SLEEPING WITH SHERLOCK

John had gone to bed several hours ago, but Sherlock had remained awake. He wasn't sure what was going on between them. His inability to deduce the status of their relationship was bothering him. What exactly did Sherlock-and-John mean any way? Everyone thought they were dating, lovers, even. It couldn't be farther from the truth, but there was something between them. Something tangible. Something he couldn't describe, but felt with every fiber of his being.

He could hear John's restlessness. Now that he knew he was the cause, he just needed to figure out how to stop the nightmares. He slowly walked upstairs, listening to John mumbling in his sleep. He said Moriarty's name and then choked back a cry. Sherlock ran up the remaining stairs, instantly sorry he had brought up the confrontation with Moriarty. There was no doubt in his mind that tonight he was directly responsible for the contents of John's nightmares.

A window dimly illuminated the room, and in the pale light, Sherlock could clearly see John's tears and shaking body. He didn't like the idea of sleeping in the chair again, so he did what felt natural: He crawled into John's bed and spooned him. "John, I'm right here with you. Moriarty's gone."

John rolled over to face him, and Sherlock turned so that he was lying on his back. John rested his head on the detective's chest right over his heart and flung an arm over him. "Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"You're in my bed."

"I am. Go back to sleep."

"OK." John snuggled tighter to Sherlock, apparently pleased with that answer. In response, the detective wrapped his arm around his friend. This felt good. This felt right. He smiled to himself. He was starting to make sense of the data.

#

Sherlock woke up, unsure of where he was. As he shook off the cobwebs, he realized he was in John's bed. With John. Who was wrapped around him. Who he was holding onto.

Sherlock had slept soundly. For the second night in a row. Fascinating. Sharing a bed with John relaxed him to the point where his mind shut off. Would he be able to make this a habit? Would John mind? They both seemed to sleep better at the very least.

He looked down at his sleeping flatmate. John looked so relaxed and… happy? Yes, that was definitely a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. With his free hand, he stroked John's cheek gently, curious as to how he'd respond. John hummed and tightened his grip on Sherlock.

After a while, John stirred. He didn't pull away when he noticed that he had basically pinned Sherlock to the bed. Instead, a real smile took over his face. "What would people say if they knew we slept together?"

"No more than they already do." Sherlock paused, unsure of how to continue. "You look very peaceful, very happy, very relaxed when you sleep. It's… nice."

"OK. I've a new case for us. The mystery of the missing Sherlock." John rolled off of Sherlock and yawned. "You are definitely not the annoying dick I've lived with for the last year. You're… almost… dare I say… human?"

"Sherlock and his blogger. Missing in action. That would be a good case."

John returned to his position on top of the detective. "You slept here? With me? Like this?"

"Yes. I deduced that the best way to stop your nightmares was to prove to you that I was here. I wasn't originally going to join you in your bed, but that chair wasn't made for sleeping." Sherlock played with John's hair, curious as to whether or not it was as soft as it looked. It was soft. Very soft.

"I'm glad you're here." John practically purred, surprising both of them. "I like this."

#

Sherlock was busy researching something on John's laptop while he ate. Despite John's best efforts, Sherlock refused to eat this morning. He'd already eaten more in the past two days than he usually did in a week. Instead, he looked at John over the laptop, trying to glean some bit of information about last night from his appearance. John was wearing his oatmeal jumper again: he needed something familiar, something comforting. Eggs and bacon: also comforting. Need for comfort: a bit thrown off by waking up next to Sherlock and liking it. Not reading the paper: he hadn't been able to focus on it. His cell phone resting next to him: expecting a call. Lestrade. Possibly Mycroft.

John's text alert sounded and he glanced at it.

TELL MY BROTHER I HAVE SECURED A FROZEN PIG AND A

WOOD CHIPPER. I'LL SEND A CAR. BE READY IN 10 MINUTES. - MYCROFT

"Why does Mycroft insist on texting you? He never texts people."

"Because he knows I won't answer if he calls. Your brother's not stupid, Sherlock." John glanced at the message. "He's managed to get you a pig and a wood chipper. There'll be a car here in 10 minutes. You might want to get dressed."

Sherlock jumped up from the table, shouting "OH! IT'S CHRISTMAS!" John liked seeing Sherlock excited by a case - especially a complicated murder - no matter how inappropriate it was. He tried to keep him calm ("You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off."), but some days were harder than others. It was the same with his experiments - the weirder, the better. Sherlock often claimed to be a high-functioning sociopath, but John was sure he might be a little psychotic as well. Not that that would have changed the way John felt about him.

John rolled his eyes when Sherlock reappeared downstairs. Why the man didn't own a shirt that fit him was a mystery. He was wearing his purple shirt again. The one where the buttons were so strained, John expected them to pop off at any time. Sherlock flung his coat at him. "Come on, John! I want to see what a wood chipper can do to a pig!"

John sighed, but followed him out the door. Despite his apparent lack of enthusiasm, he really wanted to see that, too.