Nᴏᴛ Gᴀʏ {Tᴇᴇɴ/Jᴏʜɴʟᴏᴄᴋ}

№ 26

[A/N: Just to prevent confusion farther along in this chapter, here's a fun fact: people with autism or any condition on the autism spectrum (ADD/ADHD, Asperger's syndrome, etc.) are usually prone to experiencing the opposite effect off caffeine. So if they drink something highly caffeinated, sometimes they can become tired.]

I was awoken to the sound of a loud thump, and I opened my eyes to see Sherlock lying on the floor. My heart jumped in my throat, and I sprung out of bed and knelt down next to him. It must have been around midnight, judging by the colour of the sky.

"Sherlock?" I asked, startled, hoping with all my might that he hadn't fainted or was experiencing cardiac arrest or something. But he wasn't, because he then explained with very wise words that only geniuses use:

"I must have rolled off the bed."

He rolled over so he was on his back, looking up at me. "Good morning."

"It's not morning," I said. "It's-" I checked the clock on the wall. "One in the morning."

"Perfect timing, too," Sherlock said. He stood up quickly, holding out his hand and hoisting me up to my feet, not letting go of my hand for a few seconds longer than normal. "It's time to go."

"What?" I asked. "Go? Go where? Sherlock, the time-"

"I know what the time is, moron," he said. "You've just told me."

I pursed my lips. "Where are we going?"

"Crime-solving, obviously," he said, pulling his pyjama shirt over his head before I could look away, and I turned the other direction, feeling my cheeks turn bright red because I had just seen his bare chest and torso. And they were nice.

Sherlock, still not wearing a shirt, pulled open the clothing drawer and took out a sweatshirt that I would never imagine him wearing, throwing it on and looking really normal for a change.

"You'll want to dress warm," he said. "We'll mostly be running, but it is winter, after all."

I nodded, and he slipped into some tracksuit bottoms as I rummaged through my drawer, taking my clothing to the bathroom to put on.

Looking myself in the mirror, I narrowed my eyes. Why did I agree to this? This was so stupid. And, it being 1:30 A.M., it was likely I wasn't thinking straight, either. There were dark circles under my eyes and my hair was a mess, but I left those alone and put on a zip-up sweatshirt, slipping the hood over my head and coming back out into the kitchen.

"So," I said. "Why now?"

He smirked. "Because all the people we need to find are awake right now."

I furrowed my brow. "How do you know?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, being extra arrogant when sleep-deprived. "John, the only people that are even awake at this hour are either experiencing or developing trauma, having sex or trying not to be caught committing crime. Obviously now is a good time."

I was taken aback by his bluntness, but, then again, he was Sherlock. It would be wrong to expect much else. I would have asked which category we belonged in if I weren't feeling so tired.

"And why will we be running?" I asked. "Running hurts." And it did. I always tasted blood in the back of my throat when I ran. Sometimes I felt like throwing up. Sometimes it made my ribs hurt. But it was never comfortable.

"Because we don't want to be seen," Sherlock sighed. "Honestly, John."

Too tired to put up much of a fuss but awake enough to run, I gave in, dropping my argument and grabbing a light coat from over by the door. Sherlock didn't put on his coat at all, slipping his feet into some casual trainers that I'd never seen him wear before and carefully opening the door, slowly turning the handle so it wouldn't wake anyone.