Chapter 10- My spot
Sherlock walked into his flat and with a petulant snarl of anger, he tossed his travel bags in a corner. 'That was tedious!'
A case that should have taken a day or two had morphed into twenty days of leg work.
Yes, you read that right.
Twenty days!
Sherlock stuck a long finger in his eye to give the bloodshot orb a good knuckle rub, when he froze in mid rub. In the silence as he caught his breath, he could faintly hear sounds of breathing from his half open bedroom door.
He had closed it before he had left.
He always did.
Burglars?
Grabbing a wicked looking dissecting knife from off his lab table, he tucked it into his sleeve, and slid silently to his bedroom. With a tilt of his head, he blankly stared at John fast asleep, spread out like a starfish on his stomach, still dressed in his work things.
A bit of a domestic with Mary, perhaps? But that happened in the past already, and the good doctor would kip on the sofa or his old room for the night.
Sherlock shrugged.
It didn't really bother him, except that John was in his spot. With a tired yawn that nearly swallowed the whole world, Sherlock slumped off to shower.
Twenty minutes later, the detective had put on his pyjamas and stared down at John wondering what to do.
Reaching out one hand, he shook the man's shoulder gently, 'My spot.'
John just grunted and batted the hand away.
Sherlock pouted.
When he did sleep, he slept alone. He and John had shared hotel rooms for cases of course, but this was different. In those instances, he just had to tolerate John's modest snores, not feel every twist and turn that his friend made as he slept.
Sherlock supposed though that he should just go to the other side, and not wake John. That is what a friend would do, wouldn't they?
'The things I do for you,' Sherlock muttered irritably, as he stalked around the bed. The man then proceeded to plump up some pillows and fetch a blanket for himself, but unfortunately when he sat down, the bed springs creaked.
John shot up in the air with a surprised yelp.
'SHERLOCK!' he shouted in horror, although the detective didn't know why the small man was so affected by his appearance. This was his room after all.
'John,' he said in politely in return.
The other man's eyes desperately darted around the room, as if the reason for why he was in here, would jump off the shelves and explain itself.
'I can explain,' the doctor began anxiously.
Sherlock threw a blanket over John's head, 'Not necessary, just go to sleep. You are welcome to stay.'
Eventually, the doctor pulled the blanket off to discover that his ex-flatmate had snuggled down on his side, with every intention of falling asleep in the next five minutes.
After a long moment as John stared at Sherlock's back, he reached out one hand to touch his head.
Yes, they had texted everyday but still...
The doctor let his hand fall to the mattress without reaching its goal.
'John,' the detective said unexpectedly, 'it is statistically unlikely that I would pretend to be dead and fall off the face of the earth, twice in my lifetime.'
John's whole body spasmed involuntarily. He didn't know what to say. Sherlock could still read him like a book. That hadn't changed and apparently never would.
Not seeing Sherlock for so many days, had brought the old nightmares back with a vengeance. The only thing that had helped during those dark days then, was to rest in here for a few hours.
'Statistically unlikely,' John murmured softly into the semi darkness, 'but still a possibility.'
Sherlock didn't reply.
Why should he?
It would only upset John and they would have a flaming, obscene row. If it was the only way to save his friends, Sherlock would disappear all over again, without hesitation.
Some sort of life was better than no life at all, wasn't it?! He wasn't going to argue this point again!
Upset now by these thoughts, Sherlock began beating his pillow into a more comfortable shape, only settling down when he felt John warm hand clasped on his shoulder.
A flood of contentment washed over his mind; soothing, quiet, supportive...down...down.
'Glad that you are here,' the small man whispered down to his now sleeping friend, as he lay back down and stared unseeingly at the ceiling, relaxed and content by Sherlock's soft snuffles.