Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Just a fun little Johnlock I was inspired to write after seeing really cute fanart.

Sherlock had been sitting at John's computer for a long while now. John was being oddly quiet, but Sherlock didn't bother to wonder what he was doing. There were too many things to think about all at once to worry idly on where John might be at that moment.

There was a case on the internet somewhere. There had to be. He was dying of boredom, just dying, and didn't know why John's computer was being so unhelpful. It had been ages since he had a case. Maybe months. He needed a case.

"Infernal machine, you must have a case in here somewhere," he muttered. "What's the point of a computer when I could do your job better? I'd have already found a case if I were looking myself." Then he shot up from his chair. "That's it! Why am I wasting my time looking online when I could just look myself? John, we're going out."

He went up to his room and changed out of his pyjamas and into black slacks, a purple button up, and his coat and scarf. He came back down, hollering down the steps, "John, we're leaving now. Meet me outside."

He went out the door, standing outside, waiting for John to come out. In five minutes, he was getting quite impatient and was about to go back inside when he heard behind him, "Sherlock, what're you doing out here?"

Sherlock turned to see John standing there with bags in his hands. "How did you get out here without me seeing?" Sherlock demanded.

John looked exasperated. "I told you I was leaving to get groceries an hour ago."

"You did not."

"Yes I did. I told you that we were out of food and that I was going to go get some, and then I was going to come back and finally get some sleep."

"You can't sleep. We have to go."

He pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. "And where are we going?"

"To find a case!"

"No," John said flatly, walking past him and entering the house. Sherlock followed.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"I meant exactly what I said," John snapped down the stairs. Then he entered the flat and started putting groceries away.

"But John, I need a case! I'm so bored!"

"We just finished a case, Sherlock! Barely two hours ago! And during that case, you didn't let me sleep, and I'm exhausted! I need some rest, and frankly so do you!"

Sherlock took a closer look at John, his eyes flitting over every inch of him in less than a second. Jumper in disarray, dark patches under his eyes, eyelids drooping, leaning against the wall as if he could barely support his own weight. Yes, he was tired, Sherlock knew that.

"I need a case," Sherlock said more quietly.

John's eyes narrowed, and he looked like he was looking at Sherlock more closely too. "Why do you need a case so badly?"

"Because I do," Sherlock retorted, not realising how childish he sounded.

John came forward a few tired steps, until he was right in front of Sherlock. "You look tired too, Sherlock. Why don't you get some sleep and wait until tomorrow to look for a case?"

"I can't wait that long. Has to be today."

"Then go without me," John countered, the concern in his voice gone as he sat on the settee heavily.

"I need you," Sherlock said. John looked up at Sherlock in surprise at the comment, so he added, "because people don't feel comfortable with me talking to a skull, and I've got to talk out loud to somebody."

"Oh yes, that's why," John mumbled, smiling a little.

Sherlock grumbled and went to the kitchen to put away the last of the groceries. "So are you ready to go, or not?" Sherlock called to him as he finished. He didn't respond, but Sherlock finished what he was doing, and then went out to the front room… and John had fallen asleep, right there on the settee, his legs curled up onto it like a little kid. Sherlock just barely smiled, at John looking like that. Maybe he did work John a tad too hard, he considered. Sherlock sighed loudly and grabbed a pillow, gently tucking it under John's head, and a blanket, settling it over the rest of him. John shifted, a faint smile finding his lips as he took a deep, relaxed breath. Sherlock looked at him for a long time, not really knowing why John was so intriguing to him. Then he knelt down beside the man, his face close to John's.

"Yes, I need you," Sherlock said. "You really are an idiot if you didn't realise that by now. But not for cases." He sighed again, then, without realising he was doing so, reached out and let his fingers touch John's cheek. John, instead of flinching away in his sleep, leaned into Sherlock's touch, smiling again.

"Sherrrrr… lock…" John muttered, and Sherlock half thought John was waking up again, but then realised he wasn't. John had said 'Sherlock' in his sleep. How puzzling. Did John know subconsciously that Sherlock was touching him? Was he dreaming about Sherlock? Why was it that everything in the world was child's play, but trying to understand John was sometimes so confusing?

Sherlock almost moved his hand away, but then John shifted, turning his head so it was resting on top of Sherlock's hand. John smiled again. "Sherlock," he said. Still a murmur in his sleep, but somehow clearer than the last one.

