Sherlock gave John a leveled gaze, unperturbed as he allowed the vial to be taken from him. There was a moment where he wanted to take it back, wrest the vial from him and lock himself in his room to take the next dose. He really didn't want to admit it to himself, but the looming threat of withdrawal had him terrified. He didn't make the move, and indeed didn't have the chance before John was heaving it against the wall and he felt the tensity leave his shoulders that he hadn't realized was there. The yearning had been like a physical weight that was lifted now that the temptation was alleviated.
He didn't watch where the vial hit the wall, instead watching John with all his pent-up rage and unsaid concerns finally get an outlet for his anger that wasn't Sherlock (which he more than appreciated). He kept his eyes on him, watching John intently as John observed what he'd just done. He nods once, a slight smirk twitching at his lips at the realization that John and Sherlock's feelings for John were stronger than his addiction could ever hope to be, or else he would have never given up that vial. "Well. I suppose that's that." he said casually, moving back to the couch to settle in with his tea again.
Automatically answering that generic observation, John gave a curt not and a 'yeah' in response, still watching the shards of glass still stuck to the wall, the paint of the smiley face was beginning to run a touch.
John gave a hard sigh and spun around to look at Sherlock retreating back to his couch. Sherlock wasn't off the hook just yet. He had lied to him, but made up for it by producing the vial and giving it up straight off. But right now, John was sure he was running on so little sleep that he was sure if he took to his bed right now, he would pass out the second his head hit the pillow. But a nap was all he could afford. It may be bedtime to John's body, but Sherlock wasn't exactly going to be left alone all night.
"I've got to go lay down ... " John was about to say 'come with me' but the words caught in his throat. "Will you be okay for a couple hours?" he said instead, instilling a touch of trust back into Sherlock that he didn't have ANOTHER vial hiding somewhere. He pulled out his phone and set the alarm to wake him in two hours while he waited for Sherlock to answer.
Sherlock took a long drink of tea, eying John over the cup as he did so. John was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, it seemed, so it was hardly a surprise when he said he needed to get some rest. At the question, Sherlock mulled it over for a moment. He honestly had no idea. He'd done some desperate and crazy things to get his fix the last time, and he didn't want to go through that again. He could tell by the clamminess of his hands around the by now lukewarm tea that the chills and desperation of detoxing wasn't far off, and would likely get bad enough for Sherlock to do something crazy before John woke up. He doesn't answer, instead setting his tea down and standing to consider John.
"You're a light sleeper." he said in a sudden non-sequitur, an idea forming for how to get John to keep an eye on him even while sleeping. "It's likely annoying when you have a partner, being as you would wake every time the other party would move to get up." he continued by way of an explanation, hoping John would catch his meaning. He didn't trust himself that he wouldn't try to leave and get another fix when the withdrawal got too bad, and this was the perfect solution to have John keep tabs on him so that wouldn't happen. He left the room without further preamble, moving to his bedroom to change into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. He moved back to meet John in the sitting room, jerking his head in the direction of John's room in a gesture to say 'hurry up before I change my mind'. "I could lay on top of the covers if that's less invasive, though it would probably be better to make sure you wake if I didn't. Honestly, the best way would probably be if we were touching somehow, as I would be forced to actually move you in order to get up." he mused, more to himself than anything as he set off in the direction of John's room. Social protocol of 'sleeping in your flatmate's bed with them is strange' didn't bother him at all. It was a just a solution to a problem; it didn't mean anything. He was sure John would be the first one to remind him that it didn't mean anything.
The out of the blue question threw John for a loop, wondering how Sherlock figured that out about him. John blinked a few times as he started this random chain of thoughts before it started to dawn on him what he was saying. His brain wasn't quite up to the task of saying anything to stop it.
That was when he realized Sherlock had disappeared and come out of his bedroom in his pajamas. As Sherlock returned right where he left off, John was standing in the same place, staring at the back of Sherlock's curly head for a moment.
