Sherlock nodded, that having been the retort he'd been hoping for. He honestly didn't even think he could muster the energy to get up if he wanted to (and he certainly didn't want to). He made a soft noise of disapproval when John lifted his head, immediately returning to resting it against John's chest as soon as he got the opportunity.
He makes a noise that's a half-groan, half-whine at John's words. He knew this was just the beginning, and it was going to get unbearable very soon. He barely got through this the first time, and he wasn't looking forward to doing it again. It was made minutely more bearable to have John here, but it was still heroin withdrawal, and still wasn't a pretty picture.
He exhaled shakily as the shudders became more infrequent, trying to get comfortable against John again. He grunts irritably when John pulls back slightly, glaring up at him for a moment so he could see whatever he was looking for. His grip on his shirt relaxes and he moves his hand to put it around his back and press the side of his head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat, which he had learned earlier helped him to calm down and relax. He knew it wasn't a cure-all, and he knew that John would have to move eventually, but for now, he needed this, actually going still for a moment as he just listened to the rhythm of his heart. It may not be enough to get him back to sleep, but it helped.
John was just about to get out of bed and get him those pills and some water when he felt an arm slip around his back and force John toward Sherlock again. The man pressed his ear right on his chest and went completely still. John's heart began to race just a little at the sudden proximity and rather intimate embrace, John hoping that it wasn't showing as a blush on his cheeks right now.
He was about to say he needed to get up when he heard Sherlock whimper again and curl up. He was going back to sleep listening to the sound of his heartbeat. John's arms came back around and hugged Sherlock against him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Fingers ran soothingly down his back and threaded through his hair, holding Sherlock like he was as delicate as a porcelain doll. John stilled his hands and found himself drifting off again. That completely relaxing feeling that came over him when he stayed in bed too long after waking up, it just seemed to be an automatic response.
He was going back to sleep, and he hoped Sherlock was going there right along with him. If he could sleep through his withdrawal then nothing would make the doctor happier. That wasn't going to happen, but John could sure hope it did.
Sherlock closed his eyes and listened intently to John's heartbeat, hearing it jump in tempo after a moment. He wasn't exactly sure why John's heart quickened so suddenly, but he didn't have it in him to consider it as he focused on just trying to get his own breathing under control. The iron grip he had on John's shirt relaxed slightly, calming down a bit thanks to the apparent healing properties of John's presence.
His eyelids fluttered open at the kiss to his forehead, about to ask where that had come from before the words died in his throat at what John was doing now. His touch was doing wonders for taking the edge off the withdrawal, and he couldn't help but shiver again, though not from withdrawal this time, but from the oddly pleasurable sensation of John's fingers massaging his scalp. He really liked that, and any half-hearted protests or queries as to what was happening here fell to the wayside as he pressed up against him again. The only sign of protest came when John stilled, and he nudged his head against his hand with an insistent whine in an effort to get him to keep going.
The soft scrape of his dull nails against Sherlock's scalp seemed more like something a feline would appreciate more than a human, but it only seemed to make the doctor grin sleepily at the idea that Sherlock was more cat than human anyways. Sherlock's hands flattened out against his shirt, arms circling his waist and he felt the lanky man unravel a touch more.
He pressed his lips once more to Sherlock's forehead, letting them settle there again like they had in the cab ride home. John's free hand wiped the sweat off of his cheek with a long sleeve. The fingers through his hair continued at a steady, slow pace while John silently prayed to any god available out there to help his flatmate through this, mouthing the words silently against his warm brow.
Sherlock went boneless against him when his fingers started their work again, never imagining that something so simple could feel so good. He still wasn't sure what any of this meant. Was John just being a caring doctor with this show of affection? Was it special treatment just because Sherlock was his friend and unexpectedly tactile? Or...something else? He had absolutely no idea what the explanation could be, but he pushed aside his interminable curiosity for a moment in favor of just enjoying whatever it happened to be.
He kept his eyes closed and nuzzled his chest, his hands keeping a hold on him as though to assure himself that John wasn't going anywhere (not that he thought for a moment that he would). He exhaled softly with another shiver of approval, fingers flexing for purchase on his back as he pressed in impossibly close.
The shivering stopped, the sweating still remained. He was physically allowing the drug out of his system by it, so John didn't really mind the fact that Sherlock was soaking him in their close proximity. He could hear every whimper and groan Sherlock made while he was pressed to his chest, fingers slowly coming to a stand still, still in his hair, as John felt the moment quiet enough to allow him a bit more rest.
