It's a Christmas calendar, you know. Hence the non-Christmas and not really all that fluffy stuff I write.


December 8th – Night

It had been another nightmare night, and John was in no way going back to sleep yet. The images were still printed before his eyes and he staggered down the stairs and into the dark and quiet living room. It was cold in here too and outside the moon was nearly invisible. He walked to the window and starred out at the starry night sky. It was terribly lonely here and he turned away from the window. Sherlock wasn't here and his door was closed. He was probably sleeping for once. John decided it was probably better to let him sleep and instead he walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He was focusing on filling up the glass, when the light was flicked on. He jumped and dropped the glass into the sink. This is it, they'll shoot me now, he thought, when he turned and what Sherlock saw from his position in the door to the kitchen with the hand still on the light switch, was the face of a man fearing for his life.

"John," he said calmly. John's breathing eased and he leaned over with his hands on his knees.

"John," Sherlock said again and John straightened up. He cleared his throat and picked up the glass again and refilled it. Sherlock observed him as he drank it.

"Goodnight, Sherlock," John said as he put the glass down and walked a little too proudly out of the room. As he passed Sherlock, he nearly broke, and Sherlock noticed. He grabbed John by the arm and lead him away from the stairs to his own room and into his.