Thank you to everyone who has read/favorited/followed this so far! Seeing all of that makes me quite happy, and is the reason I'm inspired enough to update every day! I am going to try and continue to update a chapter a day, we'll see how long that lasts. :)
This is a little bit of a fluff chapter, it's snowing where I live and it's made me more sort of sentimental. The next will have more dialogue/etc. I hope you all enjoy!
Sherlock lies still, but he does not sleep. No, not even when he feels the hand in his hair stutter and slow, and finally stop to just rest in his hair against his scalp. He can hear the slow, even breathing of the man above and behind him, and he takes comfort in it. Because it means that everything he has been through has been worth it if John is alive, and safe. He takes a slow, deep breath before he closes his eyes, but not to sleep, only to think. Entering his Mind Palace, he goes to the room that he tried to assign to John. It looks like the sitting room of 221B Baker Street. Because to him, Baker street is home, but John is home as well. That's a rather odd sentiment that he takes out and examines for a few moments, trying to figure out why he feels that way.
He finally decides that it's John's constant presence there, no matter what happens, is what makes him feel like home. They fight, John leaves, but he always comes back. He'll be there, sitting in his chair, sipping his tea and playing on his laptop, slow tapping of the keys heard as he writes in his blog. John really is a horrible typist. Sherlock can't help but smile faintly as he goes through his memories, pacing through his mental version of Baker Street and the different tidbits that are in his mental version to remind him of their adventures.
Mentally shaking his head, Sherlock turns his attention back to the matter at hand. Lying with his head in John's lap while the other man essentially plays with his hair is not a thing typical friends or flatmates would do. Standing in the middle of the room, he steeples his hands in front of him and thinks, examining all of his and John's interactions, testing them against what he knows of friendship in others and what he has observed of other forms of relationships.
Shocked at what he discovers, Sherlock opens his physical eyes and stares straight ahead, taking a sharp breath in surprise. That certainly was unexpected. He did not expect to come to that particular conclusion. However, it is only a hypothesis. Now, he must observe more closely, and test his hypothesis with some experiments. The party tonight is thankfully going to provide the perfect stage to test his experiments.
Slowly, Sherlock rolls onto his back, not removing his head from his doctor's lap, so he can look up at his face, reaching up to lightly touch his jaw for a few moments before he drops his hands and rests them over his stomach, just examining the older man above him. He can't help but smile a little, looking forward to his experiments. But right now, he knows that if John sleeps like that, his shoulder and back are going to hurt, so reluctantly, he sits up, trying not to wake John, before he tries to figure out how to get him to lay down. He decides not to be subtle about it, and kneels on the bed by the doctor's feet, grasping his calves and pulling him down the bed slowly.
John snorts and shifts a little. "Sh'lock.. what're you doin?" He asks sleepily as he gets pulled down the bed, staring a little when Sherlock is suddenly looming over him. Sleepy minds have less protection against thoughts going through them, and he blushes lightly as he looks at the detective who is suddenly perched above him.
"Your back and shoulder would have hurt, and you would have been uncomfortable all night if I had let you remain sitting upright." The younger man says simply as he looks at John with a soft smile. "I was merely trying to get you into a more comfortable position." he says as he adjusts the pillow so it sits comfortably behind John's head, moving the others out of the way. "Go back to sleep, John. I'll make sure we have enough time for food, tea, a tour, and to get ready before the party." He says quietly, hesitating before he brushes the backs of his fingers against John's cheek, before he moves away swiftly. "I plan on getting a little sleep myself before the party, I need to be at the top of my game, facing my family tonight." he says as he starts to set the alarm on the clock. "If you don't mind me joining you, there is plenty of room on the bed." He says as he motions to the queen bed.
John is a little surprised at the touch, but he's still groggy so he dismisses it, instead getting comfortable and shaking his head. "Don't mind." He says, wiggling a bit before he removes his belt and then squirms out of his jumper, dropping them over the side of the bed before he snuggles down into the duvet and his pillow. "Can see you. Young. In this room. Wish I had known you then. To make it better." He says sleepily, eyes closing before he can see the surprised, but amused expression on Sherlock's face. "Gonna have to.. make sure that it's good. Now. Make up for back then." He mutters before he drifts off into sleep again.