Sherlock didn't want to wake John, but now his hand was trapped under him, so he felt he had no choice but to sit down at the foot of the settee and wait. He found as soon as he sat, however, that he was rather tired. His eyelids fluttered and he let his head fall back onto John's shoulder. This made John shift again, releasing Sherlock's hand, but by then he was asleep.

When John woke, he looked down in surprise at the blanket on him. He was positive he hadn't put on a blanket before he fell asleep. He also had a pillow under his head. "Sherlock?" John wondered aloud. But Sherlock wouldn't put a blanket on John. More likely, he'd do some ridiculous experiment on him while he was sleeping. That was when he started to get up and realized there was a head resting against his arm. He looked down and blinked a few times. Sherlock had sat on the ground next to the settee and fallen asleep. John tilted his head. What was Sherlock doing there? He kind of figured that Sherlock would leave and try to get a case on his own, but it seemed he hadn't. That was good. He needed the sleep.

John sat up, which made Sherlock's head move enough to wake him up.

"Why're you sleeping on the ground?" John asked as soon as Sherlock's eyes opened. And John was surprised when Sherlock didn't seem to have an answer. He just kept looking up at John. "Did you give me this blanket?" John tried.

Sherlock continued to look confused for another moment, but then he stood. "Yes," he replied. "You looked cold. You ready to go find a case?"

"I need to finish with the groceries," John said, going into the kitchen. He figured there was no point in arguing with Sherlock about waiting to do another case. That was when John noticed the groceries were all put away. "Sherlock, are you on drugs or something? The blanket and the pillow and sleeping next to me and now the groceries?"

"No, John, I'm not on drugs, don't be stupid," he replied, sitting down at John's computer. Had he given up on finding a case then?

"It's not that outlandish," John muttered, before adding. "You won't figure out my password, not this time. I changed it right before I went to the grocery."

"And I was on your computer the whole time you were gone. It was simple."

"Simple?! It was some digits of my national insurance number mixed in with my mother's sister's maiden name and the name of my first pet!"

"Exactly. Child's play."

John grunted irritably. "I'm going back to bed if you won't talk to me."

He went to his room, getting under the covers. What was with Sherlock though, honestly? He was being very odd.

And just as he was thinking that, his door started to be pushed open.

"Oi! Have you heard of knocking?"

The door froze. "What, are you indecent?"

"Well—I—well, no, but—" Before John could finish, the door was pushed all the way open. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"Can I come in?" Sherlock asked.

John's eyebrows pulled together in both concern and confusion at the sound of Sherlock's voice—it was like he was nervous or something. In fact, it was a little odd that Sherlock was asking at all. "Well, yes," John said hesitantly. Sherlock came forward and sat on the edge of John's bed. "Are you okay?"

Then Sherlock really shocked John, probably more than he ever had before—which was saying something. Sherlock climbed to the top of the bed, lying next to John. They were now facing each other, their faces barely six inches apart. John thought he was uncomfortable with it, but then he found himself unable to move. Sherlock had such pretty eyes. He'd never really noticed.

After a moment, he remembered that he should say something. "What're you doing?" was what came out, sounding husky and unsure.

"I've never slept next to another person," Sherlock informed John. "And I didn't mean to fall asleep next to you, but then I did and… oh, never mind."

"No, don't stop now," John said, sounding more enthusiastic than he meant to. Sherlock never talked about how he felt about anything, so John didn't particularly want him to give up on trying.

Sherlock shrugged. "It felt nice," he said quietly.

John could only describe the eye contact they were holding as intense. And maybe that wasn't even a strong enough word. He felt this odd tugging in his gut, tugging towards Sherlock. And even though he had planned to tell Sherlock that he couldn't sleep in his bed, that it was weird, what actually came out was, "You want to get under the covers?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment, that unreadable look on his face, and then he stood up and took off his jacket and shoes. John really couldn't tell you why, but watching him do it was making his heart rate speed up, especially since Sherlock kept their intense eye contact the entire time. And then he lifted up the covers and lay under them, getting close to John again—maybe even closer than before. Sherlock's knees, which were curled up in a half-fetal position, were rubbing against John's thighs, but neither of them tried to move.

And John really wanted to say that it was weird. And it was, but not in the way he thought it would be. Not, 'oh, my mate's in my bed with me, what the hell?', but more his stomach was twisting timidly and the pulling sensation was getting stronger. John couldn't bring himself to shut his eyes to try to sleep, or even to break eye contact.

"John," Sherlock finally said.

"Mhm?" John replied, feeling like he'd forgotten how to talk.

"When you fell asleep on the settee… you said something in your sleep."


