Sherlock just nodded a bit to John's sentiment, settling after that into the perfect warmth of John's body next to his. He made a soft sound that almost sounded agreeable when John called him a git, unable to be bothered to give a coherent response when he was so warm and sleepy. The both of them stilled, and Sherlock slept hard and dreamless from that moment on.
He woke naturally several hours later, feeling more refreshed than he remembered from the last few times he slept. He opened his eyes to see John, still there and breathing softly in sleep just like he'd left him. He smiled faintly at the image of it, admiring the way his brow smoothed out and he looked years younger as he slept soundly next to him. He was far to warm and comfortable to want to move just yet, so he stayed right where he was, having found a particularly perfect spot to rest his head just under John's chin. He pressed his cheek against his chest, listening to the quiet tha-thump of his heartbeat as he slept and enjoying the tranquil atmosphere of this moment where neither of them had to worry about anything just yet.
It was another half hour at least before John began to enter that realm between dreaming and waking himself, and he too felt extremely reluctant to venture back into reality. Distantly, he realized he was holding someone and being held by that person in return. Sherlock--? Yes. Had to be. Couldn't be anyone else. Struggling to stay in that hazy place of perfect tranquility, John nuzzled closer to the other man, sighing contentedly. This felt nice. Really nice. It had been forever since he'd woken up next to someone, and John had quite forgotten what a wonderful feeling it could be.
Shifting slightly, John sleepily turned his head enough to press a soft kiss to Sherlock's hair. "Morning," he murmured, voice soft and rough with sleep, keeping his eyes closed.
Feeling John stir next to him, Sherlock smiled to himself at the way John seemed to instinctively move in closer. Human contact had never been an area of interest for Sherlock, but he found he had rather enjoyed sleeping next to John. He knew that happiness of John's probably wasn't meant for him, he probably hadn't even recognized yet that he was next to Sherlock rather than one of his girlfriends. He was certain of it when that kiss was pressed to his head, working up to telling John that he was lying next to his very much male flatmate instead of the woman he obviously assumed he was with.
"Good morning." he finally said, just waiting for John to leap up and assure him he wasn't gay for the thousandth time and reprimand him for talking him in to sleeping on the couch with him. Still, he would enjoy whatever small moments he got before that happened, keeping still and quiet and just enjoying these last few seconds that he could listen to John's heart and feel his warmth as he was.
A few moments of silence passed. Then there was a definite shift in the air as John went from hazy bliss to something closer to wakefulness. He frowned, but refused to open his eyes just yet. He was still lying on the couch. With Sherlock. No, no, holding Sherlock, in a very intimate fashion. He had slept with Sherlock in his arms. For a brief moment, he wanted to laugh. Then the mental image of Mrs Hudson walking in on them like this had him actually shaking with laughter, hiding his face in Sherlock's dark curls.
"But darling," he wheezed, still struggling not to laugh out loud. "What will the neighbors say?" Oh, he had no idea what had gotten into him. Perhaps lack of proper sleep was finally getting to him. He held Sherlock a little tighter, before he finally dissolved into actual giggles of exhausted hilarity, laughing at the absurdity of the current situation.
Sherlock nudged his face into John's shirt, determined to hang on to this as long as he possibly could before they'd have to get up. He didn't understand this feeling at all, having never craved physical contact until getting his first experience of it. Now it was like an addiction, John's warm presence against him so much more welcome than he would have thought.
His brow furrowed in confusion when John shook a bit next to him, his words making him smirk a bit when his reaction was more favorable than he thought. He glanced up at John's face when he started laughing, his happiness having the curious effect on him of making him happy too. His face broke into a full on grin, pressing his face against John's shoulder and shaking with laughter right along with him. "They already had their suspicions, I'm sure." he managed to say, still chuckling softly and leaning into him, pleased that John's reaction to this was far better than he thought.
"People always do." Oh, but John loved these moments, where the pair of them could just let go of everything and simply be with each other. He laughed for a little while longer, finding it difficult to stop, especially when Sherlock was chuckling so delightfully, with that low voice of his that always made John feel warm all over.
"Did you get any sleep?" John eventually asked, disinclined to get up just yet. His body told him it was early in the morning. No reason to get up, really. He shifted a little to get more comfortable, making sure Sherlock was still tucked in under his jumper. There was a bit of a chill in the air; wouldn't do to have the world's only consulting detective catch a cold.