Sherlock didn't stop at the steps, and John started for them at a quicker pace to catch up. His lips were trying to form a protest, that this wasn't a good idea, when Sherlock made it to the door of his room and turned to face John, waiting for him to open it and let them both in. "I'm not -- this isn't -- " John began, and Sherlock's lips curled into that knowing smirk. The doctor just gave him a frown, feeling the beginnings of something not all that good.
Flatmate's didn't share beds, even if that was Mrs. Hudson's first reaction. Even if Angelo just assumed a candle was necessary at their dinner table, John was not, nor would he ever be Sherlock's date. At least that is what he kept trying to convince himself, and others around him of that. He wasn't anything special, just a stupid, ordinary man. Sherlock would get bored. He should be bored by now. Perhaps he was just humoring him.
With the grogginess taking full effect, John couldn't give any more signs of protest and just opened his bedroom door and walked in, letting Sherlock follow after him.
Sherlock caught the bemused look on John's face as he rattled off his plan, the way he was ten steps ahead of him never failing to give him a smug sense of satisfaction. He could almost hear John's brain working as it strained to comprehend what he was trying to say. He stood to the side of the door and watched him expectantly, wondering if he was going to protest this at all. He raised his eyebrows as he spoke in a 'yes, go on' expression, finally dissolving into a smirk when he couldn't quite articulate an answer.
"Problem?" he asked coolly in his trademark insufferably self-satisfied way. He grinned when John gave in and opened the door, following him in slowly as he took in the only room in the house that didn't have him all over it. Until now, he supposed. It was oddly exciting to him, finally being allowed into the uncharted territory of John's room. It was simply furnished and completely organized, a far cry from Sherlock's room with experiments on every shelf and stacks of newspapers and books littering the floor. Though, that was what made it was nice, and what made it so very John. His bed looked comfortable, too, and Sherlock really wanted to settle in and maybe even get some rest himself. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe he wouldn't need three blankets on his bed if he had someone to share it with. He walked over to one side of the bed and tilted his head at it before quickly moving to the other side, easily able to tell which side John preferred. He pulled back the covers and got comfortable, blinking owlishly up at John before pulling back the other side of the blanket. "Come on, then. You need to sleep." he urged, absolutely unperturbed by the fact that he was getting cozy in his flatmate's bed and asking said flatmate to join him.
It was the drugs. It was the drugs, and your exhaustion John. The Doctor barely moved past the threshold as he watched Sherlock peer around his room. He suddenly felt a little wary at the way those deductive eyes were passing over his few things. It was as if he was letting Sherlock see him naked, and that didn't really make him feel any better right now.
He swallowed thickly and moved over to his closet to get ready for his nap. This meant just removing his sweater and jeans, rather quickly given the other man in the room was staring at him expectantly from his bed -- he knew he was staring, he could feel it. John very quickly threw on his pj bottoms and switched out his t-shirt for a fresher one. The whole ordeal at the abandoned office building had him feeling less than fresh, understandably so. He disappeared for a moment to the loo, feeling a little self conscious about it before returning quickly to his room a little cleaner and slid into bed.
Tucking the blanket a little modestly between them, John's bed was barely big enough for both of them. It would be next to impossible for Sherlock's lanky limbs to not hang off of it or touch John in some way. He might not get any rest if that was the case, he feared.
Sherlock watched in idle interest as John got dressed, his curiosity piqued a bit when he saw the scar on his shoulder when he removed hi shirt. He had always wanted to see it since he found out it was there, and the little glimpse he got of it wasn't enough. He almost wanted to ask him to leave his shirt off so he could get a proper look at it, but refrained, thinking that would fall under the 'not good' category.
He wriggled with an expectant smile when John got into bed, though he was somewhat disappointed that the blanket was going to separate them. He wasn't sure where that had come from, though he chalked it up to the fact that he couldn't have his experiment of how much heat was added when another body was present in the same bed. That had to be it. He couldn't help but shiver at the cold blankets over him that hadn't been warmed enough by his body yet. He actually hadn't meant to do that, but it may be advantageous if John took pity on him and let him press against him to steal his body heat and actually get to see how much warmer it would get like that.
