"I'm not doing this." John growled.

"It's for work, John. My God belt up and do it." Sherlock retorted. His flatmate folded his arms over the nightdress Sherlock had commandeered from Mrs. Hudson for the evening.

"I hate you." The doctor grumbled. Sherlock unlocked the door to their flat and cracked a window innocuously.

"This killer preys on married couples in their beds. Lestrade and I agreed this is the best way to lure the killer in and capture him." He said irately.

"Why not recruit Molly or Agent Donovan to do this with you? Or hell, even Mrs. Hudson." John groused. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to unbutton his shirt with his back to his flatmate but left his black trousers on. The detective flopped onto his bed and after a moment pulled the covers over his head. John tried to mute the curses he wanted to shout at his flatmate and against his better judgment climbed into the bed with him. Sherlock was already out cold.

Gotta stay awake. Find the killer. Then go to my room. He chanted in a slow mantra, determined not to give in to sleep; but soon John closed his eyes only for a second to rest and fell asleep with his back to Sherlock's.

"Sherlock." Someone whispered. The detective cracked one eye open blearily at the noise and groaned. Something shifted behind him and his hand shot out for the gun he had stowed on his bedside table. "Sherlock," Someone said again, although it sounded more like a strained groan than a quiet whisper. The detective bolted upright in bed and panned his gun around the room, surveying for threats but finding none. He was about to go back to sleep when he heard it again.

"God Sherlock, yes." Sherlock swept his gun up and around the room. His eyes dropped down to check on John, who was tossing and turning like someone had placed tacks underneath him. The detective slowly replaced his gun onto his bedside table; he's never heard John make such ridiculous and primal sounding noises before. The doctor rolled over with a low moan and murmured Sherlock's name again. The detective felt all the blood drain from his face at once. There was no way…

John moaned again, and Sherlock became increasingly uncomfortable about being in the same bed as his flatmate. John raised his hips with a whine and rolled over, and Sherlock decided something had to be done. He reached over and poked John's cheek rather roughly until the doctor opened his eyes warily to look at him.

"John, subdue your nightmares. The killer might be scared away by them." Sherlock stated dryly. John stayed still for a second before flailing out of the bed with a yelp. He stood abruptly and strode from Sherlock's bedroom, hating the way the nightdress fell around his hips to reveal every contour and bulge he had. Sherlock laid back in the bed confidently and made himself comfortable. John would be back, after all his dilated pupils and heart rate had said everything.