I do not own any of the characters

Dr. John Watson bolted upright, jolted from his sleep by the dream he had just had. He grasped his shoulder where the bullet had torn through it those years ago, and winced as a dull pain shot through it. His dream had seemed so real. The sun had felt so hot,and the bullet so painful. But John was home at 221 B Baker St. in London. His dreams always seemed so real. John tried to shake off the nightmare, but it was impossible. The clatter of gunshot still beat against the inside of his head.

Maybe some tea will do the trick, thought John.

So John slipped out from beneath the covers, put on his dressing robe, and started his descent. He glanced at his alarm clock on his way out and groaned.

4 a.m.

The red light on the display seemed to mock him. John would never be able to get back to sleep in time for any proper sleep. And the little time he had already gotten had been fitful, and not at all restful. He was in for a long day. As John reached the downstairs, a small detail came to his attention. The downstairs was quiet. John looked curiously around. No Sherlock.

Could Sherlock actually be asleep? John thought.

He crept silently towards Sherlock's room, excitement building, as he hardly ever was allowed to be in this room. John gently pushed the door open and popped his head inside. There was Sherlock, passed out on his bed.

he looks so different this way.

John was so mesmerized that he subconsciously moved farther into the room. All John ever saw of the detective was the full-on, battle-ready mode. Sherlock was always thinking,moving and/or deducing. In this state, with all activity in that amazing brain stopped. It was calming to watch. John stood there and just watched for a bit. When Sherlock mumbled something and moved around, John blushed. Here he was, a completely STRAIGHT man, watching his flatmate, his best mate, sleep. John retreated, embarrassed.

Despite the embarrassment, John felt oddly at peace. He went to sit on the couch, all notions of tea making forgotten. John felt himself quickly grow tired, which was unusual. He normally tossed and turned for an hour before feeling comfortable enough to sleep. Instead of jeopardizing the sleep, the doctor remained on the couch and drifted off to sleep.

I would much appreciate reviews and/or constructive criticism:)