Title: John Watson is No Bella Swan
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John/Sherlock (pre-slash?)
Wordcount: ~400
Warnings: stalking
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, and I do not make any money from this fanwork.
Summary: AU. John suspects he has a midnight visitor. He actually does something about it.

John wakes with a start, gasping as the scene of his nightmare slowly fades into the reality of his bedroom. His window is open, and the cool wind brushes against his skin as he goes to close it. He's sure it wasn't open when he went to bed, and he doubts his father opened it while he was sleeping.

John looks out the window, and he swears that he sees the swirl of a dark coat before it blinks out of view.

Most suspicious.

The next night...

splash. thump.

John starts awake at the noise. There's a man sprawled on his bedroom floor. A very wet man. The metal bucket John filled with water and placed above the window is at his side.

"Sherlock..." John sighs, recognizing him from biology. "Are you going to explain why you're sneaking into my bedroom at night to watch me sleep? Or should I just go wake up my father. Who, by the way, happens to be a police officer!"

Sherlock just looks at him with those preternaturally blue eyes. That look might just work - if John was a preteen girl.

"I'm getting a restraining order," John informs him. "Also, you should go see a therapist. Sneaking into bedrooms to watch people sleep is just... odd."

"Not people, John," Sherlock replies. "You."

"Well, all the better," John answers. "Sneaking into my bedroom to watch me sleep is still odd. Also, still restraining-order worthy. Why couldn't you have just asked me out to coffee?"

Sherlock looks surprised, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"Would you... like to have coffee with me, John?" he asks, his voice stilted.

"Well, not now," John says in exasperation, getting out of bed to put the bucket away and towel dry the floor. Then he hands a dry towel to Sherlock, to dry that ridiculous mop of hair.

"Later, then," Sherlock agrees. "You need to be wooed first."

Then he is out the window and out of sight, almost before John can blink.

"Who even says 'woo' these days?" John mutters to himself. He turns to go back to bed - then thinks twice and refills the bucket with water, placing it back above the window.

Can never be too safe, after all. Especially with a strangely attractive (likely somnophiliac) stalker that talks like he's from the Victorian-era.