Sherlock didn't move, nor did John for another few blissful hours. When John stirred again, he realized his lips were still pressed to the detective's forehead and Sherlock was snoring ever so soundly. He didn't risk moving again, eyes glancing down along the impossibly long limbs curled up under the blanket, his feet unable to fit given the state he'd curled up in, John smiled against his temple.
John just observed for the few minutes he had before he had to move again and possibly wake Sherlock, reminding him of what his body was doing to him to get rid of the heroin. Not that it was his intention to wake him, but it was bound to happen, and John would feel really bad for doing it ... much like when a kitten falls asleep in your lap and you really have to pee, but the kitten seems to have priority over your own need.
Sherlock sighed complacently as he got comfortable again, actually relaxing enough to drift off against him again. John was apparently some miraculous cure for insomnia, to the point where Sherlock would later wonder if he would have a regular sleep schedule if he slept curled up against John every night. At the moment, though, all thought was gone in favor of sleep.
He managed to stay asleep for a few hours before making a drowsy grumble of protest when John moved slightly, burying his face in his chest again for another moment. He stayed like that for a second before opening his eyes and glancing up at John. He actually felt alright for the moment, and he gave him a sleepy smile to show it. "Do you do this for all your patients, doctor?" he asked sardonically, giving him a quick squeeze of a hug before unlatching his arms and stretching them over his head with a soft hum of contentment.
When Sherlock gazed up at him like that, John felt his breath catch in his throat, swallowing it back and quickly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "No, only accidentally drugged ones ... which is to say, only you."
When those arms pulled away, John felt instantly cold and missed the loss of his weight. But he had his chance. He hesitated only a moment before sitting up to skip off to the loo to relieve himself. He came back and climbed right back into bed, returning to the warmth of Sherlock to judge his overall health. He may be smiling, but it could be a facade. John felt his cheek, he wasn't overly burning up like before. The sweating had even stopped. He had a few little twitches, but by now it was growing difficult to distinguish the usual tweaks of the detective and the drug ones.
Right now it didn't seem to matter, because Sherlock was staring at him. Right at him, and John was captivated. "You look ... better." He tilted his head to the side just a touch, realizing how plain and boring that sounded. But it was true, he didn't look like death was warming over him any longer.
Sherlock managed a soft chuckle at that, groaning as he stretched out his stiff limbs. He huffed a sigh when John pulled away, tugging the blanket up to his chin to make up for the lost warmth until John returned. He let his eyes fall shut momentarily when John touched his cheek, a slight smile still present on his face as he leaned into the touch. He opened his eyes again, meeting John's gaze with an expression of uncharacteristic but genuine warmth. "I feel better." he replied, unperturbed by the banality of the exchange. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." he said sheepishly, moving his hand to rest it on John's side, flicking his eyes back up to his face as though to make sure it was still okay. "Thank you."
He paused in contemplation for a moment, realizing that he was possibly overstaying his welcome now that the worst was over (at least, for now). He didn't want to go, but John had been more than accommodating already, and he didn't want to put him off when he'd been so understanding. "I suppose I could vacate your bed now, if you'd like."
Their eyes locked and John didn't feel that overwhelming power of Sherlock trying to figure out his intentions. Right now, his only intention was to smile and stretch and enjoy this moment.
When Sherlock thanked him, he realized just how much he wanted to kiss him. "You are very welcome ... the pleasure's been all mine ... " Brushing his curls back from his forehead, John pursed his lips and let his eyes wander to the detective's very distinctive lips. Often, when Sherlock goes on a rant, all John will do is zone out and watch his lips move, because they are some of the most unique lips he'd ever seen on a bloke.
"Mmmn, no. I don't think you can. You look 'terrible' and deserve breakfast in bed. That is, if you feel like tea and toast?" John offering to make them breakfast wasn't out of the usual. What was out of the usual was that it was around 5 am and the sun hadn't come up yet. Making a pre-dawn breakfast was John's specialty. And for Sherlock, he'd make anything if the man was hungry.
Sherlock just kept smiling lazily up at him, nothing on his mind at the moment except for being grateful for the break in the symptoms as well as for John's role in helping him through it. He almost said 'you don't have to lie' as a joking retort to John's words, but it honestly seemed like he was telling the truth. Maybe he hadn't been the only one to get something out of this, though whatever John had to gain he had no idea.