He curled up on his side, nuzzling into the pillow as he kept his eyes on John. He was getting too comfortable here, despite knowing that this was very much a one-time thing. Still, he wasn't looking forward to going back to his own bed after this was over. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and waited for the tell-tale signs that John was asleep.
It seemed to take a good deal longer to fall asleep than he thought. When John was this exhausted, sleep should come easily. But the eyes at the back of his head seemed to keep him from really drifting off. Eventually, John turns over and looks at Sherlock, the detective just expectantly staring at him. It was more than a little unnerving to see that rather than just think he felt eyes on him.
"What, d'you ... need another blanket?" John shifted a tiny bit more. Sherlock shifted as well, closer even and started to unravel the blanket between them. John gave up on modesty then and noticed the slight shivers. Trying to blink a bit of the sleep from his eyes, he shifted to face him and press the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead. He was cold to the touch. John finally took pity.
Flinging his blanket up, he invited Sherlock closer to share his warmth. But this was temporary. Very, very temporary. Extremely. One time only.
Sherlock just waited and watched John's back, wondering idly just how long it would take him to drift off. He blinks in vague surprise when he turns to face him, unsure of what was keeping him from his sleep, considering how tired he seemed when he mentioned the need for a nap. He shrugs when asked if he needed a blanket, subtly edging closer when John moved a bit. There's a soft exhale when John touches his forehead, not realizing how cold he was nor how warm John was until that moment. He shivered once again when a chill hit him, somewhat worried by the fact that he didn't have to wonder how much worse the chills would get, considering he'd been through this once already.
He was equal parts pleased and uneasy when John relented and allowed him closer, pausing for a moment as he examined how best to approach this. He very slowly moved over to him, cautiously resting his head on his shoulder and placing a hand gently on his chest as though afraid to be pushed away at any moment. He relaxed instantly against him when he found the perfect spot where he seemed to fit surprisingly well. He sighed complacently and pressed himself flush against his side, actually closing his eyes at how much warmer and more comfortable he was already. Maybe he'd actually get more sleep if he had this to look forward to every night. He tried not to dwell on the fact that this would never be happening again, concentrating on enjoying the moment and counting John's breath and heartbeats to lull him into a state of contentment. He told himself that he would just buy a heating blanket to mimic the effect, but blankets didn't breath, have heartbeats and -the most glaring flaw in his eyes- weren't John Watson.
John was shocked at how fast Sherlock melted against him. Much like a cat finding the best way to nest against you, John felt the man just settle into the perfect little spot against his side. John was used to sleeping on his back, the extra weight of Sherlock's head on his shoulder didn't bother him yet, and it most likely wouldn't. Because he didn't want to lose this. It was incredible.
John reached his free hand towards the one on his chest, grasping it and offering a light squeeze to it before letting it settle again against his chest. His fingers slid away and John turned then to switch off the light. The dark made his eyelids extremely heavy and he found himself drifting off rather quickly just then. He tilted his head just enough to feel his brunet curls against his lips again.
Sherlock's eyelids flickered when he felt John's hand on his, a sleepy smile gracing his face as he gave his hand a gentle squeeze back. He was distantly surprised by just how easy this was. He had never been so close to someone, and it was strange just how natural it felt, like he somehow instinctively knew exactly what to do despite how completely foreign this situation was. He was still surprised that he had ended up here, but then in this moment he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. It was going to be decidedly more difficult to sleep in his own bed, that was for certain. He could already feel his eyelids pulling themselves closed again right away as he settled against him. This was the quickest he'd fallen asleep in recent memory, possibly ever. How was his own bed supposed to compare after this? Barely moments after the light was out, he was too.
This wasn't suppose to feel good, but it did. Oh it certainly did. John was out like the light, breathing Sherlock's shampoo scent while he slept. It would be a miracle if they spoke of this moment tomorrow, John not quite sure what this meant. It was far too wonderful a thing to only allow once. But how can he come off as 'not gay' when he liked sleeping next to Sherlock?
