He was yawning again, pressing a fist against his mouth to muffle the noise.
Last night Sherlock had sat outside John's room, listening to the ex-army doctor wake up screaming, lacking enough courage to walk in and try to comfort him. So now John stood next to the crime scene looking like one of the living dead, dark circles under his eyes and yawns creasing his face.
"Sherlock." Lestrade was breaking his train of thought, how irritating. Clearly he wanted him to focus on the dead body on the street in front of them, but that was pointless when he already knew exactly how the man died. Why was the D.I. wasting his time with this when he had more important things to focus on?
"Sherlock, any time you want to join us." Lestrade sighed, rolling his eyes. Putting on a show because he'd just convinced everyone it was okay to let Sherlock back on their cases after the latest great scandal involving a visiting diplomat.
Sherlock stared at the body, knelt down and examined it from toe-tip to head. He dug around in the corpse's pockets, examined the wedding ring on his finger, then stood again.
"John." He called, and the gathered members of the force held their breath in expectation of another miraculous Holmes verdict.
John blinked sleepily and turned to the pale thin detective expectantly. Sherlock walked over and clasped his hands around John's arm.
"Let me get you out of the cold, doctor." He stated.
"Oi! Wait a minute what about the murder victim?" Lestrade shouted.
"Don't dwell in the past, detective inspector." Sherlock smirked. "You want the sister. Now I have more important things to deal with." He wrapped his hands tighter around John's arm and led him a little ways away.
"What was that about?" John asked, too tired to wonder at why he was letting Sherlock drag him around. "You never walk away from a crime scene, even if you solve it in five seconds you drag it out and make everyone sweat."
"Never mind that. Are you cold?"
"Am I...?" John's eyes widened with surprise. "Well...yes, but..."
"Here." Sherlock took off his coat and placed it around John's shoulders. "Until we get home."
"Sherlock, are you feeling alright?" John asked, trying to keep from tripping on the long coat. Sherlock looked down at John with those dark perceptive eyes.
"Yes, and you?" He asked, even though he could already tell just by looking at him that John was not feeling alright.
"Fine...I'm more worried about you, walking off from a crime scene and giving up your coat. Do you have a fever?" John laughed.
"John..." Sherlock wrapped an arm around the doctor's shoulder.
"God, Sherlock...You do realize that Lestrade is over there watching us right?" John laughed. "You're supposed to be investigating but you're over here doting on me!"
"I don't care if he watches." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And you need some doting."
"Right..." John blushed.
"Home then?" Sherlock tilted his head.
"Home sounds lovely..." John tried to keep another yawn from escaping, but it forced itself past his lips.
Sherlock let his hand brush against John's, wishing he had the courage to just hold his hand and lead him home where he could hold him until the nightmares went away.
"Home it is." He said simply.