yard. Much to New Scotland Yard's displeasure, Sherlock made his bad temper known by deducing half of Lestrade's department before he was finally thrown out. After he'd finished his paperwork, of course. It wasn't until later that he'd gotten a text from John.

Have to work late. A couple emergency cases came in. -JW

He frowned. What could possibly constitute as an emergency as a GP working out of a small clinic? With a sigh, Sherlock stomped off to the nearest market. If he was going to be bored, he might as well do the shopping so as not to destroy the flat. The last time he did that, both John and Mrs. Hudson had called Lestrade to have him arrested. Him! So what if he'd started to tear down the wall to see if there were any termites living in the foundation of the house? It was purely for research!

Wandering the isles, he picked up a few of his and John's favorites and had even picked up another container of milk. See? He could do the shopping? John would be pleased, maybe even shocked. Sherlock grinned wickedly at the thought. However, as he stood on line for the chip and pin machine, he thought about the past couple of days.

John had been acting...strange...and that wasn't like John at all. No, John was a good, old-fashioned, Englishman whom, despite living with a man like himself, liked to live a calm life. Well, while he wasn't chasing down thugs, of course. John Watson was not acting like John Watson. He was acting...peculiar. He shook his head. That was all right, he would surprise him later to the point where he would snap out of whatever ridiculous mood he was in.

After he arrived back at Baker Street, he put the shopping away and began cleaning. Packing up his latest experiments, packing up his old ones, clearing off the table, neatly cleaning his microscope, he was quite satisfied with himself. It was when he was finished cleaning and restocking the refrigerator that he heard John walk in. With a frown, he was shocked that it was dark outside. With a sigh, he closed the door to the ice box and tossed the dirty rag into the sink and was greeted to the sight of John gaping at the spotless flat.

"What did you do?"

Affronted, Sherlock stuck his nose in the air. "I don't know what you mean."

"You cleaned..." John walked into the kitchen, opened, and then shut the refrigerator door. "And you did the shopping."

"Problem?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You never clean and you never do the shopping. I'm a little suspicious. Are you dying?"

"What? No! I wanted to see your reaction."

John stopped. "You did this...to get a reaction out of me?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, "you've been acting quite strange lately. Different triggers, mostly random. So, I chose to do something out of the ordinary to see if your reactions match a similar trigger."

"I see. Well, thank you."

The detective nodded. "By the way, you promised to tell me your findings of last night's experiment. I would like to know them now."

Sherlock sat down and waited for John's explanation. With a sigh, glad to be off his feet as he sat down in front of his companion, John began to explain. "I find that you sleep better with a bed companion on a night that you don't have a case. Normally, you don't sleep for days on end and crash and sleep for almost an entire day, when you do. On days where you don't keep yourself up for a case or an experiment, you only sleep for a couple of hours before you're up again."

Dark curls nodded and motioned for John to continue. "The past two nights, the other night in particular, you'd gotten a decent night's sleep. You spent more time with someone, in close proximity no less, the past two nights than you do in an entire month. I'd always wondered if you were like most other people and sleep better with someone next to you. I just find it strange, as you're not a 'people person'."

"You aren't 'people', however."

John frowned. "I'm just like everybody else."

Sherlock shook his head. "Far from them, actually. You can keep up with me, most times, and pay attention when I speak. Not to mention you bloody live with me." He stood and walked to the window to look outside.

"I've...never really thought about it. This is normal for me."

He grabbed a book from the shelf before sitting back down. John then stood and headed for the door, pausing just outside. "Just so you know...my doors always open. Good night."

Sherlock heard John go through his nightly routine before he himself went into his room to change and think. Hours later, after he'd emerged his room and used the loo, on his way back to his room, he heard a sound coming from the bedroom upstairs. Scowling, still half-asleep, he crept up the stairs and paused outside the door. He heard John muttering on the other side of the door before he cried out in what seemed like pain.

"No...stay with me...you can'..."

