Sorry for taking so long to get this one out. Had a busy last week or so, coupled with the slight case of writer's block. Anyway, the story continues! As always, please R&R and I don't own anything but the plot.

"So, let me get this straight. You killed four vampires, one slimy green demon, and walked in on a couple snogging in a crypt? How lovely." John muttered as he crawled into bed. Sherlock had added a spare blanket to the wall separating them in the bed, which was now taking up a good chunk of John's side. He shoved the makeshift wall over towards Sherlock, who grunted as he forced it back into place. This went on for a few minutes, until John who was now rather frustrated and feeling defeated, grabbed the blanket and body pillow, then tossed them to the floor at the foot of the bed. He looked over at Sherlock triumphantly, then flopped back down and turned to his side. "You stay on your side, I stay on mine. No more walls. And if, heaven forbid, we wake up... in any odd configurations... Best not even think about that. Clear?"

"Crystal. Goodnight." Sherlock faced away from John, and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly and save him from this awkward situation. Unfortunately, he lay there wide awake for nearly an hour, when he began thinking about their sleeping arrangement. Why is this weird? Two grown men, innocently sharing a bed. Its not like we're together.. or cuddling. What is the problem with cuddling, anyway? Friends can cuddle, right? Its like hugging, but more drawn out is all. And I've hugged John before. He's hugged me.. I wonder.. No, no. He'd be furious. Maybe.. Just for a minute. Sherlock reasoned with himself for a few moments, then slowly scooted across the bed and beside John who was still very much asleep. He slowly rested his head on John's shoulder and put his arm across the smaller man's chest, then closed his eyes. Cuddling.. This isn't bad. Why is this bad? Rather comfortable, really, and would likely be a great way to keep warm if in some kind of emergency.. Like if the heat goes out.. Very comfortable.. so tired..

"Oh, look at that! How cute, all snuggled up together. Almost look made for each other!" Spike laughed, as his voice woke John and Sherlock suddenly. The two looked at each other, and Sherlock quietly wiped a bit of his drool from John's pyjama top. "Oh.. Oh-ho-ho... That's priceless." Spike shook his head, still laughing as John took his pillow and threw it at the vampire.

"Out! Now!" John roared, digging his elbow into Sherlock's side to push him away. "And you! I thought we had an agreement! Your side," John pointed to Sherlock. "MY side!" He pointed to the part of his side that Sherlock's leg and arm still occupied. He tossed the blankets off of himself, then stormed out to the bathroom.

"And a good morning to you too!" Spike called from the hallway mockingly, as John slammed the bathroom door behind him. He walked back into the bedroom, where Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed. The still-sleepy Sherlock looked over at the bleach-blonde vampire, then shook his head and stood up to walk out. Spike stopped him at the doorway, holding his arm tightly. "I was only kidding. You know that, right?"

"Hmm.." Sherlock grunted, becoming rapidly annoyed by Spike's morning intrusions. "I might even explain that to John if you'd kindly stop the wake-up calls. Now move."

"Fine then. Oh, and Red's got breakfast on, she said to let you know. But I'd go easy on the pancakes if I was you. Oh, and do me a favour.. Have a chat with Dawn later, okay? Sat up all bloody night trying to get out of answering questions 'bout jolly old England," Spike mocked. "Been so damn long, hell if I know what to tell her!"

"Perhaps. Now let me go." Sherlock pushed past Spike suddenly and disappeared down the stairs.

"Hey! I wasn't done talking- Oh bugger... What now?"

"Spike. Don't you have something.. not-so-evil to do?" Xander said as John emerged from the bathroom beside the two men. "Hey there, Doc. Sleep well?"

"Oh, how funny! Just hilarious! What, Spike tell you all about finding Sherlock snuggled up to me earlier? Huh? Something you'd like to say about it? For the millionth time, WE ARE NOT A COUPLE!" John clenched his fists, then stomped off into the bedroom, slamming the door.

"Snuggling? All I asked was if he slept okay... That bed was always kinda lumpy.."

"I know.. He's a bit touchy today. Must be that time of month... Best just let him be for now..." Spike patted Xander's shoulder, then smirked and wandered off to the kitchen.

