Sherlock Holmes had not slept for four days. He had been busy with one of those cases in which he had no downtime, not even to sit in a chair and analyze details. Clue after clue had been thrown carelessly about the city as if by a toddler in mid-tantrum. It had meant a seemingly endless amount of cab rides and brief stints of running for 96 hours before he finally solved the mystery (ironically, the butler had been to blame. Sherlock did not find this amusing.), and so he was ready for some much-deserved sleep.

Sherlock stumbled into the apartment, dragging John in behind him. The poor man had lost as much sleep as the consulting detective, but was far less used to staying awake for all those hours.


"Mmh?" The blond blinked sleepily at Sherlock, dragging his feet.

"Go get some sleep," Sherlock commanded, albeit not unkindly.

"I am," came the muddled response.

"You're headed towards the kitchen," Sherlock told him patiently before taking pity and leading him to the nearest bedroom- this was, of course, his own.

John didn't even seem to notice when the taller man sat him down on a foreign bed, took off his shoes, and placed a pillow under his head. A small smile graced his face before he drifted off, which Sherlock took to be a thank you.

Not caring enough to go find another place to sleep, Sherlock threw his scarf, coat and shoes in the corner before curling under the covers. John's smaller body had already begun to warm the bed, and Sherlock dozed off in minutes.

John Watson had not slept for four days. When he finally did collapse of exhaustion, he slept for eleven straight hours. He may have slept for even longer had he not been awoken by a peculiar noise coming from the outside.

Suddenly, his mind was asking several questions at once. Why was he in Sherlock's bed? What was making that sound? How had they gotten home? And then, oh God had something happened between Sherlock and him? Finally, and perhaps most alarmingly, why couldn't he find it in himself to mind if something had?

John crawled out of bed, stiff from sleeping for so long. For a moment he thought of reaching for his cane before recalling that he didn't need it anymore. What he did need was to go to the bathroom, and perhaps have some tea. He silently crept out of the room, not wanting to wake Sherlock, who looked endearingly peaceful while at rest, his black locks in a fray about his head.

Upon entering the living room, John froze.

Then blinked rapidly.

And then rubbed at his eyes.

Before him, parked directly next tot Sherlock's chair, was a large blue box. Had Sherlock brought this in last night as well? He couldn't remember seeing the box before, but he admittedly had been quite knackered.

Suddenly, that noise from before began emanating from the box. John realized belatedly that it had sounded so loud because it had been coming from the room next door. In the next moment, the Police Box began to disappear before his eyes.

That's it, thought John. I'm still loopy. I'm going back to bed.

He briefly considered returning to his own room before opting in favor of a bed filled by Sherlock's delicious scent.

John made a quick trip to the bathroom, splashed some water in his face to no avail, and then headed back towards his best friend's bed.

He was just running his hand through his messy hair when he was hit full in the face with what felt like a two-by-four. He fell backwards, letting out an expletive as he grabbed his bleeding nose. He groaned slightly as he assumed correctly that a bump would begin forming on his head within minutes.

"Oh! Sorry, so sorry!" Came a voice from above. Watson looked up blearily to see a man pushing past a girl to run out of the rematerialized Police Box. The man neared Watson, holding out a handkerchief.

"Ouch. Looks like he could use a Doctor," the girl remarked. She still stood in the doorway of the large blue box inhabiting the space directly in front of Sherlock's bedroom door. She had orange hair and wore a slight smile, though Watson thought he could see some concern in her eyes.

John called Sherlock's name out feebly before promptly blacking out.