My Sweet Babydoll- Sherlock little space one-shots

Worrries

John took a big gulp of his—by now—cold tea, setting the now fully empty white mug on a small wooden table that rested next to his iconic chair.

He sighed and raised one of his hands, brushing it through his dirty brown locks, as he listened to the shuffling sounds coming from the 221b flat's kitchen as Sherlock pranced about, working on one of his many experiments.

It was getting close to 9:00pm, which was Sherlock's designated bedtime. Part of John hoped that Sherlock would put up an argument about going to bed so that John could come in and get him to regress while he reprimanded him.
Or at least, John hoped that Sherlock would ask for him to sleep with him.

However, seeing as though Sherlock hadn't even gotten close to regressing ever since he'd just barely saved John from getting shot to death by Moriarty—the man who was supposed to be dead—he doubted that would happen.

John had tried and tried unsuccessfully to get Sherlock to slip, and eventually he just stopped, figuring that his little boy would slip when he was ready to.

But it didn't mean that John didn't miss his sugar cube.

Beep...Beep...Beep

John quickly silenced his phone that had wrung out an alarm, announcing that the time was now 9pm.
He glanced over to Sherlock in the kitchen to see if he had heard that it was time to go to bed, but the younger man either didn't hear, or was ignoring the alarm.

John sighed and stood up off his chair, grabbing his empty cup of tea before walking into the kitchen and placing the mug in the sink.

He then turned around and watched Sherlock who seemed to be gathering finger prints and samples from the gun Moriarty had left behind, after trying and failing to shoot John.
Of course, a crucial piece of evidence should have gone to the police, but this was Sherlock. He simply walked up into the crime scene, picked up the gun, and left; telling Lestrade that he needed the evidence for further examination. No one questioned him.

John hummed as he slowly made his way next to Sherlock, who seemed to be deep in thought.

"Oh, John. Perfect timing," Sherlock spoke when he noticed that John was standing next to him.

"I need the advice of a doctor. From these small hashmarks scraped into the side of this gun here," Sherlock spoke while pointing his pen at the marks engraved on the side of the gun.

"I have found a sample of skin cell that looks to have been altered in some way. Would you mind taking a look at it?"

John smiled and placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, having to reach up slightly due to Sherlock's height.

"Of course I can look at it...but not tonight."

Sherlock's face when from a small smile, to a confused frown instantly.

"Why?"

John began to slightly lead Sherlock away from his work space.

"Because right now it's 9:00, and you know what that means right?"

Sherlock slightly pouted, which John found adorable, and he turned around to face the gun on the table.

"I can't go to sleep right now John," he spoke.

John furrowed his brows and stopped leading the taller man out of the kitchen.

"Why's that? Of course you can."

Sherlock's face became a mix of determination and worry.

"I need to find out how Moriarty almost shot you, I-I mean the man's supposed to be dead this time for god's sake! And right now, I've found over 14 other people's DNA on this gun, and I need to figure out which one Moriarty ordered to pull up he trigger, because Moriarty's DNA isn't on the gun, it was only on the other pieces of evidence—"