Sherlock hesitated in front of the bedroom door. John was not going to like this… Sherlock didn't like it himself but he was so cold. So cold. Too cold. He had put of going to the doctor for help, but now that his teeth were rattling and even the hot cup of tea could not warm his painfully cold hands, he could stand it no longer. He knew what John was going to say. He could hear the scoffing I told you so in his ears.

When the blackout started, hours ago, his friend told him to stay warm, to wear more clothes, to drink tea, to get off the couch and away from the window. But he didn't. He was too busy contemplating the latest case to listen. But now…. Now he couldn't focus his mind and his whole body was hurting and in all Baker Street 221B there was only one heat source available….. Sherlock grinded his teeth. This was going to be embarrassing. Especially after what had happened the other night….

His thoughts trailed back to the last night he had slept in John's bed, a few days ago. John had been sleeping at his girlfriends' house for two nights, so when he was finally home, Sherlock happily sneaked into his friend's bed in the middle of the night.

The doctor was sleeping on his right side, away from Sherlock who lay on his back, starring at the ceiling. Suddenly, John grunted, turned over, and - to Sherlock's horror - flung his arm over Sherlock's chest and lay his head on the detective's shoulder. Sherlock froze. Maybe John's girlfriend had liked this, but the detective was horribly uncomfortable. He held his breath as if he tried to shrink and slip out from under John's embrace, but it was pointless.

'Eeh… John…' Sherlock had whispered, but his friend was vast asleep.

'John?' A little louder now.

No response.

'JOHN.' He yelled.

'Wh- what?' John awoke with a start. He moved slightly and immediately noticed how close he was to Sherlock, who gave him an accusing look.

'Oh… oh, sorry Sherlock.'

'Please move John! You know I hate to be touched.'

'I am moving. Jeez, you didn't have to yell in my ears!'

'Don't bring your ears this close to me and it will not happen.'

'You are in my bed, Sherlock.'

'That doesn't give you permission to grope me.'

'For God's sake I wasn't groping you! I was asleep! And I apologized.'

'Still, control yourself or I…'

'Or you'll what? Sleep in your own bed? I am okay with that!' John sneered sarcastically.

'You seemed to be very happy with me two minutes ago.' Sherlock scoffed.

'Oh just go to sleep Sherlock.' John had commented before turning away and falling asleep again.

Sherlock had deleted that night because he did not think he would ever need the memory again, but it had suddenly resurfaced when he was contemplating asking for John's help now. John was not going to like this…

Shivering and shaking in front of the bedroom door he weighted his options, but there were basically only two: staying painfully cold or asking John for help. The cold was too much. He couldn't feel his toes anymore. He took many – too many – rapid breaths, and, most alarmingly, he kept losing track of his thoughts. He started to become confused.

All signs of the first stage of hypothermia.

So Sherlock knocked. There was no answer. He opened the door.

'John?'

John was hardly visible under the pile of blankets. He grunted. 'Go away Sherlock.'

'I n-need yourrr h-help.' John did not hear his teeth clattering.

'If it is for some stupid experiment: no. If it is for anything else: I will consider it in the morning.' Came the muffled response from under the covers.

'N-neither.' Said Sherlock. 'It's medical.'

John stuck his head out from somewhere under the blankets. 'What?'

Sherlock tried to take a deep breath, but the cold air seemed to hurt his lungs. 'I-I am c-c-cold.'

The doctor frowned at him. 'Well, yeah Sherlock, there's no heating and it is a below-zero December night, of course you're cold. Drink tea. Go to bed.'

'Don't be d-d-dense d-d-doctor. I t-tried that alr-ready.'

Now he seemed to have John's attention. His friend leaned up in his bed on one elbow and gave Sherlock a questioning look.

'How long have you been shivering like this?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Long enough! For G-God's sake J-John. Can w-we skippp the questions?'

John flicked on the light next to his bed and Sherlock saw the shocked look on his friends' face when he saw the detective.

'Jesus Sherlock your lips are blue!' He flipped the covers open and gestured Sherlock to come into the bed. 'Why didn't you come to me before, you bloody idiot?'

Sherlock didn't answer. He stepped into the bed and continued to shiver violently.

John unceremoniously pulled a woolen hat over Sherlock's dark curls and looked at him. 'Sherlock….' He started hesitantly. 'I know you hate to be touched, but….'

'I know John. Why else did you think I came to you, John?!' Sherlock snarled at him, while trying to keep his teeth clenched together. He knew he must look ridiculous in the woolen hat. Well, at least it wasn't a deerstalker.

John took a deep breath and decided to ignore his friends' tone. Instead he turned off the lights, flung the covers over the two of them and carefully wrapped his arms around Sherlock's ice cold body. Sherlock leaned in and pushed himself closer to his warm friend. John started rubbing Sherlock's back and Sherlock lay his stone cold feet to his friends'.

'Bloody hell!' John yelped, but he didn't move his feet.

It was intimate, awkward, but somehow Sherlock was strangely comfortable at the same time.Must be the warmth he thought. After a minute Sherlock untangled his hands, which he had clenched to his own chest, and fidgeted them under John's shirt.

John swore. Loudly.

'Are you trying to give me a heart attack?'

'I will l-l-lose my f-f-fingers, John. Don't be s-s-selfish.'

'Stop rubbing your nose to my chest.'

'Okay-y.' Sherlock responded, and he tucked his face in the doctor's warm neck instead.

John quivered and swore again.

They lay silent like that for a few minutes. The only sound came from Sherlock's clattering teeth. When that finally started to die down John said: 'I told you…'

Here we go, Sherlock thought.

'I told you to make an effort to stay warm! To wear more clothes, drink tea, sleep under a lot of blankets!'

Sherlock ignored him.

'It also would help if you ate more.'

Still no response.

'If you had listened to me before I wouldn't have to endure your icy hands on my skin right now.'

'Take comfort in the fact that I do not enjoy warming my icy hands on your skin, John.' Sherlock sneered.

'I'm just saying…'

'Could you please go to sleep, John? I promise I will follow your precious advise to the letter during the next black out.' The detective said sarcastically.

They were both annoyed but they didn't move away from each other. John continued to rub Sherlock's cold back, and the detective couldn't stop himself from moving and trying to get closer to his friend.

After a while the rubbing stopped and Sherlock felt John's grip loosen and his breathing became deep and regular; the doctor was asleep.

When Sherlock decided he was warm enough he carefully rolled out of John's arms, and on his back, starring at the ceiling.

His brain was clear and focused again. Good.

Next to him John groaned and moved closer.

Oh no! Sherlock thought. But before he could move John had rolled to right next to him and was flinging one arm over his chest again.

Sherlock cleared his throat. 'Ehm… John?'

But John didn't move and just murmured: 'Shut up, Sherlock.'

Thank you for reading. If you have an opinion about the story: leave a review! Many thanks!