Summary: John gets home to find Sherlock asleep for once, and they enjoy a moment on the couch.
Disclaimer: I do not have ownership over Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes, blah blah blah *dies inside*
John came home late, burdened with bags of groceries. He was tired and mad, because the bloody self check-out was mal-functioning. He put the handle of his shopping bag in his mouth and fished around in his pockets for his key. Once he finally got himself in, he immediately paused. It was quiet. Way too quiet. He set the bags of groceries down on the counter amid the jars, Petrie dishes, and plates full of foul, unnamable things, and walked toward the living room, cautious. When the flat was silent, he never knew what to expect. The sight he was met with, however, warmed his heart.
Sherlock, 'the man who never sleeps', was curled up on the end of the sofa like a cat, his face half buried into a pillow, his blue robe curled around him. John smiled. He cherished the few times when Sherlock actually slept. It showed that he was human, that he did have the same basic needs and emotions, even in small doses, as anybody else.
Sherlock quivered a little and curled a little tighter in on himself. John grabbed a small blanket from the top of a chair and padded over to Sherlock, tucking the blanket securely around him. As he was pushing the edge of the blanket behind Sherlock's back, he suddenly twisted, effectively trapping John's arm. Then he reached out and grabbed John's middle and pulled him towards himself, making John lose his footing and be forced to fall on the couch beside his flat mate. Sherlock wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him close, and John looked around desperately for escape.
Suddenly, a deep baritone voice rumbled out from the chest behind him.
"Stop fretting John, you were a much more comfortable pillow before you got all tense."
John rolled his eyes and shook his head, still smiling fondly. "I'm not a pillow, Sherlock."
Sherlock snorted and snuggled himself closer to him. "Yeah, just as much as Mrs. Hudson isn't our housekeeper."
John chuckled and relaxed, settling quite comfortably into Sherlock's chest. They were a perfect fit. Sherlock nestled his nose into John's neck, and soon enough, his breathing evened out and the rises and falls of his breath slowed.
John closed his eyes, matching his breath with Sherlock's.
The groceries sat on the counter among the experiments, completely forgotten.