He tilted his head curiously when John refuted his offer, dissolving into a grin when he continued. "I am feeling a little peckish. Be careful, though. There's the distinct possibility that I could get used to this sort of treatment." he replied, not used to having someone jump at the chance to take care of him. Then, he supposed, that was what was so wonderful and surprising about John.
"Heaven forbid, that." His smile was a little brighter as he moved from the bed again, explaining that he'll be back in a jiffy. After about ten minutes, John returned with a tray of toast, jam, tea, and some headache pills. Even if Sherlock wasn't in pain, it wouldn't hurt to head the pain off a bit.
He'd also managed to get the morning paper. If Sherlock didn't have an experiment already growing in the only small vase they had, he would've kipped a flower from Mrs. Hudson's flowerbed and put it on the tray too, if that didn't seem all too cliche of a thing. Good thing John thought of that after he'd already trudged up the stairs with the tray. His shoulder was twinging a bit still, but it was to be expected.
Sherlock laughed lightly at that, wishing only that John didn't have to get up and take his warmth with him, even if it was only for a few minutes. He settled back into bed when he left, closing his eyes and breathing deep the scent of John's pillow that he'd commandeered for the moment. He had become rather taken with his scent during his stay in his bed, to the point where he was sure he would end up sneaking into his bed whenever he got the chance. He tried not to think about how the only chance he'd probably get would be if John stayed with Sarah.
He was grateful that he didn't get time to dwell on that fact, as he heard John trudging up the stairs and he adjusted the pillows so he could sit up and wait for him, smiling warmly when he came into view. "I think Mrs. Hudson will be grateful to hear that we found a proper housekeeper." he teased.
"Oh, ha ha." He set the tray in Sherlock's lap, giving his shoulder a slight shove, "One. Time. Only. You've used up your 'Doctor gives you breakfast in bed' card, can't get that one back. So enjoy this moment for all it's worth." John grabbed up his own mug and grabbed a piece of toast for himself before allowing Sherlock his choice of the rest of the pile of toast he'd made.
John reached under his bed for his laptop, silently cursing himself for giving away its hiding spot to Sherlock. His passwords were getting harder and harder to remember to try and keep Sherlock out. He hoped Sherlock would give him a break and not hack it for once. He set the mug down on his nightstand and flipped open the laptop to check his emails, scooting back up against the headboard. They were shoulder to shoulder then, nearly touching. John had his toast stuck in his mouth, chewing on it idly and using his tongue to pull more of it into his mouth to take another bite, no hands. He was too busy typing.
Sherlock just grinned impishly at him, grabbing a piece of toast and nibbling on the corner. "Well that hardly seems fair, considering you offered to do it." he gibed, raising his eyebrows as he eyed him playfully. He picked up the newspaper and scanned the headlines, searching in vain for something to hold his interest.
He smirks knowingly when he sees John grab his laptop from what he apparently thought was a good hiding spot. He would be safe for the most part if he left it there, considering it was mostly about which laptop was closer to him when he was feeling particularly lazy. Trudging all the way upstairs to get John's would be way too much work, so he would leave it be.
He went quiet as he flipped through the newspaper, sighing theatrically as how dreadfully boring the outside world was today. "Bored." he announced restlessly, tossing the paper back onto the tray. He flicked his eyes over to John when he didn't react at first, sighing pointedly in a bid for his attention. He wasn't above childishly repeating his name to pull his focus from the laptop if he had to. For now, he continued to chew on his toast and just stare at John until he acknowledged him somehow.
Oh, John heard him. He could sense his boredom in his wiggly state beside him. John decided to run a little experiment of his own. How long could he ignore the attention seeking behaviors of his flatmate. That was easy, given his laptop was open and there were plenty of sites he wished to visit. Having barely any hours at the surgery gave him ample time to browse the internet for stupid, funny, dumb shite that amused the hell out of him for some reason.
Then he got the stare. That stare that he always did yet seemed different given the right occasion; the one that made most criminals give up their secrets, made ladies melt, and made Doctor's a little squirmy to say the least. John's cheeks were tingling as he tried very hard not to smile at that.
Five minutes of huffing and puffing, sighing dramatically and, if given probably another two minutes would've resulted in Sherlock flinging his limbs about and stretching, John gave in and laughed. "Yes, I know. You're bored. You are free to leave the bed if you like. I said you could stay, but that doesn't mean you can't leave if you're that bored." John was a slow morning person, particularly now that he didn't have any early shifts to contend with. He looked like a big old sleepy mess right now and didn't care, because he had his tea, he had his toast, and he had his detective.