Sherlock basked in this moment while it lasted, always enjoying moments like these where they were both relaxed and enjoying each other's company. He certainly hadn't expected John to react so favorably to waking up next to him, but he appreciated it all the same. He laughed right along with John for a few moments, eyes briefly flashing with something akin to adoration.
"Yes. More than usual, anyway." Normally he was up and about after only a few hours, but this time he slept on for several, almost as much as an average person did. Something about the warmth and security of being nestled between John and the sofa made it impossible to want to get up, even now that he was awake. He smiled gently when John made sure he was covered by his jumper, not worrying too much about the chill himself when John proved to be a more than suitable blanket.
"I'd like your assistance for an experiment." he said suddenly, glancing up from his place tucked under John's chin.
John was happy to hear Sherlock had slept well; he worried about the other man near constantly, couldn't help himself in doing so. Sherlock's sense of self-preservation was to cry over, it was so low on the list of priorities. He understood that genius required a certain degree of focus, but honestly, a hot meal and good night's sleep were just as essential. John did what he could in taking care of Sherlock's well-being, but he could not look after him 24/7.
"What kind of experiment?" John blinked and frowned down at Sherlock, a trace of suspicion in his voice. Sherlock's experiments were wonky enough to begin with; requiring John's assistance... Well. It set off a few alarm bells, to say the least.
Sherlock shook his head dismissively at the look John gave him, knowing already he was probably expecting the worst.
"It's nothing objectionable. I want to study my sleep patterns. All you need to do is sleep with me in my bed, and then allow me to sleep in yours with you." he explained, sure that John wouldn't be too averse to it when they'd already spent the night on the couch together.
"I slept deeper and for longer here on the couch than usual, I want to see how well I sleep in each of our beds with you in them now."
John was silent for a moment, blinking owlishly. He distantly realized his facial expression must look quite odd. He felt... sort of blank, and it took him several moments to really wrap his head around what Sherlock had just suggested.
"You think having me sleep next to you will improve your sleeping patterns? I'll admit, they're abysmal right now, but, uh..." he said, slowly, looking thoughtful.
Truthfully, he didn't know how he felt about this. Sherlock in his bed? Him in Sherlock's bed? It seemed so... intimate. Mind, sleeping this closely together on the couch could just as well be considered intimate, if not more so. They were tangled together, for goodness sake.
"I... Hrm. I suppose, if it's an experiment... We could give it a go. Two nights, though. Two. Once in my bed, once in yours."
He was still frowning, feeling a little uncomfortable. Exposed, somehow.
"Hold up," he said, suddenly realizing something. "What if you end up sleeping better that way? You can't possibly expect me to sleep next to you every night if that's the case!"
Sherlock waited semi-patiently for John to work through this, watching him intently as he gauged his reaction.
"It's already helped, so yes." he said, the subtext 'obviously' absent but implied. He smiled, very obviously pleased when John agreed, though he made a face at his time table.
"That's hardly long enough to test it properly." he complained, wanting to see the way this played out over weeks and months, or preferably longer. His expression was blank at John's question, shrugging as though it was an inconsequential detail.
"Why not? We've just slept on the couch together and nothing horrible happened. We both slept better for it, I don't see what possible negative consequence there could be." he said matter-of-factly, his eyes searching John's face with a contemplative expression for a long moment. "You're often restless when you go to bed for at least a half an hour before you fall asleep, but last night you fell asleep almost immediately." he added, sure that he could go on all night with all the reasons why they should pursue this. "That alone is enough reason to test this, don't you think?"
"Why not? Why not?" John sounded incredulous as he finally sat up, pulling his jumper off of Sherlock and pulling it on with awkward movements, effectively ruining the warm mood they had established. "For one, I like sleeping on my own. Two, a man needs his privacy. Three, should I ever bring someone home, I'd like to be able to bring her to my room and my bed, not having to explain why my flatmate sleeps next to me when he has a bedroom and bed of his own. Four, it's just plain odd, and five--"
He couldn't come up with a fifth reason, but he thought the four reasons he had given were perfectly sound.
Five, you'd know how often my nightmares still haunt me, and I don't want you to see me weak like that. Six, I'd get used to you sleeping next to me far too quickly, and miss you too much when you were gone. Seven--
Huffing out an annoyed breath, he got up from the couch. God, but his clothes were all wrinkled. He looked around the living room, disoriented and out of balance. He looked at Sherlock, not feeling entirely ready. "Two nights, because you're my friend and I'll let you have your distractions. But that is it. Do you understand?"
