The first time John came home to find Sherlock had passed out after a case was not long after the Blind Banker fiasco. The last he'd seen of Sherlock he'd been running out of the flat yelling about the woman's sister, the lack of necklace on the cousin and several exclamations about his own stupidity. A usual day at 221b, in other words.
Later that day once John had returned from Sarah's house after dinner (apparently kipping on the end of her bed still wasn't an option) he found all the lights off in the flat and so assumed his flatmate wasn't back yet. Again, something not untoward at their residence. He stepped through the door, put the kettle on to boil then stepped into the main area. That's when he noticed that the great consulting detective was not so gracefully sprawled out on his stomach on the couch, dead to the world. One arm was up and hanging over the armrest and the other had dropped to the floor. His legs were in the same position. His pale face was turned so he could have been watching the TV if it were on, mouth open, eyes closed and snuffling softly in his deep slumber.
John gave himself a small, indulgent smile at the sight. He'd been go-go-go and now had dropped like a toddler, fully clothed and exhausted. He took the checked blanket from 'his' armchair and gently draped it over the brunet, careful not to wake him. Quietly he went back to the kitchen, made himself a cuppa and headed off to his room to get ready for bed. The next day nothing was said but it became a ritual of theirs that anytime Sherlock dropped, John would be there to get him comfortable and in the best position to comply with the 'tedious' demands of his transport.
It was around this time that another habit began between the two of them. Sherlock couldn't place the exact moment when he had thought it was a good idea, but these days he often found himself upstairs when John was asleep, sometimes sitting on the chair near his friend's bed or at other times just standing there, watching. He liked to be in John's presence as it helped order his thoughts. It was amazing, not only did Sherlock not have to talk but John didn't even have to be conscious to be a conductor of light! Many a time the detective would be bringing various sections of his mind palace into order while John would sleep on, none the wiser. And it was easier, things just dropped into place with less work around this man. Other times he would sit there mulling over data as he watched the slack lines of John's face as his chest gently rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
The tall one didn't know if it was a bit not good to do this so he didn't ask. To be honest he had his suspicions but he really didn't want to know the truth.
A couple of times John found his door either open or closed when he woke in the mornings and he would swear he had left it the other way around when he retired for the night. He had his theories about what had happened but he wanted to be sure before he brought it up with his friend. In the meantime, past the sections of his brain that knew it was very weird, through the areas that knew he should be angry and perhaps concerned for his well being and privacy, was a place in his mind that felt content with the knowledge that he was important and was able to be of use even if he wasn't really doing anything else.
This was one of those things he would keep between the two of them for now, he didn't think anyone else would understand and really, it was nice to have some things just between the two of them.
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