After a rather rough start, John's day slowly and steadily improved- for a while. Tara had asked him if he'd like to help her at the Magic Box, to which he enthusiastically agreed. She was the only one in the group thus far, aside from Dawn and Rupert, who had seemed quite level headed and sane.. Or whatever the equivalent of sane is in Sunnydale. Even though she was a Witch, John took comfort in knowing she wasn't a vampire or an ex-vengeance demon, or a strangely immature carpenter. As the two walked into the Magic Box, John was taken aback at the countless books lining each wall, and the beautiful, rare and precious gems and artifacts in glass display cases. He was very much at home in the small shop, and when handed a clipboard with an inventory sheet and pen, John excitedly took to cataloguing each ancient text, spell book and historical record on his list; most of which, he read a few pages of before moving onto the next item on the sheet. He was nearly through the first list, when the bell over the door rang, and Sherlock stepped inside. The detective closed the door and wandered about, studying the herbs in jars and crystals in their bins, before settling his attention on John. He strutted over to the table, and took a seat beside the older man. John snapped shut the 'Ultimate Encyclopedia of Healing Herbs' and slid it aside, giving Sherlock his full attention.

"John."

"Sherlock?"

"Sorry. About this morning." Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat anxiously. He rarely apologized for something so trivial, but his friendship to John was worth it to him. "It was just.. Well, there's such stigma surrounding this idea of us sharing a bed, and I was trying to determine for myself whether it is relevant or not to our situation."

"Which is?" John crossed his arms, and was obviously becoming rather annoyed. He was still upset that Sherlock had had the audacity and nerve to cuddle him, and what's more, to do so when a certain obnoxious vampire made daily, unwanted visits to their room.

"Look. We're friends. We have to share the bed as there are limited other possible sleeping arrangements available, unless one of us would want to kip in the tub. And quite frankly, it was rather comfortable and warm sleeping with... John... John?" Sherlock could instantly tell by the look on his friend's face that he was about to berated for what he'd done. He braced himself, and fell silent, allowing John to vent, uninterrupted.

"What gives you the right to do that without my consent? Who ever said I wanted you to cuddle me, huh? I surely didn't! I mean, really Sherlock.. You're the one who created that damn divider which, by the way, took up far too much of my side to begin with! Leave me, please. Just go. We'll talk, but right now... I can't hardly stand to look at you!" John stood suddenly, causing his chair to tip over backwards and hit the floor with a loud thud. He stalked off to the back room, leaving Tara at the counter looking utterly confused, and Sherlock staring at the empty space where his friend had just been sitting. As he stood, Sherlock turned and nodded to Tara, then left the shop as a terrible sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

It was now only three days until Christmas Eve, and as of yet, there was not one sign of the apocalypse Giles had been so convinced was about to occur. Over the past week since John and Sherlock's spat, their days were spent listening to tales about Buffy and a fellow called Angel, and their nights spent patrolling the cemeteries. John had grown quite fond of Dawn after their chat that second night, and he had taken to helping her with homework after dinner each evening. Sherlock and Spike spent what everyone thought was 'far-too-much' time together, sparring and training in the basement. As John sat at the table, looking over Dawn's algebra II assignment, he began to wonder if maybe they were growing apart. He thought for a moment, and realized the only times he actually saw or spoke to Sherlock any more were breakfast, dinner and bedtime, the third becoming much less often since their dreadful argument. Sherlock had begun patrolling with Spike until the very early hours of the morning, when he would return and crawl into bed silently, keeping a great distance from the doctor. It had come to the point that John had feared deep down- the point at which he and Sherlock were losing their bond that made them such great friends, and he couldn't help but think it was truly his fault. He'd overreacted to Sherlock's natural curiosity, and now more than ever, he'd gladly welcome it, just to have that warm, light-heartedness between them again. John felt a slight stinging behind his eyes, and suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as he realized he was nearing tears. He cleared his throat just as the urge to sob welled up inside him, and quickly looked down at the notebook in his hands, the equations and formulas scribbled in tiny, girlish writing no longer making any sense to him.

"Yes. Looks good, Dawn. Very good." He set the notebook down and stood up, barely hearing Dawn asking if he was alright. He marched out of the dining room, and towards the basement just as the door swung open before him. Sherlock stood at the top of the steps, still holding the doorknob, as John stared up into the detective's deep blue, penetrating eyes. Their gaze locked and seemed to freeze them in place for what could have been hours, by John's account. The tawny-haired, nerve-racked doctor slowly looked away and noticed himself trembling slightly, then tried to steady himself before Sherlock noticed. He was too late.

"Feeling okay, John? You're shaking." Sherlock said in a deep, husky tone as he noticed the redness in John's eyes and his slightly laboured breathing.

"You.. uh. Startled me, is all. Gave me a scare, what with opening the door so suddenly."

"How else does one open a door? What were you doing there, any way?"

"Me? Oh, well. I just was.. going to come down there. Dawn. She wanted a umm.. a.."

