Sherlock slowly, slowly trudged back to to the bathroom, determined to get through his nightly routine before he completely conked out. He'd been dozing off over reruns of Eastenders, unsure how he ended up watching that but the remote had been on the other side of the room under John's chair. But now, he figured he may as well go to bed, except there was the little problem that he hadn't yet showered after the case, brushed his teeth, or put everything off so he could go to bed. Which meant a bit of a struggle.
He closed the bathroom door with a tremendous yawn and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall away from his shoulders. The sleeves caught on his arm and he cursed the buttons on his cuffs, pushing the fabric out of the way to grab at them. It took approximately three point seven seconds longer than usual to get them unbuttoned, but his shirt fell to the floor nearly in silence a second later.
Shivering slightly in the otherwise sleeping flat, he reached into the shower to kick on the hot water. He nearly tumbled forward over the side of the bath, catching himself on the wall at the last second.
Sighing, he straightened up and stepped out of his trousers, casting a glance towards the mirror that spoke of the sleep deprivation as of late. Dark shadows, pale complexion, red eyes. Subtle variations to his usual look but screaming at him to get some sleep.
Sherlock stepped into the shower and, propping himself up with his shoulder against the cold tile of the wall, closed his eyes as the water rained down upon him.
He managed a ten minute shower without sustaining injury due to tiredness, managing to wash down quickly and clumsily with body wash (running low, three, four- seven washes left, if he deduced correctly) slicked hands. He gave his hair a quick shampoo and rinse and nearly fell out of the shower, whisking his towel off the back of the door with a flourish.
One thing done. Major thing done. At least he didn't smell offensive; he had that much to say for himself.
After drying and wrapping the towel loosely around his waist, he went to the sink and grabbed his toothbrush from the mug on the counter. Left, second drawer, toothpaste, toothbrush, wet brush, two minutes. Clockwork.
Except the clockwork went slowly when he was tired. Two minutes was two hours and his arms were too heavy. He managed it, of course, but not before the bubbles from his mouth had dripped down his bare chest before he could spit into the sink. With a groan muffled in the back of his throat, he spit the rest of his toothpaste into the sink and rinsed, wiping away his (minty-fresh) drool with the hand towel.
Now, lights, telly, kettle, griddle. Little things stood in between him and his bed and-
Sherlock stumbled over his own two feet, blinking hard as he caught himself on the kitchen island. Left foot, right foot. Simple. But why wasn't it?
Sighing, he pushed himself up to full height again and first turned off the griddle before unplugging it. He grabbed the oven mitt and removed the specimen he was warming, setting it on a pot holder. Kettle went off next. He then shuffled to the sitting room, forgoing the remote and pressing the power off on the console. Lights in the room, back to the kitchen. Lights here and-
Sherlock yawned widely again, tears springing to his eyes from the automatic reflex. He wiped them away with the back of his hand blearily and, gripping his towel before it could fall, shuffled his way back to his bedroom. He hit the light on the way and fell face-first into bed, not bothering to shuck his towel off or reach for the blankets before he fell asleep.
Normal bedtime routine. :)
I do still plan on a hurt!Sherlock, but this came more naturally. Thank you for your support. I still love sleepy!lock as much as usual and it's good to see that other people still do, too.