I awoke abruptly, rubbing at my eyes as I did so. I lifted my head slowly from Sherlock's shoulder, his eyes moving to me. "You fell asleep nearly thirty minutes ago." I sat up more, but eventually sunk back onto his shoulder. I rubbed at my eyes, "Sorry-"
"Were you having a nightmare, John?" He asked with concern, eyes half lidded. His bruise from before wasn't so bad now, but it was still pretty awful. It would take about a week to heal fully. "Sort of." I managed, checking the time on my watch. It was a bit odd for me to dose off like that, but I haven't gotten a good sleep in months. It was just past 12:00 now. "When do you usually..Leave?" I asked, struggling a bit to get back on my feet. "Sit, John. You need rest." He said softly, placing his hand gingerly on my arm.
I looked down at him, seeing he was doing that face he did when he wanted me to do something. He seemed of most innocence, and I reluctantly sat back down just as he stood up. "What are you doing?" I asked as he walked into the kitchen. "Tea." He said simply. I watched him in a bit of surprise. Even after all this, seeing Sherlock actually make tea was shocking all in itself. I observed his tall, slender form as he set the kettle. He got out two mugs, setting them aside as he got out the tea. I found myself smiling, my chest swelling.
Soon, the kettle was boiling. Sherlock made careful movements, all in an unheard silence. He was specially careful not to let the kettle whistle (to raise suspicion of a kettle whistling at such an hour.)
He carried two mugs in his hands now, steam rising from the both of them. "Thank you." I said softly, taking the mug into my hands. I watched as he sat in my chair opposite of me, nursing his mug of tea. "You look tired." He said aloud, pulling his legs up to his chest. I stifled a yawn as to prove his point. "Sleep." He said simply. I looked at him as if he were crazy, well.
"I already feel bad enough for falling asleep the small time I did. I don't want to waist away these minutes with you sleeping." I said through another yawn, taking a sip from my tea. The hot steam cleared my nose and throat, only making me more tired. "You need sleep, John." He insisted, setting his mug aside. I only shook my head, "I'll catch some later." I replied, rubbing at my eyes. Sherlock only stared at me now with a knowing glance, his gaze like cold stone.
"Come on, Sherlock. I promise I'll get some later." I waved my hand dismissively, but he only raised a brow. "You won't last another hour. The bags under your eyes say you haven't had a proper sleep in months. It looks almost as if you've gotten two black eyes. You're a bit shaky, whether it is from my presence or the lack of sleep. Likely both. Your skin is pale and discoloured, John. We both know you're going to be sick if you don't get a good sleep soon." There it was.
Sherlock could have went into far greater detail. Could have mentioned something about my finger nails or a nick on my hand, but he didn't. He simply gave that look he's done 3 times just this day alone. "I'm fine." I argued, knowing better than to try to win an argument with Sherlock. He stood suddenly, taking a wide stride to my chair. He took the tea cup from my hands, making me move over as he sat down beside me in an awkward position. He stretched his legs, stringing and arm behind my neck as though to sooth me.
He set my tea aside, leaning his head on mine. "Go to sleep, John." He said softly, his fingers drawing circles on my lap. I felt my chest tighten, but closed my eyes. "Slow your breaths." He instructed, his voice like liquid metal. I tried to breathe slower, "I dind't say stop breathing." He said suddenly, voice the same liquid soft tone. I felt his hand slip over mine, his other hand twirling pieces of my hair in his long, gentle fingers.
I felt so suddenly at rest, I was surely to fall asleep. I tried to fight it, but my lids felt heavier. "Sherlock..." I started, voice drowsy and half spoken. "Don't leave."
Sherlock's P.O.V.
I looked down at John, his mouth just barely open as his lids fell heavy upon his eyes. The weight of his head felt heavier on my chest as he unwillingly fell into sleep. I gingerly swept my finger along his forehead, craning my neck to kiss the top of it. I felt a tightness in my stomach, but ignored it. We lay here in the silence, the pattern of John's breathing coming to a slow, calm one as did mine.
I felt an instant weight lift from my chest.
He was mine again.