Seven, I might say something in my sleep I cannot even admit to myself when I'm awake. Eight, I'd want to wrap my arms around you and never let go. Nine--
Sherlock frowned at John's reaction, certainly not expecting his question to be met with such a violent shift in temperament. He slumped against the couch when John jumped up, pushing himself sitting slowly and hugging his legs to his chest to offset the chill of John suddenly leaving. He kept his wan expression for the entirety of John's rant, steadfastly ignoring the pang of emotion at how John was severing any possible ties Sherlock had to their shared experience. He would never tell him that this was the longest he'd been in physical contact without cringing away for his entire life, unwilling to accept that anything involving this experience was tied to any real feelings.
Any trace of warmth from his expression was gone just like that, his face returning to the norm of stony and impassive as John told him the parameters of his allowing this experiment. "Fine." he clipped, briefly flirting with the idea of calling the whole thing off. He already enjoyed their time together a dangerous amount, best to keep this clinical and detached for when their two nights were over and things would return to normal. God forbid he get used to it only to have it snatched away at the last moment.
He flung himself off the couch suddenly, walking over the coffee table and stalking to the window, snatching his violin on the way and returning to the composing work he'd been at the day before. It was a convenient excuse to turn his back to John and drown him out as well, his mood taking a turn for the dark and ugly now that he'd been tossed unceremoniously out of his new found comfort zone.
John didn't know why he was talking, his voice was being drowned out by the sound of the violin, and Sherlock's back certainly wasn't going to offer a reply. He felt bad. He felt really, really bad. Perhaps he had overreacted a tad. But he couldn't help it; the thought of sleeping next to Sherlock on the couch had been difficult the night before, the experience proving to be exceptionally enjoyable. But sleeping next to him in his bed? It really shouldn't be this much of a problem, they were both grown men, after all, and this was, as Sherlock had said from the introduction of the idea, an experiment. No more than that.
Then why did it feel like more than that? Why did it feel like John had somehow rejected Sherlock on a much deeper level? Why did he feel so guilty, and cold, when only a few moments ago he had felt warm, and happy. Genuinely happy. And it had seemed as though Sherlock had been right there with him, sharing in those feelings. It was... nice. No. It was wonderful. And John had ruined it, by opening his big mouth.
Sighing, he looked at Sherlock once more, as though staring at him could somehow will him to turn around. But John knew he would not. He was slipping away again. And John had done that. With a final look, John lingered in the doorway a moment, before heading to his own room. He needed a shower, and a change of clothes. He felt rotten.
Sherlock purposefully played even louder when he heard John speaking again, petulantly determined not to let him get the last word in. The composing hadn't started quite yet, Sherlock being too caught up in drowning out John as much as possible with wailing, atonal notes unfit for any composition no matter how eccentric the composer.
He vented his frustrations in this manner until he was sure John was gone, dropping his hands to let them hang loosely at his sides, staring out the sliver of daylight visible through the curtain on the window in front of him. He heaved a long sigh, placing his violin and bow gently down on the end table before moving to tug a box of old case files that had yet to be organized from under the desk.
He spent the next while digging through said box, scanning the information and placing them in growing piles all around where he was sat cross-legged on the floor. This was better, surrounding himself with easily categorized and relevant information. No messy emotions, no feelings, no John. Just data. Simple. Easy. Yes, this was exactly what he needed, thoroughly engrossed in the task to the point where it would take quite a lot to pull his focus.
All showered and dressed in clean clothes, John made his way back to the living room, his heart feeling like a stone inside his chest. He had showered for a long time, which was certainly not his habit; John was an effective sort of man. Not that morning. He felt like every movement was heavier, every step, every thought. He was not surprised to find Sherlock thoroughly occupied with something in the living room. For a moment, he considered saying something, trying to apologize again, but knew it would fall on deaf man's ears. He hesitated even so before he turned and grabbed his coat. He needed air. He needed space. He needed to not be confronted with the icy chill that had settled over their home, where such warmth had been when they had first woken up together.
John stayed out for most of the day, visiting Mike and then Molly at St. Bart's, both of whom seemed confused to see John without Sherlock by his side. He must have come across a little scattered as well. He felt it. Everything just felt all wrong. It had been forever since he and Sherlock had a disagreement about something, and never, not once, had it felt this way. This... empty feeling that was eating away at him.
He returned in the evening hours, carrying a few grocery bags inside (probably wasn't going to mention the argument he'd gotten into with the man who tried to steal his spot in the queue).
