Late Nights

Napping by the fire

John put the book down and laid it on the coffee table. It was the third he'd been through and his eyes started to sting. Sighing he picked up another diary, leaning back in his chair. He hadn't found anything yet, and neither had Sherlock. Over the brim of the book John had him in plain sight. His sharp cheekbones laid parts of his face in darkness and his long, thick lashes was throwing shadows down his cheeks as he read. Sherlock was quite beautiful when he read. His brows furrowed and he always got a wrinkle between them when he concentrated. The clothes he was wearing was wrinkled too, and -in such bad lighting as they had here- almost seem to sparkle. John pulled his mind away from Sherlock, and back to the diary. This woman had bad handwriting and it was hard to read. Susanne, my best friend, is getting married! She and her fiancé Harry decided on October and I can't help, but feeling jealous. A fall wedding!
I, on the other hand, am single and ready to mingle with my cats. I'm just joking...
John had a feeling she wasn't "just joking", but didn't really dwell on it. This diary was four years old. The one Sherlock read was more recent. If it was anything of interest it would probably be in the one he was reading. John debated a bit in his head, but finally gave in to it. He put the book away and stood up, while Sherlock kept reading as if he didn't notice the world around him. That might even be the case, though.
The other man was relaxed and leaned back against his chair, eyes fixed on the book. John sat down on his armrest again, supporting himself with a hand at the top of the chair. Since Sherlock made no change, John started reading from the diary over his shoulder.
I don't know why I suddenly feel this way. Or act this way. I don't know anything anymore. Susanne got her life all fixed together, and I'm still going around hooking up with people at bars. Why couldn't it be the other way around? She and Harry are even expecting a kid. A kid!
They kept reading like that, with John's shoulder nearly touching Sherlock's, until they finished that diary. The time was ticking closer 5 AM and both Sherlock and John were exhausted. Sherlock intended on stretching out to get another diary, but it was starting to get too much, even for him. He leaned back in the chair, getting comfy and without giving it a second thought, John laid his head on top off Sherlock's. He supported his body by leaning entirely on Sherlock. The detective tensed a bit, but quickly relaxed and soon both men were sleeping. The fire crackled nicely, illuminating the shapes of them sleeping peacefully.