A/N: So, since I kind of let this off the first couple of chapters, hey there! I've never really tried the 221b patterns, but I'm going to attempt to string quite a few of them together into a cohesive story. We'll see, heh. I love getting reviews and everything, but I also understand some people don't like to leave reviews. I get it, and I just hope you all like it!
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or the original novels by Author Conan Doyle
If John thought that agreeing to go to the bar with Greg would get the DI off of his back, he'd been wrong. The pub visit had taken place nearly a month before, and Greg would still periodically appear at 221b with groceries or beer, offering his friendship while trying not to seem pitying.
Greg had been trying to be subtle, but John knew what he was doing. What did surprise him was that he didn't mind, not truly. Every time the DI appeared at the flat, John always let him in, and the two of them would sit on the couch and watch Dr. Who episodes or whatever show happened to be airing at the time.
Occasionally Greg would crash on the sofa and John would curl up in Sherlock's bed. Not healthy, really, but the sheets and pillows still smelled like chemicals and the expensive body wash the Consulting Detective had used and it was the only way John could get any sleep at night.
What sleep he managed to get was restless and littered with nightmares and Greg had slipped in twice and sat next to John as the doctor twisted and turned through his terrors. The DI's hand would sometimes run through John's hair to calm the man down. Neither men spoke about it after dawn broke.