Sherlock just stares at John for a few moments, before he smiles softly and shakes his head. "John. My John. Of course you would think that way." he says quietly to the older man, chuckling a little and shaking his head. He debates removing his shirt but ultimately decides against it as he slips onto the bed, facing John, and forces himself to catch a few hours of sleep at least. Most likely John will not remember his words when he wakes up, but Sherlock will always remember them, and the way that it brought a fluttering to his stomach, caused his heart to stutter a little, and warmth to spread through him. While he may not dwell on it, he will always remember it. And with that thought in his mind, Sherlock drifts into the arms of Morbeus.
-o0o-
John was the first to wake up, before the alarm, and he smiles a little as he looks at the sleeping detective next to him. They remained on their separate sides of the bed which is good, but still, John takes a moment to admire him. It isn't often that the detective sleeps, and even less time does John ever get to see him like that. He looks younger, more vulnerable like this, and it twinges at his heart a little. When he was running his hands through Sherlock's hair earlier, it was natural, comfortable, and comforting. He could imagine doing the same thing at Baker Street, watching tellie with Sherlock's head in his lap, playing with those ridiculously soft curls.
Right. There's another one of those thoughts again. The ones he's not supposed to be having. The ones he's trying to ignore. But that's not working so well right now. Not when he's still sleepy and has new knowledge of the detective's young life, not when he's in the same bed as Sherlock.
Finally, he decides he should probably get up, and stretches slowly, smiling faintly before he starts to get up. Not sure exactly when Sherlock set the alarm for, he decides to take the opportunity to use the facilities. When he comes back out, it's to a light knock on the door, and he rubs his eyes as he moves over to it and opens it a bit. "Oh. Charles." He says in surprise as he looks at the butler. "Is everything alright?" he asks, aware that he's in just a white t-shirt, jeans, and his hair is sticking up all over the place, he at least tries to smooth it down self-consciously with one hand.
The butler looks rather amused, then he nods. "Everything is fine, sir." He reassures, then he adds, "I thought you might like something to tide you over until dinner, so I took the liberty of bringing up a tea tray. If I may say, Master Sherlock is looking very healthy nowadays. Your doing, I'm sure, Doctor." He notes with a soft smile, before he pulls a cart from where it was waiting beside the door. "I'm sure Sherlock is well aware, but the festivities will begin at 5." he says with a nod to the doctor.
John chuckles a little. "Yes, thank you.. he's still a bit too thin for my peace of mind, but I keep trying." he says as he takes the cart into the room. "Thank you, Charles. We'll be on time, don't worry about that." he says with a nod of his head, before he closes the door and rolls the cart toward the foot of the bed, preparing cups of tea for both him and Sherlock before he goes to sit on the edge of the bed next to the sleeping man. He really hates to wake him up. Sighing a little, he slowly reaches out his hand and rests it on the lanky man's bicep, giving it a little shake and a squeeze. "Sherlock. Wake up. Charles brought tea."
A small snort is given as Sherlock wakes up with a slight start, and he rolls onto his back, looking blearily up at John. "Hm?" He asks, just about the time his alarm starts going off, and he reaches over to turn it off. "Oh. Tea. Yes." he says as he forces himself to sit up, rubbing his hands over his face and accepting the cup from John when it's offered.
John decides not to move, just watching Sherlock quietly as they both sip their cups of tea. Nothing is said, nothing needs to be said at the moment between the two of them. This, like so many other times, is a comfortable, shared silence between the two. And if either man is thinking about what transpired in the past few hours, neither of them speaks of it yet. This is a golden hour when nothing seems odd, nothing out of place. They are just Sherlock and John, friends, flatmates, colleagues.
Don't worry, their bickering will be back, Sherlock still owes John a tour of the house, and Sherlock still has his experiments to perform this evening. But for this moment, nothing disturbs their peace.