So, I've sort of run out of ideas a hell of a lot faster than I thought I would, so the next chapter will be the beginning of the end. As such, people are welcome to use this idea. (Not that I own the idea or anything.)


John had to admit, Sherlock worked admirably. He didn't think even a bored, unstimulated consulting detective had that much energy. It was a full three hours before Sherlock returned to the hut and slumped, exhausted, next to his flatmate. He looked tired and annoyed, and in no mood to deal with anything other than silence.

John put on his cheeriest, most-annoying smile. "So, how's it going?"

Sherlock growled low in his throat. "I've dug in about a metre. There's still exactly the same amount of light in the tunnel." He shifted uncomfortably, before adding, in a mutter: "And now I'm cold."

John bit back an 'I told you so,' instead smiling a little more kindly. "Want my coat?"

Sherlock looked at him a moment, then: "No… no, I'm alright. It… wouldn't fit over mine, anyway."

"And I wouldn't give it to you. It's your own fault, you stupid sod."

They grinned at each other.

"So, what now?"

Sherlock curled up into a smaller ball and shuffled a little away from John. "I'm going to have a nap."

"We could be stuck here for a while Sherlock, sleeping isn't going to help that. And you never sleep."

"Did you know you will die of sleep deprivation before you die of food deprivation?"

"That's great, but you go without eating as…"

But the detective was already completely still. Damn. John had forgotten how he could do that.

He looked over to the door. He could, he supposed, go do some digging, but he still wasn't sure he wanted to risk hypothermia just yet. He pulled the phone out of his pocket again. Still no signal. He sighed.

Shivered.

He really was quite cold. He looked down at Sherlock, utterly dead to the world. He thought about what Sherlock had said about sleep deprivation. And he did look very warm. John sighed yet again – he seemed to do that a lot since coming to France with Sherlock – smiled a little at the thought of Sherlock waking up first, and lay down next to Sherlock, snuggling in for warmth.


"John."

John moaned and tried to turn over, when he realised he was lying on something uncomfortable.

"John."

He opened his eyes. "Bargh!" He rolled away quickly. His face had been about an inch from Sherlock's.

"Sorry, John. I would have let you sleep longer but my arm was completely numb," said Sherlock, getting up and casually rubbing life back into his forearms.

"Longer? Sherlock, how long have you been awake?"

"A couple of hours. But you looked like you needed it."

"So you just lay watching me. For two hours."

"Yes."

"That's really creepy, Sherlock."


Sherlock walked tiredly back into the hut, but he wore a weary smile. John didn't.

"I'm so cold, Sherlock."

He looked down at the army doctor. "Want my coat?"

"What, really?"

Sherlock took off his coat. "Here. I've just been working, I'm warm."

John took it doubtfully. "Thanks." He smiled too, then. "I guess I'll have to actually do my share of work now."

As he walked out, John thought about how it was almost as if Sherlock was too tired to be Sherlock. He wasn't being annoying. He wasn't being sharp. He was being considerate.

He was just like everyone else, deep down.


But is there a reason for Sherlock's odd behaviour? Find out next chapter... and please review