A/N: Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/364724 around March.

Not mine, playing in sandbox. Inspired by all the sleeping-in-same-bed fics out there. :)

Contrary to popular belief, John Watson did not mind sharing a bed. He had gotten stuck in an army tent with ten men once in the cold desert, so why would this bother him?

No, it did not bother him at all.

So when the B&B gave them a room with a queen-sized bed to share despite his "we're not a couple" protest, John Watson inhaled, and sighed.

Sherlock Holmes, in a brilliant display of occasional idiocy, observed his breathing and said, "If this makes you uncomfortable John…"

John sighed. "Sherlock, I've shared sleeping areas with far too many people in the army." He glared in Sherlock's direction. "I REFUSE to sleep on one bed with you on the grounds of I rather like having the bed to myself, thanks."

"Not like we have any other choice." Sherlock pointed out matter-of-factly. "I'm not taking the floor."

"Neither am I."

It was like an unspoken challenge that both of them accepted.

Really, John had no problem with it. Sleeping in the same bed with a best friend? Honestly. If he felt uncomfortable, it would be like saying he never had sleepovers before.

That wasn't his problem, really.

His problem was his mate's sleeping habits.

For a very obstinate man, Sherlock was terrible at staying still when asleep.

His limbs spread in every direction. They were long, too, and so John was hit in the face quite often. He also loved wrapping himself in the duvet apparently, leaving John with nothing but air.

"Sherlock stop stealing the blankets." John murmured, and tried tugging at the duvet to no avail.

That was fine. He sucked it up, grabbed his jacket and put it on. For added warmth he draped Sherlock's coat over his legs; surely the man who had just stolen the blanket wouldn't mind. John went back to sleep.

Then Sherlock started to cuddle.

...his flatmate was a cuddler.

John wished he had the magic drug Irene Adler had the last time, so Sherlock would just stop moving his limbs all over him, wrapped around him like an octopus.

Please please please let him be actually asleep and not doing this on purpose.

John shifted, and Sherlock shifted with him. He tried rolling over, but that did not work, either. John even tried to fall off the bed, but Sherlock anchored him down like dead weight.

John huffed. And they had a big day chasing criminals tomorrow.

"Sherlock, bloody hell, move. Get off me." John said. He pushed Sherlock off. Or attempted to, at the very least. Didn't work. "Sherlock!"

"Mmmmno you're warm," was the sleepy response, and Sherlock actually rubbed his cheek against John's hair.

John huffed. "...Oh god I miss the army."