More than two hours passed and John shifted to let Sherlock's head drop to the pillow and move face to face with him. He was still completely asleep, sliding a hand up along the detective's side, bunching into his t-shirt a little as he pressed himself just a touch closer.
Unlike John, Sherlock slept like a rock. He didn't move at all after he fell asleep, at least not until John shifted and he squirmed in sleep as he tried to keep himself as close as possible. There was only one thing that could wake him in this state, and that was the shudder that wracked his body and threatened to rouse him just in time to become a shivering mess of detox symptoms. He kept his eyes closed defiantly as he tried to keep from being woken up by the chills he was experiencing. He whimpers softly in sleep, his fingers trembling as he gripped John's shirt and moves in to huddle against him and hope against hope that he'll stop shaking by the time John wakes up.
Realizing quite possibly that he hadn't set his alarm right, John didn't bother to wake after his two hour nap. It stretched a little longer but was rather quietly awakened by the feel of the detective's shivers.
Blinking his eyes open slowly, he's faced with Sherlock's scrunched up face with a smear of sweat across his brow and the man clinging to him with white knuckled fists in his shirt. Ever so gingerly, John reached his hand up between their extremely close bodies to press his palm to his cheek. He was absolutely burning up.
"Sh--Sherlock ... wake up for me. C'mon, please?" He whispered those words against the man's temple, hands inching down to feel for his pulse against his neck and just get a rough judge of it. His heart was pumping fast, a bit too fast he'd say. He tried again, "Sherlock ... you're crashing. You've got to wake up." Those words just sounded a little too desperate for his taste, but they'd been said and there was no going back.
Sherlock kept a firm grip on John's shirt with hands that wouldn't stop shaking, realizing that there would be no way to sleep through this after another moment. He stilled for a moment when John touched his face, hearing him speak without discerning the words for a moment. He caught the 'wake up' the second time, and he finally laboriously opened his eyes to see John, not liking the worry on his face that was instilled there.
He shook his head at nothing in particular, tugging himself closer to press his forehead against his chest in an effort to hide his pained expression from John. "I apologize for waking you." he said softly, trying anything to divert from focusing on how weak he felt at this moment. "I can relocate...if you'd like." he muttered, though he made no move to get up.
"You will certainly not relocate ... " John shifted a touch, digging a hand down to lift his chin up off his chest and look him in the face without going cross eyed. His pupils were completely blown, his eyes restlessly moving back and forth, hands clammy against his shirt. He could do nothing more than tug him in closer and rest his chin atop Sherlock's sweaty head.
"I expected this ... I was waiting for it ... I know the worst is about to start, so I'm on call the rest of the night." Sherlock was dead weight against him, but John felt almost safe when he was being crushed by Sherlock. At least he was sure the man was not able to physically move now without assistance, he was safe against his own addiction.
Once the initial tremors began to level off into just a restless writhe, John loosened up his arms if only to observe him a bit better. His skin was bordering on ashy, his lips were completely dry. John had to get him some water and perhaps some nausea medication. It was bound to appear soon.
He didn't watch where the vial hit the wall, instead watching John with all his pent-up rage and unsaid concerns finally get an outlet for his anger that wasn't Sherlock (which he more than appreciated). He kept his eyes on him, watching John intently as John observed what he'd just done. He nods once, a slight smirk twitching at his lips at the realization that John and Sherlock's feelings for John were stronger than his addiction could ever hope to be, or else he would have never given up that vial. "Well. I suppose that's that." he said casually, moving back to the couch to settle in with his tea again.
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John gave a hard sigh and spun around to look at Sherlock retreating back to his couch. Sherlock wasn't off the hook just yet. He had lied to him, but made up for it by producing the vial and giving it up straight off. But right now, John was sure he was running on so little sleep that he was sure if he took to his bed right now, he would pass out the second his head hit the pillow. But a nap was all he could afford. It may be bedtime to John's body, but Sherlock wasn't exactly going to be left alone all night.
