Title: Making the Connection

Story Summary: A non-chronological collection of short chapters based on one word prompts, includes (pre-)slash for Johnlock & Mystrade

Chapter Summary: John and Sherlock find themselves having to share a bed. Prompt: Duration

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Moffat, Gatiss & SACD.

A/N: I have to say that I had fun writing this one. It's my second longest chapter so far (only 'Professional' was longer). I find that whenever a prompt really inspires me in a Johnlock way the chapters just get longer and longer. Never thought I'd say this, but I'd really appreciate some reviews. Don't think anybody's going to actually read this note, but hey, it's worth a try. And as always this prompt came from oneword(dot)com and if you'd like to prompt me you can do so in a review or a PM.

"I will not sleep on the floor."

"Well, I wasn't the one to make the entire first floor uninhabitable, was I? So why should I sleep on the floor?"

"I never implied that you should."

"You know perfectly well that I don't have a king sized bed."

"Yes, John, I did know that, especially since I'm already sitting on it." Sherlock's expression was his logical neutral self. "It is only one night and I hardly move when I sleep – if I sleep at all that is."

That wasn't the problem. The problem was that John knew that he tended to move to any source of warmth in his bed when he slept. But he couldn't tell his flatmate that now, could he?

Sherlock had attracted yet another assassin trained in martial arts. During their fight in the middle of the night they had managed to spill one of Sherlock's more delicate experiments and dragged the highly reactive chemicals through the entire downstairs floor. Sherlock's bedroom and the sitting room were destroyed. John was rendered speechless by the amount of destruction when he came home from drinks out with Greg. Sherlock had sent him a text: "Something came up. Meet me in your room. SH" At first he and Greg had a good laugh about the ambiguity of the text; somehow it didn't seem so funny anymore.

"Fine", John grumbled. "Let's just go to bed." He went to his little bathroom to brush his teeth and mentally resigned to not getting any sleep that night. He would simply not allow himself to fall asleep. It would be fine. He stripped out of his jumper and his trousers and put them on his chest of drawers on his way back.

Sherlock still sat on the right side of his bed dressed in pyjamas and the blue silk robe. For a moment John wanted to ask how he had retrieved them from his destroyed room, but thought better of it. By now he had propped one of John's pillows on the headboard of the bed, leaned against it and read a book.

"Good night", mumbled John when he slipped under the duvet on the far left side of his bed. He pulled it all the way up over his shoulders and turned his back to Sherlock.

First he started to recall the name of every bone and muscle in the human body. When he was done with that he started to silently recite the lyrics of every song on the CD that Harry had sent him to Afghanistan. By the time he was done with the songs the alcohol had made his eyelids heavy. He decided to close them just for a minute, as he remembered the lyrics of 'God Save the Queen'. He fell asleep in the middle of the second stanza.

o.O.o.O.o

Sherlock had started to read A Brief History of Time while he was waiting for his flatmate to come home. The book belonged to John, but after the whole discussion about the solar system a couple of months ago Sherlock had decided he might as well read up on it this once. If the information was irrelevant he could still delete it in the morning. Furthermore it was definitely preferable to the dozens of novels that his friend had lined up in his small bookshelf on the wall. Novels were dull.

John had tried to stay awake and succeeded in doing so for the better part of an hour. Of course Sherlock had seen his face contort at his mention of sharing a bed. But whatever it was that bothered John, it didn't affect Sherlock. He assumed that his friend just didn't want to encourage more talk of them being more than just friends. He also made a mental note that he wouldn't mention their current sleeping arrangements to anyone. It was for one night only anyway, tomorrow he would book a hotel room for the duration of the repairs to his bedroom.

Next to him John started to relax and rolled onto his right side, which he normally slept on. Sherlock could tell by the abrasions of the floorboards that had been refurbished shortly before they moved in.

Ten pages later John had come a lot closer. His hand was only three inches away from Sherlock's thigh, which – of course – did not go unnoticed, but Sherlock knew that not everybody was as still a sleeper as he was. Three pages later John shifted his position again, his head was now resting on his friend's lap with one hand just above his knee.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John's breathing told him he was definitely still asleep. This must've been why he had stayed awake: He knew that he was likely initiate contact. Since John hadn't managed to stay awake Sherlock knew that he would be embarrassed if he found out. Therefore he decided to let John sleep. His friend was no longer accustomed to sleep deprivation, especially not after alcohol consumption.

When John moved his head a little and pressed his chest against his thigh Sherlock felt it: the rare rush of oxytocin. Almost involuntarily his left hand let go of the spine of the book and found its way into blond hair. He had only wanted to make John stop moving, but the luxurious sound that escaped from his friend's lips led him to slowly caress his scalp and weave his long fingers through the soft hair.

Sherlock was no stranger to adrenaline, norepinephrine and cortisol, but oxytocin was a very, very rare treat. So he put down his book and simply sat there for a while, enjoying the hormones rushing through his bloodstream. When John's right arm somehow found its way around the small of his back he couldn't help but think that maybe he shouldn't get a hotel room. What if he got up before John woke and simply told him that he couldn't find another place to stay the next night? Just for another night or two? John would never have to find out and he could enjoy this delicious feeling without ramifications.

No, he couldn't do that. What if John woke up when he wasn't alcoholised? He would feel betrayed because Sherlock hadn't woken him up, because he had let it happen. Of course Sherlock knew that John had the same hormones rushing through his sleeping body, but he was sure that that would not be a sufficient reason for him to indulge in cuddling with a man – not to mention Sherlock. No, this had to be it. He could enjoy this for two or three more hours, but then he had to get up. It was better this way. Oxytocin induced bonding and he couldn't allow himself to let his hormones take over now. He had fought long and hard to be independent of them, he would not give it up because he liked the rush, because the rush would pass. Every user knew that the higher you got the bigger the impact was when you came back down. He would not allow himself to be crushed – again.