"You said my name."

John blinked at him. "Oh," he muttered. "Maybe it was a dream."

"Maybe," Sherlock replied. "I thought maybe you felt my hand—" and then Sherlock stopped, like he had said something he hadn't meant to. Another thing he didn't do often. Sherlock was quite good at saying exactly what he wanted to and nothing else, usually.

"Felt your hand?" John asked gently.

"Or maybe you heard me talking," Sherlock mused, trying to change the subject. "Telling you how much of an idiot you are, of course."

This lightened the tense atmosphere, which John was grateful for. He shook his head. "Why am I even friends with you?" he asked.

Friends. As they lay together in the same bed, eyes locked, John thought in anxious amusement.

"Because life's boring without me around," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "Puny-brained people have trouble thinking of anything to do."

"Right, thanks," John muttered. "Why did you want to come in here again?"

The corners of Sherlock's mouth just barely twitched up. "Because my life would be boring without you too."

John was surprised by the statement. "You think so?"

"Probably. I don't want to test it."

John smiled again. The mood in the room was still charged in a different way than it usually would be, but at least he felt a little more comfortable now. At least comfortable enough to shut his eyes. They lay there for a long time in silence, long enough that John figured Sherlock had fallen asleep and John was close to sleep himself.

And then the fingers grazed his cheekbone. He almost opened his eyes in shock, but then thought better of it. Sherlock must have thought he was asleep. He kept his breathing deep, hoping Sherlock would believe the rouse.

After a moment, instead of it just being two fingers, it was his whole hand, resting there on his face. Sherlock gave a contented sigh, and then his hand dropped away.

John waited a long time before he thought it was safe to look. Finally, he opened one eye, just a crack. Sherlock's eyes were closed. Then John, not really knowing what was coming over him at all, reached up and put his hand on Sherlock's cheek, tracing the hard line of his cheekbone.

Then, just a low murmur, Sherlock said, with his eyes still shut, "I knew you were awake."

"No you didn't," John retorted. His hand was still on his cheek.

"No, I really did. Your breathing wasn't slow enough."

"Then why did you do it?"

There was a moment of quiet. "Because I didn't know how to tell you what I was thinking." His eyes opened and John's throat closed up at the new hot intensity in his gaze.

"Me too," John managed to choke out. Then he added, "Except I don't really know what I'm thinking." John's hand dropped from Sherlock's face and, by some odd bout of fate, fell onto Sherlock's hand, which had been resting on the pillow in front of him. And he couldn't bring himself to move his hand away. Instead, he gave Sherlock's a little squeeze.

John was almost positive he was going completely mad. What the hell was happening?

But instead of saying anything in response, Sherlock wordlessly scooted closer to John so their faces were now only two inches apart and John's and Sherlock's hands just barely had room to be clasped together between them.

"You just keep surprising me," John said aloud with a little smile. Sherlock again didn't respond, just closed his eyes, so John did too.

And a second later, he felt lips on his cheek. His eyes snapped open. "What was that?"

"That's a stupid question. You know what it was."

"I mean why did you do it?" John asked, a tad exasperated.

"Just trying to keep you on your toes, John. Do try to keep up."

John rolled his eyes, but still felt the tingling on his cheek.

"What's happening here?" John finally managed to ask.

"Haven't the faintest," Sherlock said, almost sounding amused. "But I think I like it either way. Time to sleep now?"

"You could really sleep now?" John asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" And Sherlock shut his eyes again and John found himself smiling. Oh, Sherlock.

But John decided he would have the last laugh, so he leaned forward and planted a kiss on Sherlock's lips. This time Sherlock's eyes opened suddenly, and John looked at him smugly.

"Stay on your toes, Sherlock. Do try to keep up," he said mockingly, a grin on his face. Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment, pretending to be annoyed, but then scooted closer again so that their bodies were resting against each other. He put his head into John's chest.

John thought of a million things to say, and even considered moving for a moment, but then decided to just stay silent, because for some reason being snuggled up with Sherlock was a really satisfying feeling and he didn't want to ruin it. He, instead, put his arm around Sherlock tentatively, and Sherlock nuzzled his face deeper into John's chest.

And, in that position, they fell asleep.

Thanks for reading. If you like Johnlock, please read my other fics on my profile.

And, PLEASE REVIEW! Pretty please. I really love reviews. REALLY. So leave them. Even short ones, I don't care, just leave them! I mean, honestly, if you are willing to take time out of your day to read my fic, then you can take an extra few seconds and review it too.