Sherlock turned the knob and looked on in shock at the flailing form in the bed. John was thrashing around in his sleep, sheets tangling and catching in his limbs, and he swiped at an unseen force. Even with what little light filtered in the room, Sherlock could see the sweat pouring off of his friend in large droplets.

"Don' touch 'im! Lemme help 'im!"

Sherlock took a step inside and paused when he realized that not all of the moisture cascading down John's skin was sweat.

He's weeping...

He was debating on what he should do when John shot up from his bed, his eyes wide and unfocused. He dropped back down to his mattress, covering his eyes with his hand and began to sob. When Sherlock moved to leave, John froze and raised himself on his elbows to look at him. "Sherlock? I...I didn't hear you come in."

"Apologies...I should have knocked."

John wiped his eyes, hurriedly. "It's fine. I'm sorry if I disturbed you. I haven't had a nightmare in ages."

"I was concerned." Sherlock spoke so softly that John wasn't even sure if he'd heard him.

"I'm fine." John said, breathing shakily, trying to regain composure.

Sherlock nodded and turned to leave but John's voice stopped him. "Sherlock!"

He stopped and looked over his shoulder, noticing the blush that stained John's cheeks.

"Could you...just this once..." He stopped, too embarrassed to finish his thought. "At least 'til I fall asleep?"

Sherlock nodded and hurried into John's bed, a little too eagerly if he was honest with himself. However, looking at the relieved expression on John's face was more than enough justification for him. When he got comfortable, he felt the older man turn to look at him. "Thank you, Sherlock."

He needed. "You still need a new mattress."

John laughed quietly, happy at the change of subject. "Not in my salary." He yawned widely.

Sherlock, brought the sheets back up to cover them both this time and the two of them fell asleep.

The next morning the two woke up entangled in each other's limbs, accidentally elbowing or kicking the other. That morning was full of apologies and bruises but was otherwise spent quietly. However, before John left for work, Sherlock had to ask. "Did you have any more nightmares last night?"

John shook his head. "No, dreamless, actually. Not that you don't already know that. By the way, I'll be going out to the pub with Greg later, so I'll be back late."

"Oh?" Sherlock feigned disinterest, meanwhile his mind was running rampant.

John nodded and finished his tea, walking around the flat gathering his belongings. "His divorce just finalized last week so he's a bit glum. Not to mention he's been trying to go out for drinks for weeks now."

"Very well." Sherlock ground out but he was ignored in favor of receiving a text.

John read the words on his screen before visibly getting annoyed and texting a message back before shoving his phone in his pocket.

"Clearly, he has your full attention." Sherlock stood, not wanting to witness the obvious flirtations of one Gregory Lestrade to his flatmate.

John sighed and went to gather his jacket. "Yeah, being a gigantic twat. I'll see you later, Sherlock."

While John was at work, Sherlock found himself at the park for the afternoon. He didn't do it often, as he loathed interacting with "average" people; they tended to be boring. However, as much as he liked to experiment to expand his knowledge, he loved to keep his observation skills as sharp if he couldn't improve them the slightest bit. What better way to do that than go to a public park and "people watch" for a couple of hours. It wasn't his favorite pass-time, but he would step out in front of a moving bus before he let his deductive reasoning wane in any way. After observing at least one hundred people, Sherlock made his way back home.

It was dark except for the flickering of the telly in the living room. What was more obnoxious was the volume the television was blaring through it's speakers. There on the couch in front of it was one, very drunk, John Watson.

Before he did anything, he called and ordered from the Chinese take away that was open late and waited for the delivery boy. The owner was indebted to Sherlock for discovering that one of his last clerks was stealing money from him when he was away from the restaurant. He was so grateful, that whenever Sherlock or John called, their order was to be made and delivered as soon as possible. No charge. Sometimes, Sherlock really loved being himself.

After the food was delivered, Sherlock set everything down on the table, ready to be eaten before he called over to John. "I'm surprised you're back so early. What did he do to agitate you?"