"I've got to go lay down ... " John was about to say 'come with me' but the words caught in his throat. "Will you be okay for a couple hours?" he said instead, instilling a touch of trust back into Sherlock that he didn't have ANOTHER vial hiding somewhere. He pulled out his phone and set the alarm to wake him in two hours while he waited for Sherlock to answer.
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"You're a light sleeper." he said in a sudden non-sequitur, an idea forming for how to get John to keep an eye on him even while sleeping. "It's likely annoying when you have a partner, being as you would wake every time the other party would move to get up." he continued by way of an explanation, hoping John would catch his meaning. He didn't trust himself that he wouldn't try to leave and get another fix when the withdrawal got too bad, and this was the perfect solution to have John keep tabs on him so that wouldn't happen. He left the room without further preamble, moving to his bedroom to change into an old t-shirt and pajama pants. He moved back to meet John in the sitting room, jerking his head in the direction of John's room in a gesture to say 'hurry up before I change my mind'. "I could lay on top of the covers if that's less invasive, though it would probably be better to make sure you wake if I didn't. Honestly, the best way would probably be if we were touching somehow, as I would be forced to actually move you in order to get up." he mused, more to himself than anything as he set off in the direction of John's room. Social protocol of 'sleeping in your flatmate's bed with them is strange' didn't bother him at all. It was a just a solution to a problem; it didn't mean anything. He was sure John would be the first one to remind him that it didn't mean anything.
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That was when he realized Sherlock had disappeared and come out of his bedroom in his pajamas. As Sherlock returned right where he left off, John was standing in the same place, staring at the back of Sherlock's curly head for a moment.
Sherlock didn't stop at the steps, and John started for them at a quicker pace to catch up. His lips were trying to form a protest, that this wasn't a good idea, when Sherlock made it to the door of his room and turned to face John, waiting for him to open it and let them both in. "I'm not -- this isn't -- " John began, and Sherlock's lips curled into that knowing smirk. The doctor just gave him a frown, feeling the beginnings of something not all that good.
Flatmate's didn't share beds, even if that was Mrs. Hudson's first reaction. Even if Angelo just assumed a candle was necessary at their dinner table, John was not, nor would he ever be Sherlock's date. At least that is what he kept trying to convince himself, and others around him of that. He wasn't anything special, just a stupid, ordinary man. Sherlock would get bored. He should be bored by now. Perhaps he was just humoring him.
With the grogginess taking full effect, John couldn't give any more signs of protest and just opened his bedroom door and walked in, letting Sherlock follow after him.
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"Problem?" he asked coolly in his trademark insufferably self-satisfied way. He grinned when John gave in and opened the door, following him in slowly as he took in the only room in the house that didn't have him all over it. Until now, he supposed. It was oddly exciting to him, finally being allowed into the uncharted territory of John's room. It was simply furnished and completely organized, a far cry from Sherlock's room with experiments on every shelf and stacks of newspapers and books littering the floor. Though, that was what made it was nice, and what made it so very John. His bed looked comfortable, too, and Sherlock really wanted to settle in and maybe even get some rest himself. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe he wouldn't need three blankets on his bed if he had someone to share it with. He walked over to one side of the bed and tilted his head at it before quickly moving to the other side, easily able to tell which side John preferred. He pulled back the covers and got comfortable, blinking owlishly up at John before pulling back the other side of the blanket. "Come on, then. You need to sleep." he urged, absolutely unperturbed by the fact that he was getting cozy in his flatmate's bed and asking said flatmate to join him.
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He swallowed thickly and moved over to his closet to get ready for his nap. This meant just removing his sweater and jeans, rather quickly given the other man in the room was staring at him expectantly from his bed -- he knew he was staring, he could feel it. John very quickly threw on his pj bottoms and switched out his t-shirt for a fresher one. The whole ordeal at the abandoned office building had him feeling less than fresh, understandably so. He disappeared for a moment to the loo, feeling a little self conscious about it before returning quickly to his room a little cleaner and slid into bed.
Tucking the blanket a little modestly between them, John's bed was barely big enough for both of them. It would be next to impossible for Sherlock's lanky limbs to not hang off of it or touch John in some way. He might not get any rest if that was the case, he feared.