Grabbing another slice to shove in his gob, John smiled around it when Sherlock turned to give him 'the look.' That look of 'entertain me right this second or I'm going to go burn something in the kitchen.' John could only smile.
He makes a noise that's a half-groan, half-whine at John's words. He knew this was just the beginning, and it was going to get unbearable very soon. He barely got through this the first time, and he wasn't looking forward to doing it again. It was made minutely more bearable to have John here, but it was still heroin withdrawal, and still wasn't a pretty picture.
He exhaled shakily as the shudders became more infrequent, trying to get comfortable against John again. He grunts irritably when John pulls back slightly, glaring up at him for a moment so he could see whatever he was looking for. His grip on his shirt relaxes and he moves his hand to put it around his back and press the side of his head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat, which he had learned earlier helped him to calm down and relax. He knew it wasn't a cure-all, and he knew that John would have to move eventually, but for now, he needed this, actually going still for a moment as he just listened to the rhythm of his heart. It may not be enough to get him back to sleep, but it helped.
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He was about to say he needed to get up when he heard Sherlock whimper again and curl up. He was going back to sleep listening to the sound of his heartbeat. John's arms came back around and hugged Sherlock against him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Fingers ran soothingly down his back and threaded through his hair, holding Sherlock like he was as delicate as a porcelain doll. John stilled his hands and found himself drifting off again. That completely relaxing feeling that came over him when he stayed in bed too long after waking up, it just seemed to be an automatic response.
He was going back to sleep, and he hoped Sherlock was going there right along with him. If he could sleep through his withdrawal then nothing would make the doctor happier. That wasn't going to happen, but John could sure hope it did.
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His eyelids fluttered open at the kiss to his forehead, about to ask where that had come from before the words died in his throat at what John was doing now. His touch was doing wonders for taking the edge off the withdrawal, and he couldn't help but shiver again, though not from withdrawal this time, but from the oddly pleasurable sensation of John's fingers massaging his scalp. He really liked that, and any half-hearted protests or queries as to what was happening here fell to the wayside as he pressed up against him again. The only sign of protest came when John stilled, and he nudged his head against his hand with an insistent whine in an effort to get him to keep going.
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He pressed his lips once more to Sherlock's forehead, letting them settle there again like they had in the cab ride home. John's free hand wiped the sweat off of his cheek with a long sleeve. The fingers through his hair continued at a steady, slow pace while John silently prayed to any god available out there to help his flatmate through this, mouthing the words silently against his warm brow.
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He kept his eyes closed and nuzzled his chest, his hands keeping a hold on him as though to assure himself that John wasn't going anywhere (not that he thought for a moment that he would). He exhaled softly with another shiver of approval, fingers flexing for purchase on his back as he pressed in impossibly close.
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Sherlock didn't move, nor did John for another few blissful hours. When John stirred again, he realized his lips were still pressed to the detective's forehead and Sherlock was snoring ever so soundly. He didn't risk moving again, eyes glancing down along the impossibly long limbs curled up under the blanket, his feet unable to fit given the state he'd curled up in, John smiled against his temple.
John just observed for the few minutes he had before he had to move again and possibly wake Sherlock, reminding him of what his body was doing to him to get rid of the heroin. Not that it was his intention to wake him, but it was bound to happen, and John would feel really bad for doing it ... much like when a kitten falls asleep in your lap and you really have to pee, but the kitten seems to have priority over your own need.
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He managed to stay asleep for a few hours before making a drowsy grumble of protest when John moved slightly, burying his face in his chest again for another moment. He stayed like that for a second before opening his eyes and glancing up at John. He actually felt alright for the moment, and he gave him a sleepy smile to show it. "Do you do this for all your patients, doctor?" he asked sardonically, giving him a quick squeeze of a hug before unlatching his arms and stretching them over his head with a soft hum of contentment.
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When those arms pulled away, John felt instantly cold and missed the loss of his weight. But he had his chance. He hesitated only a moment before sitting up to skip off to the loo to relieve himself. He came back and climbed right back into bed, returning to the warmth of Sherlock to judge his overall health. He may be smiling, but it could be a facade. John felt his cheek, he wasn't overly burning up like before. The sweating had even stopped. He had a few little twitches, but by now it was growing difficult to distinguish the usual tweaks of the detective and the drug ones.
