Sherlock did not necessarily follow a sleeping pattern. Most people slept seven or eight hours, mostly at night, unless they had a late job that prevented that usual pattern. John liked to be in bed no later than eleven himself and he was up at six-thirty or seven in the morning, depending on the day or how much Sherlock had run him the night(s) prior. He was a soldier; he had a schedule. It wasn't necessarily the same as it had been when he'd been in Afghanistan, but he still had a schedule. Sherlock didn't.

It wasn't uncommon for John to get up to find that Sherlock was still in bed, on the mornings that he didn't have a case awaiting him in the wings. Even experiments went pushed back until late morning if they weren't case-involved, and Sherlock would sleep for hours. John was secretly pleased; they'd had too many close calls where Sherlock didn't sleep on cases and either passed out or nearly did during the investigation. They didn't happen often, but they still happened a few times too many.

Sometimes Sherlock didn't get up until ten; sometimes Sherlock didn't get up until, apparently, five in the afternoon.

John had been content to have the flat to himself all day. He knew that Sherlock was home, tucked away in his bedroom doing who-knew-what, but as long as he wasn't setting the smoke alarm or flushing body parts down the toilet, John wasn't worried about what he was doing all day. He didn't spend every waking minute with his nose in Sherlock's business, as his blog community seemed to think.

So, when Sherlock stumbled out of his bedroom at five in the afternoon, John had expected to see him wide-awake, having pulled his nose out from his laptop or a book. Instead, he found a sleep tousled Sherlock, hair framing his face in wild curls, chest bare beneath the dressing gown that was left wide open, one sleeve hanging off his shoulder, trousers dragging the floor from where they were settled just too low on hips; a sleep tousled Sherlock who was rubbing his eyes roughly and who stumbled into the back of the chair as he turned into the kitchen.

John couldn't help but stare.

"... Morning," Sherlock intoned, voice rumbling in that too deep indication that he hadn't had his first cup of tea for the day yet. Because he'd, clearly, slept until five p.m.

"Morning?" John repeated incredulously. "It's five in the afternoon; you've been asleep this whole time?"

Sherlock looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, squinting through the sunlight filtering into the flat. "Yes," he replied bluntly, then turned away for the teapot.

"Oh, I see you're in a monosyllabic mood today," John muttered, turning back to his blog.

"'m tired, John." Sherlock's voice definitely came off with a bit of a whine. "Just woke up." He carried his mug of tea into the sitting room and collapsed into his chair.

"Yeah, who sleeps until five p.m.?"

"I didn't go to bed until seven," Sherlock grumbled, curling his fingers around the mug.

"And I wonder who's fault that is," John replied. It explained a lot; Sherlock couldn't be arsed to get to bed at a reasonable time, which meant he disregarded morning as the proper time to wake up. "That's still ten hours of sleep."

"I was tired," Sherlock replied petulantly, curling slightly over his mug of tea.

John shook his head. "I can't believe you've been asleep the whole afternoon." He went back to tapping out the latest on his blog, although there wasn't much to state due to the recent lack of cases. He could always mention that Sherlock slept until five pm., he supposed.

"What did you think I was doing?" Sherlock drawled, giving him a weak narrowed eye look over his tea. "You haven't heard from me all afternoon."

"I don't know," John scoffed. "Reading. Experimenting. Writing angry texts to Lestrade for not having a case today. Not sleeping," he added.

"Ugh, dull."

"And sleeping until sundown isn't, right." John laughed, a little bit of a scoff beneath the mostly humour. "Well, whatever. As long as you're well rested, I guess." He tapped a few more words. "Of course, that means that you won't sleep tonight." He saved the blog as a draft and clapped his laptop shut.

Sherlock mumbled noncommentally, eyelids drooping as he fought to keep his consciousness.

"Well." John passed by Sherlock's chair, clapping his hand on his shoulder. "Good timing, anyway, you can hit Asda with me. We need actual food for dinner tonight, not a takeaway."

If nothing else, that seemed to wake him up.

"Oh, John, no. I don't want to go to Asda, not now. I just woke up...!"

Inspired by me; this is me all around. Though I try not to sleep that late... it happens. Then again, I've got struggles with insomnia, so I make up for lost sleep... just like Sherlock. ;p

Super pleased that the support for this story is still going strong! :o I thank you all immensely. Stay tuned; more ideas on the books!