"I asked him to see if Buffy's old algebra binder was still packed away down there. Notes, you know, hers might be helpful... Maybe." Dawn squeaked from behind John, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. "Its okay though. I'll go look myself. Tomorrow. Boy, am I tired.." Dawn faked a yawn, then stretched and gave John a quick hug. "I'm going to bed. Still proofreading that English paper for me tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. Tomorrow. Good night." John patted her shoulder as she turned and hurried to the stairs and up into her room.

"Good save. Make sure you thank her for that, John. Now why were you really coming to the basement?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and John knew instantly that the tall, thin man already had the answer.

"It's just.. bloody hell.. Sherlock, I miss you. Ever since.. our disagreement," John said softly, "You've been busying yourself with Spike and I've been with Dawn and Rupert. We hardly speak! Its.. I just. It's difficult, you know? To feel like I'm losing my dearest friend. I'm sorry." John's voice trailed off as Sherlock's expression faded from one of near-amusement into something more melancholy.

"I know. As am I." Sherlock sighed, and he turned towards the stairs. "Spike," He called. "I'm off to bed. Think I may have caught something. Achoo! Ahem-ack-arghhh. Yes, oh! I feel awful! Completely knackered. See you at breakfast!" Sherlock stepped beside John and shut the door, then turned to his friend and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Come on, John. Oreo's or popcorn?"

Once settled up in the guest bedroom which had become their home away from home, John and Sherlock sat on the bed, the blue glow from the TV set illuminating the room. John snickered at the comedian who was flapping his arms wildly like a caught bird, while Sherlock booed and tossed an Oreo at the screen. The two fell silent, just as they heard something outside the window. It was a sudden tap, then a scraping noise which startled them both. John braced his nerves quickly, slowly rose from the bed and pulled a stake from under the mattress, then tip-toed towards the sound.

"Stay there," He whispered to Sherlock, who nodded although he was still creeping towards the window himself. As he slid back the curtains, all that met John was darkness and the shadow of a tall oak tree, swaying softly with the breeze. He reached up and turned the lock, then slid open the window and peered out over the awning. Nothing. It was dead silent, and John shuddered as a strange fear crept up his spine. His mind shot into overdrive, trying to remember what demons and other mystical beings could shape shift into a light breeze or something otherwise just as innocent and unnoticed. Just as he was reaching to close the window up again, he felt Sherlock's warm breath on his shoulder, which sent not a wave of fear, but of something entirely different, through his body, which he immediately dismissed as merely a chill from the night air. As John shivered again, Sherlock leaned against him, peering out the open window. He craned his neck out and looked left to right, squinting into the near pitch-black night when something caught his eye. Suddenly, Sherlock nudged past John, and crawled out onto the awning, reaching down towards the rain spout. His fingers stretched, and he slipped a little just as he grasped onto the object, then began to crawl back towards John. Once safely inside the room again, Sherlock paced at the foot of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and staring down at the small trinket in his palm. John secured the window and rushed over, eager to see what Sherlock had discovered. He peered at the detective's hand, and saw a small golden stone, polished and glistening in the bluish light. It captivated him, and as he stared at it, it seemed to move. The soldier in him swore it had to be a trick of the light, as if it had really moved, he reasoned, Sherlock would have inevitably shown some reaction to it. The Watcher in him wanted to run the other way and head straight to the Magic Box and start researching. But they both stood equally still, seemingly lost in thought as each of them studied the object. At last, Sherlock tossed it up in the air and caught it, then wandered over to the door and left for the living room. John stood silent, wanting to call after him, but seemingly unable. By the time John regained his ability to move, Sherlock had already placed the golden stone on the mantle, among a few other small gold, silver and wood knick-knacks, and had made his way back into the upstairs hall. He met John just short of Dawn's room, where he hushed him then gestured back to their own quarters. Once inside, John shut the door softly behind him and crawled into bed without a word, as Sherlock shut off the TV and slipped under the covers as well. They were both suddenly overcome by sleep, before either had the chance to mention the strange feeling that the peculiar object had given them both, and that neither would remember.

Whilst John and Sherlock lay sleeping soundly upstairs, a dark figure stood at the base of the old oak tree, and giggled softly into the wind. "Sleep now, Miss Edith, Mummy's work is done.. Happy Christmas, children.." The figure turned towards the street and a swift breeze caused her white gown to flare dramatically behind her, as the strange visitor danced her way towards the cemetery, cradling an eyeless, blonde doll in her thin, pale arms.

So, this one took a twist.. And I think we all know who the 'figure' under the oak tree is... Oh, yes.. *evil laughter* XD