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He wriggled with an expectant smile when John got into bed, though he was somewhat disappointed that the blanket was going to separate them. He wasn't sure where that had come from, though he chalked it up to the fact that he couldn't have his experiment of how much heat was added when another body was present in the same bed. That had to be it. He couldn't help but shiver at the cold blankets over him that hadn't been warmed enough by his body yet. He actually hadn't meant to do that, but it may be advantageous if John took pity on him and let him press against him to steal his body heat and actually get to see how much warmer it would get like that.
He curled up on his side, nuzzling into the pillow as he kept his eyes on John. He was getting too comfortable here, despite knowing that this was very much a one-time thing. Still, he wasn't looking forward to going back to his own bed after this was over. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and waited for the tell-tale signs that John was asleep.
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"What, d'you ... need another blanket?" John shifted a tiny bit more. Sherlock shifted as well, closer even and started to unravel the blanket between them. John gave up on modesty then and noticed the slight shivers. Trying to blink a bit of the sleep from his eyes, he shifted to face him and press the back of his hand to Sherlock's forehead. He was cold to the touch. John finally took pity.
Flinging his blanket up, he invited Sherlock closer to share his warmth. But this was temporary. Very, very temporary. Extremely. One time only.
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He was equal parts pleased and uneasy when John relented and allowed him closer, pausing for a moment as he examined how best to approach this. He very slowly moved over to him, cautiously resting his head on his shoulder and placing a hand gently on his chest as though afraid to be pushed away at any moment. He relaxed instantly against him when he found the perfect spot where he seemed to fit surprisingly well. He sighed complacently and pressed himself flush against his side, actually closing his eyes at how much warmer and more comfortable he was already. Maybe he'd actually get more sleep if he had this to look forward to every night. He tried not to dwell on the fact that this would never be happening again, concentrating on enjoying the moment and counting John's breath and heartbeats to lull him into a state of contentment. He told himself that he would just buy a heating blanket to mimic the effect, but blankets didn't breath, have heartbeats and -the most glaring flaw in his eyes- weren't John Watson.
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John reached his free hand towards the one on his chest, grasping it and offering a light squeeze to it before letting it settle again against his chest. His fingers slid away and John turned then to switch off the light. The dark made his eyelids extremely heavy and he found himself drifting off rather quickly just then. He tilted his head just enough to feel his brunet curls against his lips again.
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More than two hours passed and John shifted to let Sherlock's head drop to the pillow and move face to face with him. He was still completely asleep, sliding a hand up along the detective's side, bunching into his t-shirt a little as he pressed himself just a touch closer.
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Blinking his eyes open slowly, he's faced with Sherlock's scrunched up face with a smear of sweat across his brow and the man clinging to him with white knuckled fists in his shirt. Ever so gingerly, John reached his hand up between their extremely close bodies to press his palm to his cheek. He was absolutely burning up.
"Sh--Sherlock ... wake up for me. C'mon, please?" He whispered those words against the man's temple, hands inching down to feel for his pulse against his neck and just get a rough judge of it. His heart was pumping fast, a bit too fast he'd say. He tried again, "Sherlock ... you're crashing. You've got to wake up." Those words just sounded a little too desperate for his taste, but they'd been said and there was no going back.
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He shook his head at nothing in particular, tugging himself closer to press his forehead against his chest in an effort to hide his pained expression from John. "I apologize for waking you." he said softly, trying anything to divert from focusing on how weak he felt at this moment. "I can relocate...if you'd like." he muttered, though he made no move to get up.
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"I expected this ... I was waiting for it ... I know the worst is about to start, so I'm on call the rest of the night." Sherlock was dead weight against him, but John felt almost safe when he was being crushed by Sherlock. At least he was sure the man was not able to physically move now without assistance, he was safe against his own addiction.
Once the initial tremors began to level off into just a restless writhe, John loosened up his arms if only to observe him a bit better. His skin was bordering on ashy, his lips were completely dry. John had to get him some water and perhaps some nausea medication. It was bound to appear soon.
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