"Nothin'." John slurred.

Sherlock sighed. "Come here and eat."

"No' 'ungry."

He frowned. Oh no, this was not happening. "You're drunk. Come here and eat something to soak up all of that alcohol before I makeyou."

"I'll do wha' I wan'!" John glared at him, swaying on the sofa.

"You moron!" Sherlock stormed over and grabbed John's arm. Apparently, that was a mistake.

Before he could blink, Sherlock was on the floor, the wind knocked out of him, with a drunk, ex-army captain, straddled above him. "You f'get, I us'd t'kill people!"

"And you're unstable." Sherlock used whatever momentum he had to roll them over.

He would have savored the triumph he felt at his victory if he had the time to do so. As soon as he went to finish pinning John, he was once again on his back. His arms and legs were then rendered useless as the man above him pinned them down. When he looked up, it was to see the sloppy, drunken grin on John's lips. "Soldier n'er leaves you."

"Why are you trying to dominate me, John?" If physical restraint wasn't going to work, psychological warfare was going to have to do it. "What are you trying to prove? That you're a man? That you can fend for yourself? That you're letting your sexual frustration out on me? What do you want, you bloody drunk?!"

John froze. His expression turned blank and he stumbled to his feet. He grabbed an open beer bottle and downed whatever was left in one go. He stumbled into the kitchen to grab another from the fix-pack he bought on the way home earlier. "Jus' provin' a point'. No' 'ungry an' you can' make me eat when I don' wanna."

"Fine, be a piece of shite! I'm going to bed." Sherlock turned his heel and stormed into his room and slammed the door shut.

Not caring, John stumbled around the flat, beer sloshing over the rim of the bottle when it got jostled a little too roughly. He knew he was going to hate the smell in the morning but at the moment he didn't care. He went to head to his room but as he put his foot on the first step, he tripped and dropped the bottle, cursing as it shattered on the floor. Unthinkingly, he dropped to the floor and began to pick up the pieces with his bare hands. He swore loudly as a shard slashed open his palm when he slipped on the wet floor. As he stood, the world spun and he watched with a disconnected fascination as his blood began to drip all over the floor. He giggled as he made a smiley face with the droplets. After he had his fun, he headed into the loo in search of the first aid kit.

Sherlock was debating on called Lestrade to see what he and John had discussed at the pub that had gotten him into such a mood, when he head glass shattering and several curses being muttered. Sighing, he got up and followed the stream of swearing and giggling down the hall and into the loo. He stopped and glared at the drunkard leaning against the tub. e huffed at the mess that was on the floor and the poor bandage wrapped around his friend's hand before he picked up the first aid kit and unwrapped the hideous bandage. John began mumbling at him as he began cleaning and dressing his wound.

"I envy you, y'know..."

He sighed. He probably didn't want to know. "Why?"

"You can ignore yer 'motions, y'know? I can'. Bloody well sucks..."

Sherlock glared, willing himself to try to be patient and gentle with John's hand. "Then speak up and talk about or act on them. Sober. Not attack me when you're drunk."

John sniffed. "You attack'd me firs'!"

"I was relocating you."

"Still grabb'd m' arm."

"I attempted to lift you up, John. What emotions are you trying to drown out?"

"St'pid Greg and his st'pid opinions."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Which were? Not that they really matter."

"That I fancy you. should f'get 'bout you, sleep wiff more women, and move on. He's righ', y'know." John looked at him, eyes unfocused.

"Right about what, John?"

"You an' me. No' 'appenin'. Sleepin' wiff more women to distrac' me, to help."

"And just why," Sherlock finished bandaging the sliced hand and helped him up to sit on the toilet, "wouldn't it work? You do realize that your taking advice from a man who's getting a divorce, right? I hardly think his opinion matters."

John shook his head. "Sentiment. No' e'en I coun' for somethin' like sentiment."