"I'm home," he called out as he walked up the stairs and into the kitchen, not looking up to see if Sherlock was actually there himself. If he was, he'd probably been able to hear it was John coming in from the moment he turned his key. They knew one another so damnably well... Why on Earth had John made this so hard? Idiot.
"Remind me, are we sleeping in yours or mine tonight?" he asked as he put away the groceries, trying to sound casual about it.
He woke naturally several hours later, feeling more refreshed than he remembered from the last few times he slept. He opened his eyes to see John, still there and breathing softly in sleep just like he'd left him. He smiled faintly at the image of it, admiring the way his brow smoothed out and he looked years younger as he slept soundly next to him. He was far to warm and comfortable to want to move just yet, so he stayed right where he was, having found a particularly perfect spot to rest his head just under John's chin. He pressed his cheek against his chest, listening to the quiet tha-thump of his heartbeat as he slept and enjoying the tranquil atmosphere of this moment where neither of them had to worry about anything just yet.
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Shifting slightly, John sleepily turned his head enough to press a soft kiss to Sherlock's hair. "Morning," he murmured, voice soft and rough with sleep, keeping his eyes closed.
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"Good morning." he finally said, just waiting for John to leap up and assure him he wasn't gay for the thousandth time and reprimand him for talking him in to sleeping on the couch with him. Still, he would enjoy whatever small moments he got before that happened, keeping still and quiet and just enjoying these last few seconds that he could listen to John's heart and feel his warmth as he was.
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"But darling," he wheezed, still struggling not to laugh out loud. "What will the neighbors say?" Oh, he had no idea what had gotten into him. Perhaps lack of proper sleep was finally getting to him. He held Sherlock a little tighter, before he finally dissolved into actual giggles of exhausted hilarity, laughing at the absurdity of the current situation.
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His brow furrowed in confusion when John shook a bit next to him, his words making him smirk a bit when his reaction was more favorable than he thought. He glanced up at John's face when he started laughing, his happiness having the curious effect on him of making him happy too. His face broke into a full on grin, pressing his face against John's shoulder and shaking with laughter right along with him. "They already had their suspicions, I'm sure." he managed to say, still chuckling softly and leaning into him, pleased that John's reaction to this was far better than he thought.
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"Did you get any sleep?" John eventually asked, disinclined to get up just yet. His body told him it was early in the morning. No reason to get up, really. He shifted a little to get more comfortable, making sure Sherlock was still tucked in under his jumper. There was a bit of a chill in the air; wouldn't do to have the world's only consulting detective catch a cold.
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"Yes. More than usual, anyway." Normally he was up and about after only a few hours, but this time he slept on for several, almost as much as an average person did. Something about the warmth and security of being nestled between John and the sofa made it impossible to want to get up, even now that he was awake. He smiled gently when John made sure he was covered by his jumper, not worrying too much about the chill himself when John proved to be a more than suitable blanket.
"I'd like your assistance for an experiment." he said suddenly, glancing up from his place tucked under John's chin.
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"What kind of experiment?" John blinked and frowned down at Sherlock, a trace of suspicion in his voice. Sherlock's experiments were wonky enough to begin with; requiring John's assistance... Well. It set off a few alarm bells, to say the least.
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"It's nothing objectionable. I want to study my sleep patterns. All you need to do is sleep with me in my bed, and then allow me to sleep in yours with you." he explained, sure that John wouldn't be too averse to it when they'd already spent the night on the couch together.
"I slept deeper and for longer here on the couch than usual, I want to see how well I sleep in each of our beds with you in them now."
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"You think having me sleep next to you will improve your sleeping patterns? I'll admit, they're abysmal right now, but, uh..." he said, slowly, looking thoughtful.
Truthfully, he didn't know how he felt about this. Sherlock in his bed? Him in Sherlock's bed? It seemed so... intimate. Mind, sleeping this closely together on the couch could just as well be considered intimate, if not more so. They were tangled together, for goodness sake.
"I... Hrm. I suppose, if it's an experiment... We could give it a go. Two nights, though. Two. Once in my bed, once in yours."
He was still frowning, feeling a little uncomfortable. Exposed, somehow.
"Hold up," he said, suddenly realizing something. "What if you end up sleeping better that way? You can't possibly expect me to sleep next to you every night if that's the case!"
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"It's already helped, so yes." he said, the subtext 'obviously' absent but implied. He smiled, very obviously pleased when John agreed, though he made a face at his time table.
"That's hardly long enough to test it properly." he complained, wanting to see the way this played out over weeks and months, or preferably longer. His expression was blank at John's question, shrugging as though it was an inconsequential detail.