Right now it didn't seem to matter, because Sherlock was staring at him. Right at him, and John was captivated. "You look ... better." He tilted his head to the side just a touch, realizing how plain and boring that sounded. But it was true, he didn't look like death was warming over him any longer.
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He paused in contemplation for a moment, realizing that he was possibly overstaying his welcome now that the worst was over (at least, for now). He didn't want to go, but John had been more than accommodating already, and he didn't want to put him off when he'd been so understanding. "I suppose I could vacate your bed now, if you'd like."
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When Sherlock thanked him, he realized just how much he wanted to kiss him. "You are very welcome ... the pleasure's been all mine ... " Brushing his curls back from his forehead, John pursed his lips and let his eyes wander to the detective's very distinctive lips. Often, when Sherlock goes on a rant, all John will do is zone out and watch his lips move, because they are some of the most unique lips he'd ever seen on a bloke.
"Mmmn, no. I don't think you can. You look 'terrible' and deserve breakfast in bed. That is, if you feel like tea and toast?" John offering to make them breakfast wasn't out of the usual. What was out of the usual was that it was around 5 am and the sun hadn't come up yet. Making a pre-dawn breakfast was John's specialty. And for Sherlock, he'd make anything if the man was hungry.
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He tilted his head curiously when John refuted his offer, dissolving into a grin when he continued. "I am feeling a little peckish. Be careful, though. There's the distinct possibility that I could get used to this sort of treatment." he replied, not used to having someone jump at the chance to take care of him. Then, he supposed, that was what was so wonderful and surprising about John.
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He'd also managed to get the morning paper. If Sherlock didn't have an experiment already growing in the only small vase they had, he would've kipped a flower from Mrs. Hudson's flowerbed and put it on the tray too, if that didn't seem all too cliche of a thing. Good thing John thought of that after he'd already trudged up the stairs with the tray. His shoulder was twinging a bit still, but it was to be expected.
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He was grateful that he didn't get time to dwell on that fact, as he heard John trudging up the stairs and he adjusted the pillows so he could sit up and wait for him, smiling warmly when he came into view. "I think Mrs. Hudson will be grateful to hear that we found a proper housekeeper." he teased.
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John reached under his bed for his laptop, silently cursing himself for giving away its hiding spot to Sherlock. His passwords were getting harder and harder to remember to try and keep Sherlock out. He hoped Sherlock would give him a break and not hack it for once. He set the mug down on his nightstand and flipped open the laptop to check his emails, scooting back up against the headboard. They were shoulder to shoulder then, nearly touching. John had his toast stuck in his mouth, chewing on it idly and using his tongue to pull more of it into his mouth to take another bite, no hands. He was too busy typing.
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He smirks knowingly when he sees John grab his laptop from what he apparently thought was a good hiding spot. He would be safe for the most part if he left it there, considering it was mostly about which laptop was closer to him when he was feeling particularly lazy. Trudging all the way upstairs to get John's would be way too much work, so he would leave it be.
He went quiet as he flipped through the newspaper, sighing theatrically as how dreadfully boring the outside world was today. "Bored." he announced restlessly, tossing the paper back onto the tray. He flicked his eyes over to John when he didn't react at first, sighing pointedly in a bid for his attention. He wasn't above childishly repeating his name to pull his focus from the laptop if he had to. For now, he continued to chew on his toast and just stare at John until he acknowledged him somehow.
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Then he got the stare. That stare that he always did yet seemed different given the right occasion; the one that made most criminals give up their secrets, made ladies melt, and made Doctor's a little squirmy to say the least. John's cheeks were tingling as he tried very hard not to smile at that.
Five minutes of huffing and puffing, sighing dramatically and, if given probably another two minutes would've resulted in Sherlock flinging his limbs about and stretching, John gave in and laughed. "Yes, I know. You're bored. You are free to leave the bed if you like. I said you could stay, but that doesn't mean you can't leave if you're that bored." John was a slow morning person, particularly now that he didn't have any early shifts to contend with. He looked like a big old sleepy mess right now and didn't care, because he had his tea, he had his toast, and he had his detective.
Grabbing another slice to shove in his gob, John smiled around it when Sherlock turned to give him 'the look.' That look of 'entertain me right this second or I'm going to go burn something in the kitchen.' John could only smile.
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