"And you're a drunk twink, so that hardly amounts to anything right now. Accept it and stop hiding behind dull women who you pretend to think are interesting." Sherlock then wrapped John's arm around his shoulder and wrapped his own around John's waist. He thought about taking his inebriated friend to his own bedroom but thought better of it. There was still a puddle of beer and bottle shards in front of the stairs and John was a bit heavier than he looked.

"Oh..." John then giggled. "Wha's a twink? Do I twinkle?"

Sherlock brought him into his room and sat him on the bed, taking his shoes off for him with a sigh.

John tilted his head. It would have been adorable if he wasn't so drunk. "So? Whazzit?"

"Lay down, John."

"Will you tell me if I do?"

"John..."

John tried, and failed, to imitate Sherlock's annoyed expression but broke down into a fit of giggles. "Sherlock."

Sherlock walked out of the room but walked back in shortly, aspirin and water in each hand, and held them out for John to take.

John crossed his arms. "Not 'til you tell me what twink means."

"It means gay. Fag. Tart. Homosexual. There. Satisfied?"

The shorter took the aspirin and water, downing them both, before laying down in bed. "What if I like bofe of th'm?"

"Then you like men and women. Nothing wrong with finding both genders attractive. I wouldn't think any less of you, if that's what you're worried about. Lestrade knows nothing, by the way, and neither do you. You've never indicated any interest towards me on the subject whatsoever. Therefore, there is no prove to indicate that 'nothing would happen'." Sherlock stood and walked out to sit in the living room.

John frowned and followed, as best as he could. He glared at Sherlock when he spotted him with a book. "The on'y person who e'er caugh' yer attention wuz thewoman."

"Go back to bed, John."

"No! Yer bein' cryptic! Hate it when you do tha'!"

"What does it matter? You're not going to remember this in the morning."

John almost pouted. "I'll remember jus' fine! You sayin' that if I kiss you when I'm sober, you wouldn' be oppos'd?"

"I wouldn't be opposed but it would be a completely different scenario. You wouldn't have to courage to do so."

The ex-captain's eyes hardened. "T'morrow."

Sherlock shrugged. "If you remember."

"I will." John's tone was adamant as he dismissed himself and wandered back into Sherlock's bedroom to toss himself onto the bed and falling asleep.

Sherlock sighed and curled up and opened his book to read. He muttered to himself. "Really should get new reading material."

It was a couple of hours later, Sherlock was emerging from his Mind Palace when he heard a noise coming from his bedroom. He sighed and stood, preparing himself to console a half-drunk, half-asleep John from a nightmare but he didn't prepare himself for what he saw in the middle of his bed. John Watson. With his hands down his pants. In his bed. Moaning. Dear god...he couldn't look away! One arm was above John's head, clutching a pillow close to his face as his sleep ridden face scrunched up in an expression of pleasure. The other hand was stroking himself furiously underneath his pants at what shouldn't have been a pace that a sleeping man could contain in such a state.

"Sherlock...harder..."

"Fuck!" Sherlock turned his heel and headed into the loo leaving the door open and, without undressing, stood underneath the cold spray. He soaked his entire being in the cold water and tried to regain control of his breathing. Christ that was erotic. Damn, he shouldnot have gotten so turned on that easily. But...John...

"Fuck!" He cursed again and looked down to see that his erection hadn't waned at all. If anything, it had hardened further. "Bugger it all."

He reached down and tugged down the waistband of his pajamas and pants to stroke himself. He brought up the image of John from just moments ago. His cock twitched and he stifled a moan. Over the sound of the streaming water he could hear John getting closer and closer to his climax. He himself felt heat pooling in his belly. The sensations of his unlubricated hand and John's loud moaning were too much.

John's last cry of "Sherlock!" brought him over the edge and he spilled himself on the bottom of the tub. He watched as the evidence of his activities washed down the drain before he turned off the water and stepped out. He quickly undressed, leaving his soaked clothes on the floor of the tub before he went to get a change of clothes from his room. He looked at the figure snoring on his bed with a smirk. Tomorrow would be interesting.