A/N: This isn't 221 nor is it 442, but I loved it so I decided to share :) since all of you are such lovely people and your reviews make me smile so much, I will upload another chapter later tonight! Hope you enjoy!
'One of the Times Sherlock put John's Needs before his Own' or 'The Train Ride'
There weren't many occasions one could point out when a man such as Sherlock Holmes was truly considerate of another human being.
It would have been easy, for anyone really, to simply write him off as a sociopath and be done with it, never bothering to dig the six-foot underground where the young man had buried his ability to feel.
But John Watson had always been, would always be, the exception to everyone.
The doctor could erode all of the mountainous walls Sherlock had carved out of the hardest marble with only his sincerity, then wipe the crumble and the dust of the wreckage away with kind words and soft hands.
There were little ways Sherlock knew how to give back to the man; his experience in the field of love was, even he could admit, lacking. Still, he had tried. Right now, at nearly 3-am, was one of those times.
For a man with as nonexistent a sleep-schedule as Sherlock Holmes, being up at such an hour and still being vitally aware of the man beside him wasn't something which would be considered abnormal or unorthodox but rather a side-effect of close quarters and John's ability to demolish any fortresss of solitude the detective tried to erect.
On this train ride home from Surrey, the nearly two hour train ride, Sherlock knew that John would fall asleep on him. It was extremely obvious in the darkening circles under the older man's Atlantic blue eyes, in all the breathes he took which ended in yawns; the fact they had been awake solving murders for the past 36-odd hours also helped solidify the deduction.
Knowing all this with fierce confidence, the taller man scrunched up his knees upon the back of the seat directly in front of him, thus forcing his body to shift downwards. This brought his bony shoulder just a few inches below the muscled one of his companion.
Silently he began typing away at his black berry, reading over the crime news and the agony columns. Suddenly he felt a weight fall in his curling mass of hair.
Giving into the small smile which played upon his lips, Sherlock Holmes let his eyelids flutter downwards slipping off into a blissful sleep to the melody of his bloggers heartbeat.