That Ship Has Sailed

John & Sherlock II

"Would you move your foot? It's freezing."

"Well it wouldn't be so cold if you didn't take all the sheets."

"It's my bed."

"You invited me to sleep here!"

"Don't shout, you'll wake Rosie."

John grunted, but shut his mouth. His next words were whispered, "I should just go sleep on the couch. This clearly isn't working out."

Sherlock looked sideways at him, "Well it won't if you don't give it a try."

John looked back at Sherlock, unable to clearly see his pained expression through the darkness, but able to see enough. Sherlock stared back and for a moment, felt his stomach hurt. Finally he said, "I'm sorry."

John was taken aback that Sherlock would actually apologize, but nodded, "Thank you. I'm sorry for yelling."

Sherlock nodded slightly. A pause followed and both stared back at the ceiling like before. Sherlock heard John yawn and sighed silently, opening the covers to get out of the bed. John looked over as he opened the door, "Where are you going?" he asked.

Sherlock glanced back, "Bathroom," he replied before leaving, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock did go into the bathroom, simply because he knew John could hear and would know if he did or not. He didn't want to make him uncomfortable, so he went in and shut the door, spending a few minutes standing there, doing nothing. Then, he quietly opened the door and paused at his bedroom, hearing soft breathing coming from inside, indicating that John was asleep, or nearly there at the very least.

He walked down the hallway and into the living room. Once there, he checked to see that Rosie was still asleep before flopping onto his chair. The large chair was comfortable and when he leaned his head on his hand, he felt relaxed.

Minutes later, he heard a noise and opened his eyes again, seeing a dark figure across the room, "I heard the door open, I thought you'd come back to bed."

"Yes, well, I thought it was my turn to stay in here with Rosie."

John scratched his head and leaned against the door post, "You don't have to do that. Come back to bed."

"It's fine, John," Sherlock said, closing his eyes again.

"It's cold in there by myself."

"There are blankets in the chest."

"There's no one to talk to."

"You should be sleeping."

John let out a breathy chuckle, almost giving up. He turned to walk back to the bedroom, but paused, looking back at Sherlock who sat in his chair, resting his head on his hand. He shook his head and muttered, "This is ridiculous," before walking toward Sherlock.

"What are you doing, John?" Sherlock asked, opening his eyes again, startled.

"If you won't join me in the bed, I'm going to join you in the chair."

Sherlock looked at John for a moment, then at the chair, then back at John. There was clearly no room and both knew it, but John had determination in his eyes and Sherlock was too stunned to think of anything to say. So, John thought a moment longer before simply sitting on Sherlock, sprawling his leg over the arm of the chair and resting his head on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock paused, feeling John's body pressed against his and felt his breath hitch. He had wanted to be this near to John for a long time.

John quickly looked up at Sherlock, whispering, "Are you all right?"

Sherlock nodded slightly, "Yes, why?"