John's hand briefly stilled on Sherlock's cheek at the other's unexpected words. At length, he exhaled, slowly, feeling quite emotional all of a sudden. Trust Sherlock to bring him off his balance even in sleep. No, him staying made no sense. But leaving was not an option, would never be an option. He would not know what to do with himself. It was pathetic, really, how much he leaned on Sherlock's presence in his life; and terrifying to think how quickly that had come to pass
( ... )
"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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
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
( ... )
Sherlock caught all the subtleties that most people would miss, recognizing the way John lingered in the shower and in doorways like he wanted to say something. He'd said enough already, Sherlock thought bitterly, cursing himself for being so foolish in thinking that they could hold on to the beatific atmosphere of that morning forever
( ... )
John continued to busy himself with putting away the groceries, distantly grateful for the mindless task while he tried to figure out what to say. What could he say? He'd certainly had no problem speaking his mind that morning. Which was exactly the problem. Sometimes, John needed not to think so much. There was enough of that going on in this household. Head and heart, wasn't that what Greg had said down at the station once? Sherlock was the brains of their relationship, and a relationship it was. They spent nearly every waking hour with each other, knew the other better than anyone. They looked after each other, both in their own, distinctive ways, but even so. John had taken more than two steps back that morning, and his reaction had been thoroughly unfair towards his flatmate. He would have to set this right somehow
( ... )
Sherlock acted for all the world like his book was the most engrossing thing in existence, only if to make it seem like he wasn't waiting for John to approach him again. he didn't react when John entered, steeling himself for another lecture about how improper and unconventional his social habits were. He knew that already, thank you very much
( ... )
John sighed softly in relief when Sherlock lowered the book and looked at him. He had felt lost all day, and not until their eyes locked did he feel at ease again. It felt, strangely, like coming home.
"We can start in your bed," he suggested, sitting back in the chair and regarding the other man with a thoughtfulness of his own. "It'll be interesting to see if that, too, affects my... restlessness, as you called it this morning, before I usually fall asleep. Or if the couch incident was just that; an incident."
He did not believe it was; falling asleep with Sherlock in his arms had been the most peaceful sequence of moments John had had since his return from the war. But then, both their beds provided more space than the couch did. John did not think they would be lying so close to one another this night. Or...?
"What kind of parameters do you have in mind? I know you have at least a dozen." He smiled a little. "Do you prefer a certain side of the bed? Either is fine with me."
Sherlock too felt considerably better when he finally looked into John's eyes again, finally unwinding a bit since he'd first tensed up again this morning. It had been nice, feeling loose and warm when he first woke up, only wishing they hadn't had their tiff and could have held on to that feeling just a bit longer. Hopefully tonight he could feel it again
( ... )
John felt a little exposed by the fact that Sherlock seemed to know exactly what his nights had been like for every night since he moved into 221B Baker Street, but shrugged it off almost instantly; it was simply what Sherlock did. And it was true; last night was the most peaceful, proper night of rest he'd had in... months. Maybe even years, if he had to be completely honest with himself.
He blinked slowly when Sherlock did not so much raise the question of proximity, but went ahead and decided they would sleep close to one another again. He thought of saying something, but decided against it. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that morning. No, he would go along with this as much as he could. This seemed to matter a great deal to Sherlock, for some reason, and for that, it would mean a great deal to John, as well.
"Nothing I can think of, no." He got up from his chair, keeping his eyes on Sherlock for another moment. "I guess I'll... go and get ready, then. See you in there?"
Sherlock nodded approvingly when John spoke, setting aside his book before moving to stand. "Yes, let's go then." he said, grabbing a notebook off the coffee table and moving to stride into his room. Tossing the notebook on his bed, he got undressed, changing into pajamas before heading to the loo to clean his teeth.
He settled in on his side of the bed after that, climbing under the covers and sitting up against the headboard, resting his notes on his knees as he scribbled away his findings and parameters for this study while he waited for John.
It took John a little while to get ready. For one, he felt like he took forever trying to decide what to wear. Which seemed ridiculous. In the end, he went with his standard pajama pants and t-shirt. The fabric of both items was soft and worn from years of use - John wasn't exactly that concerned with fashion. If it was comfortable, he would probably wear it. It was a lot more important to him that he was comfortable and could move in his clothing, than looking like someone he wasnt.
Once he was done changing, brushing his teeth and washing his face, he made his way over to Sherlock's bedroom, padding into the room on bare feet. He stood by 'his side' of the bed for a moment, not so much hesitating as simply taking in the situation. Sherlock seemed busy scribbling down his notes. There was no tension in the air, nothing strange or unusual... The sheer normalcy of the situation got to John more than anything. This didn't feel like an experiment; this felt like the end of the day, the end of every day, and he and Sherlock had just
( ... )
Sherlock continued with his notes for a few moments, only glancing up when John was next to him and asking where to go from here. He finished up what he was writing, setting his notes aside and clicking off the lamp. He edged over to where John was, tilting his head at him before picking up one of John's hands, laying down himself and pillowing his head on John's chest. He pressed in close just as they were this morning, draping an arm and leg over John and settling in for the night.
"Now, sleep. Obviously." he murmured, letting his eyes fall shut as John's heartbeat succeeded in lulling him into a state of contentment enough to attempt to sleep.
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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 ( ... )
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"We can start in your bed," he suggested, sitting back in the chair and regarding the other man with a thoughtfulness of his own. "It'll be interesting to see if that, too, affects my... restlessness, as you called it this morning, before I usually fall asleep. Or if the couch incident was just that; an incident."
He did not believe it was; falling asleep with Sherlock in his arms had been the most peaceful sequence of moments John had had since his return from the war. But then, both their beds provided more space than the couch did. John did not think they would be lying so close to one another this night. Or...?
"What kind of parameters do you have in mind? I know you have at least a dozen." He smiled a little. "Do you prefer a certain side of the bed? Either is fine with me."
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He blinked slowly when Sherlock did not so much raise the question of proximity, but went ahead and decided they would sleep close to one another again. He thought of saying something, but decided against it. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that morning. No, he would go along with this as much as he could. This seemed to matter a great deal to Sherlock, for some reason, and for that, it would mean a great deal to John, as well.
"Nothing I can think of, no." He got up from his chair, keeping his eyes on Sherlock for another moment. "I guess I'll... go and get ready, then. See you in there?"
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He settled in on his side of the bed after that, climbing under the covers and sitting up against the headboard, resting his notes on his knees as he scribbled away his findings and parameters for this study while he waited for John.
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Once he was done changing, brushing his teeth and washing his face, he made his way over to Sherlock's bedroom, padding into the room on bare feet. He stood by 'his side' of the bed for a moment, not so much hesitating as simply taking in the situation. Sherlock seemed busy scribbling down his notes. There was no tension in the air, nothing strange or unusual... The sheer normalcy of the situation got to John more than anything. This didn't feel like an experiment; this felt like the end of the day, the end of every day, and he and Sherlock had just ( ... )
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"Now, sleep. Obviously." he murmured, letting his eyes fall shut as John's heartbeat succeeded in lulling him into a state of contentment enough to attempt to sleep.
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