A/N: "Wow, DC, two updates in one evening? What the fuck are you doing? Shouldn't you be saving this update for tomorrow and then tomorrow's for the next day, so your updates will be consistent? Don't you have a life?" If you were wondering, no, to all of that.

Word Count: 795

Pairing(s): Sherlock/John

Warning(s): shameless fluff, nonsensical cuteness; filed under Things Vaguely Inspired by Younger Siblings. Also, doom-and-gloom-not-a-morning-person!John curses like a sailor.

Sleeping Beauty

"John! John, get up! There's been a double homicide!"

John groaned and shoved his head under his pillow in a grand effort to ignore the overtly cheerful voice assaulting his ears. He hadn't slept a full night in almost a week and a half and damn if he's going to get up again for the man who kept him awake in the first place.

"John, did you hear me?" Sherlock swept into John's room – and paused. The doctor was practically radiating doomsday, a rare but serious condition that clearly read One Wrong Move and You Die. Sherlock peered at his friend warily. "John…"

"Bring fucking Lestrade or some shit, Sherlock. I. Am. Sleeping. Fuck." Sherlock winced as John rolled onto his back, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and squeezed his eyes stubbornly shut.

"Even if Lestrade was even somewhat qualified to fill in as Friend and Medical Assistant, it's a Dimmock case," Sherlock whined, pacing carefully over to the side of the bed. John did not respond. "Anderson will be there too," Sherlock added. "I can't do it without you, John. Anderson and Dimmock on the same case will surely kill me. Or, well, kill them, more likely." No response, although John's eyebrow twitched. "Mycroft keeps texting, too. I'll definitely spontaneously combust if you don't come, John."

John stayed still, breathing steadied. Had Sherlock not had the deduction skills that he did, he might have thought John was actually asleep. Because he did have the deduction skills that he did, however, Sherlock just huffed. "Honestly, John, don't be a child. What good is pretending to be asleep?"

"…"

"I'm not leaving without you, John."

"…"

"What are you, Cinderella? Get up."

John snorted. "Sleeping Beauty," he corrected reluctantly, keeping his eyes shut.

"Oh. How modest."

"…"

Sherlock sighed. He didn't know much of fairy tales; his only recollection of them were the ones he remembered only because Mycroft had told them to him until he was eight and the disturbing ones delivered by Jim. He remembered the reoccurring theme, though, and clearly John knew something of them as well. Sherlock's lips twitched vaguely upwards.

"Come now," said Sherlock. "If you don't get up I'll have to play Prince Charming, and I think anyone could tell you I'm not cut out for that."

John twitched but said nothing.

"Fine."

John didn't quite understand the whole drawl as he really was half asleep lying there – a week and a half without a good night's sleep could do that to a guy. He was certainly wide awake when Sherlock caressed his cheek, though. It was shockingly gentle and nice and John wanted to jolt upright and ask him What He Was Thinking, but he was stubborn and stayed soldier-still, eyes screwed shut.

"John…" Sherlock swallowed hard, surprised at how difficult it became to compose himself at this impassable opportunity. He only hoped John wouldn't punch him in the face. "Please wake up," he said, a warning that John did not heed.

So Sherlock bent down and did what every fairytale told him to do: kissed him.

On cue John's eyes flew open, cheeks abruptly alight with furious blush. Sherlock's eyes were closed, long fingers still clutching John's face as he moved their lips together. It was a brief, chaste kiss, but for the moment it felt like the most intimate thing John had ever experienced.

Sherlock tried to smirk as he pulled away, but the only expression that would reach his lips was a horrible, honest smile. "Awake now, princess?"

John, caught between the urge to punch Sherlock in the mouth and the desire to kiss him again in the same general area, sputtered. "What the hell was that?"

"Hm… bit Not Good?" Sherlock huffed. "Well, it worked for Prince Charming." Sherlock swished away and tossed a bundle of clothes on John's chest. "Get dressed."

"I—Shit, what—"

"Double homicide; do try to keep up, my dear Watson." Sherlock grinned, winked, and sauntered out before John could notice the blush creeping onto the detective's cheeks.

"Sherlock!"

John huffed when his only response was a deep, baritone laugh. "Crazy bastard," John grumbled. He lifted an arm to rub his lips, as if to smear the kiss away. Still, he was wide awake now, wasn't he? Brain practically buzzing, heart thump-thump-thumping in his chest a bit faster than it probably should have been. Perhaps there was something to Sleeping Beauty. If John were to be honest with himself he'd say that, if anything, he resented being the proverbial princess more than he resented Sherlock's nutter wake up call. He was a nutter, though. A completely moronic nutter that John definitely did not want to kiss again any time in the future. Ever. Bugger.

Despite efforts to the contrary, John gets dressed with a smile on his face.

Reviews would be lovely.

Also, in relation to my earlier complaint about story alerts: it turned out they were updating. My e-mail simply refused to receive the alerts and then, one morning, every single alert from the Dark Days of 0 New Messages popped up in my inbox at once. Ugh. Well, enough of that - until next time!