The soft noises John makes as he sleeps are fascinating, Sherlock muses. Not quite talking, but more distinct than just heavy breathing. The moonlight seeping in through the window highlights John's eyelashes, looking even longer and more lush than normal in the dim illumination. His posture is soft, relaxed, and his breathing is even. Deep sleep, a pleasant dream, no nightmares yet, Sherlock finds himself thinking. Good.
A small wooden chair in the corner creaks as Sherlock sits, the noise muffled but enough to wake John from his deep slumber.
"Mghh? Sh'lock?" He blinks a couple of times, clearing his eyes, and Sherlock finds the gesture inexplicably endearing. Slightly more alert now, John raises one eyebrow. "D'you need something? What time is it?"
Sherlock shakes his head. "No, nothing, go back to sleep."
"Why're you... were you..." John sits up, his fair, disordered hair framing his face like the petals of a sunflower. "Were you watching me sleep?"
"Mmm." Sherlock doesn't say obvious out loud, but it's understood.
"Why the hell were you watching me sleep, Sherlock? That's beyond inappropriate."
Sherlock can't even be bothered to fake looking remorseful. "It's interesting. You make funny little noises."
"Asking you to go away isn't going to work, is it?"
"Nope."
John just rolls over, pulling the comforter over his head and grumbling blearily.