"Why not? We've just slept on the couch together and nothing horrible happened. We both slept better for it, I don't see what possible negative consequence there could be." he said matter-of-factly, his eyes searching John's face with a contemplative expression for a long moment. "You're often restless when you go to bed for at least a half an hour before you fall asleep, but last night you fell asleep almost immediately." he added, sure that he could go on all night with all the reasons why they should pursue this. "That alone is enough reason to test this, don't you think?"
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He couldn't come up with a fifth reason, but he thought the four reasons he had given were perfectly sound.
Five, you'd know how often my nightmares still haunt me, and I don't want you to see me weak like that. Six, I'd get used to you sleeping next to me far too quickly, and miss you too much when you were gone. Seven--
Huffing out an annoyed breath, he got up from the couch. God, but his clothes were all wrinkled. He looked around the living room, disoriented and out of balance. He looked at Sherlock, not feeling entirely ready. "Two nights, because you're my friend and I'll let you have your distractions. But that is it. Do you understand?"
Seven, I might say something in my sleep I cannot even admit to myself when I'm awake. Eight, I'd want to wrap my arms around you and never let go. Nine--
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Any trace of warmth from his expression was gone just like that, his face returning to the norm of stony and impassive as John told him the parameters of his allowing this experiment. "Fine." he clipped, briefly flirting with the idea of calling the whole thing off. He already enjoyed their time together a dangerous amount, best to keep this clinical and detached for when their two nights were over and things would return to normal. God forbid he get used to it only to have it snatched away at the last moment.
He flung himself off the couch suddenly, walking over the coffee table and stalking to the window, snatching his violin on the way and returning to the composing work he'd been at the day before. It was a convenient excuse to turn his back to John and drown him out as well, his mood taking a turn for the dark and ugly now that he'd been tossed unceremoniously out of his new found comfort zone.
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John didn't know why he was talking, his voice was being drowned out by the sound of the violin, and Sherlock's back certainly wasn't going to offer a reply. He felt bad. He felt really, really bad. Perhaps he had overreacted a tad. But he couldn't help it; the thought of sleeping next to Sherlock on the couch had been difficult the night before, the experience proving to be exceptionally enjoyable. But sleeping next to him in his bed? It really shouldn't be this much of a problem, they were both grown men, after all, and this was, as Sherlock had said from the introduction of the idea, an experiment. No more than that.
Then why did it feel like more than that? Why did it feel like John had somehow rejected Sherlock on a much deeper level? Why did he feel so guilty, and cold, when only a few moments ago he had felt warm, and happy. Genuinely happy. And it had seemed as though Sherlock had been right there with him, sharing in those feelings. It was... nice. No. It was wonderful. And John had ruined it, by opening his big mouth.
Sighing, he looked at Sherlock once more, as though staring at him could somehow will him to turn around. But John knew he would not. He was slipping away again. And John had done that. With a final look, John lingered in the doorway a moment, before heading to his own room. He needed a shower, and a change of clothes. He felt rotten.
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He vented his frustrations in this manner until he was sure John was gone, dropping his hands to let them hang loosely at his sides, staring out the sliver of daylight visible through the curtain on the window in front of him. He heaved a long sigh, placing his violin and bow gently down on the end table before moving to tug a box of old case files that had yet to be organized from under the desk.
He spent the next while digging through said box, scanning the information and placing them in growing piles all around where he was sat cross-legged on the floor. This was better, surrounding himself with easily categorized and relevant information. No messy emotions, no feelings, no John. Just data. Simple. Easy. Yes, this was exactly what he needed, thoroughly engrossed in the task to the point where it would take quite a lot to pull his focus.
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John stayed out for most of the day, visiting Mike and then Molly at St. Bart's, both of whom seemed confused to see John without Sherlock by his side. He must have come across a little scattered as well. He felt it. Everything just felt all wrong. It had been forever since he and Sherlock had a disagreement about something, and never, not once, had it felt this way. This... empty feeling that was eating away at him.
He returned in the evening hours, carrying a few grocery bags inside (probably wasn't going to mention the argument he'd gotten into with the man who tried to steal his spot in the queue).
"I'm home," he called out as he walked up the stairs and into the kitchen, not looking up to see if Sherlock was actually there himself. If he was, he'd probably been able to hear it was John coming in from the moment he turned his key. They knew one another so damnably well... Why on Earth had John made this so hard? Idiot.
"Remind me, are we sleeping in yours or mine tonight?" he asked as he put away the groceries, trying to sound casual about it.
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