Day 6 Prompt: Cold

In hindsight, the Baker Street underground station being closed should have been John's first clue of things to come. He blamed it on being too tired to think properly, and even admitted to himself that he probably wouldn't have even noticed if he'd gotten on the Piccadilly line instead of the Bakerloo line when leaving the surgery at the end of his shift.

John was knackered by the time he got on the tube. Sherlock had kept him up early into the morning going through stacks of documents for one of their clients. If he was lucky, he got four hours sleep before having to leave for work. The only positive was his shift had been just eight hours.

Trying to stay awake for his journey home on the underground was his number one goal, and for once he was glad that he traveled by the Bakerloo line. Normally the teeth jarring motion that constantly had him on the move in his seat left him unable to relax for his commute. It was just what he needed now. Falling asleep and missing his stop was not an option.

A few minutes after getting sitting down, John bit back a curse as an announcement was made indicating the incoming storm had knocked the power out at the Baker Street station and they were not going to be stopping there. The news that morning talked about a major storm that was due to hit London later. John had hoped he'd make it home before the worst of it hit, but now that wasn't the case.

It hadn't been raining when he left the surgery, but twenty minutes later as he stepped foot onto the sidewalk outside of Marylebone station, he was met with a steady rain. Quickly opening his umbrella, he began the miserable walk home to Baker Street. He passed a few coffee houses on the way and was tempted to stop in and get something to drink, but the thought of home made him continue on.

A little over five minutes later, John finally arrived at 221B. Glad to be finally be out of the rain and extreme cold, he trudged up the stairs to the flat. Wanting to get out of his wet clothes as soon as possible, and not caring that it was only late afternoon, John bypassed the living room of 221B and instead headed up to his bedroom to change. It wasn't until he removed his clothing to put on his pajamas pants, thick socks, and a sweatshirt that he realized how cold it was inside the flat. Goosebumps covered very inch of his skin.

Still shivering, even though he was dressed warmly, he pulled the duvet off his bed and hauled it down to the living room. He deposited it onto the sofa and went directly to the kitchen to make a hot cup of tea. He put the kettle on to boil and turned around, leaning against the counter.

Sherlock was seated at the table trying to work on some type of experiment that John didn't want the details of. "This is intolerable," he stated, then turned in his chair to face John.

"So how long has everything been out? I actually had to walk from the Marylebone tube station since Baker Street was closed."

"The power's out?" Sherlock glanced around the flat and saw that the light he left on in the living room that morning was off and the clock on the microwave was dark. "I hadn't noticed."

"And you say I'm not observant."

Sherlock glanced at the counter behind John then smirked. "How much tea are you making?"

"An entire pot."

"So you like cold tea then?"

"What? You know I don't."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the counter behind John. John just stared at him blankly. "You've definitely had a tiring day."

Slightly confused, John looked closely at Sherlock and followed his eyes when he noticed the man wasn't looking at him.

"Ah." Slightly embarrassed, John unplugged the kettle and dumped the water out.

Giving a satisfied smile, Sherlock turned back to the kitchen table.

John shivered and crossed his arms over his chest. "God, it's freezing. I'm never going to get warm standing here." He went to the living room and huddled under his duvet at one end of the sofa. As he let the warmth of the fire in the fireplace soak into him, his shivers slowed but didn't stop completely. It was still unbearably cold. John knew he'd be warmer sitting next to the blazing fire in his chair, but right now he wanted the comfort the sofa provided. He was definitely sleeping down in the living room that night.

Sherlock banged his arms on the table in frustration. "John, this really is intolerable."

John popped his head out of his blanket cocoon. "What do you expect me to do? I can't fix the electricity?"

"What does electricity have to do with it?"

John closed his eyes in frustration. "What's intolerable?" He then noticed that Sherlock was just wearing his long sleeve shirt and trousers. "Aren't you cold?"

"This case is intolerable! Graham promised me that it was at least a seven, but it's only a three at most." Sherlock ran a hand through his hair. "And no, I'm not cold. Just transport. Remember?"

"It's Greg, Sherlock. And how could I forget. You don't experience things like cold and hot. You're not human," he grumbled and returned to his blanket cocoon. His eyes began to slide shut. Sherlock began talking about the case, but John ignored him. He was exhausted so within a few minutes he was asleep.

John stirred when something heavy was placed on top of him and something ice cold wiggled under his calves. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around with a yawn. The fire was still blazing but now there were a few candles placed on the coffee table for more light, as it had gotten dark. Sherlock was seated on the other side of the sofa, legs outstretched towards him. Sherlock's duvet also lay on top of the both of them. That explained pressure that woke him up and the cold, as Sherlock wiggled his toes again. "Don't experience cold, do you?" John laughed.

"Shut up." Sherlock sunk down under the fluffy warmth so just his head was showing.

"I thought so." John was quiet for a moment. "Are you sleeping here tonight, too?"

"I'm not sure if I'll sleep, but I'll be on this sofa all night. It's the only warm place in the flat."

John yawned widely and closed his eyes. "You better not keep me awake," he slurred as he went back to sleep.

Sherlock sat up just a little bit and stared at John for a few minutes. When he was sure he was asleep, he pulled out his phone, sent off a text, then slid back to a more comfortable position. John's dinner and some tea for the both of them would be at the flat within the hour.