I'm having serious writer's block so have some more fluff :|

Sherlock eventually followed John upstairs, only briefly noting the time as near midnight and dismissing it immediately. He knocked softly and hesitantly on John's door, heartened by the fact that it wasn't all the way shut. "Are you still awake?" he whispered.

"Mm, no," John replied, but his bedside table light flickered on. "But come in."

The consulting detective pushed the door open a bit more and stepped inside. "It's cold downstairs," he offered, looking over to John, who was sitting up against the headboard of his bed and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"I'd imagine. Come on then." John pulled back the duvet and patted the spot beside him in invitation. "You could at least be comfortable while you think."

While Sherlock was in no way adverse to the touch of those he had more than a slight margin of care for, he was surprised that John was constantly inviting him into his embrace. "Really?" Sherlock asked slowly, wary to be in John's bed, even if they were building a margin of physical trust.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, of course you don't have to." John watched Sherlock levelly and comfortingly but there was no pity or sympathy in his eyes. "You can just… sit at the end. I really do have to get to sleep, though."

"So that means you don't want anything?" Sherlock rubbed his shoulder. "You're just going to sleep, and not… want anything?"

John quietly considered him. "Of course I want something. I want you to be happy. Or, as happy as I can make you. If avoiding sexual contact with you is what you want, then it's what you get." He smiled, his eyes growing warmer than before. "You're cold, yeah? Then get over here, you daft nutter."

Sherlock walked over to him and sat in the empty space, going tense when John touched his back through his shirt and dressing gown but actively fighting that reaction. "Do you promise?" He felt sick for even asking. "If I want to leave, you'll let me?"

"I promise, Sherlock, I won't do anything that you don't want. Ever." John removed his hand and folded both in his lap.

After a few quiet moments, Sherlock lay down and turned to John, staring up at him. "I'm alright."

John mirrored him, pulling the duvet over both of them and leaving the dim light on. "Good. Can I hold you?"

Sherlock blinked and smiled a bit, shuffling closer to John and pressing his face into the warm juncture between John's neck and shoulder. "Go to sleep," he mumbled, his voice muffled.

"You should too. But I know you won't." John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and pulled them even closer together. "Wish me luck on this job."

"You don't need luck, John." Sherlock sighed and shifted, brushing John's nose with his mass of curls. "Sleep," he repeated softly.

The doctor pressed a loving kiss to the top of his head and closed his eyes, his warm body becoming even warmer with sleep. Sherlock smiled secretly to himself, relieved that his body hadn't completely refused John's touch, and closed his eyes as well, searching the vast stores of his mind for something, anything, that would solve the case.