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It had been a very long and tedious case for Sherlock & Co. Mariana had been the lucky one who had dog sitting duty when the case surpassed the 15-hour mark and only continued to get more intense. Sherlock who, in the short aftermath of this rather thrilling case, was under stimulated and extremely sleep deprived. The feeling of going from 100 to 0 was like falling into a blackhole for the detective. The desire to sleep was greatly dampened by the lingering excitement of solving the double homicide and catching the murder as they were attempting to smuggle themself on a boat traveling out of Europe.
Just thinking about it sent a wave of energy for his scalp down to his sock covered toes. He didn’t have the motivation to dig his violin out of its case or fiddle with his chemicals. What's worse is that if he were to indulge in his oxymorphone this early it would completely ruin his routine. So much to do and no drive to do anything.
Bugger.
There was the idea to make tea, but a quick peek at his phone told him that it was also too early for that as well as the whistle of the kettle will most likely wake John. Given that it was currently 4:47AM and that they'd arrived home at 2:23AM there was a good possibility that John has yet to enter REM sleep or at the very least not deep enough in to not be disturbed by Sherlock's nightly activities.
Normally the detective wouldn't give it much thought as both John and Mariana were made acutely aware of his insomnia and nightly habits early on. Mainly so they wouldn't be frightened by any sudden screech, thump, or bang. Though for rare occasions such as this he chose to make a conscious effort to be as quiet as possible. Often to the point of wondering if the doctor could hear his heartbeat from across the hall and through the pair of doors that separate them. Bless it be oxymorphone or he'd have died of boredom.
This ‘rare occasion’ being a case that required nonstop attention that lasted longer 24 hours. Which wouldn't be an issue for Sherlock Holmes. Unfortunately, a certain John Watson isn't so lucky in that regard. Based on his observations, it seems that the only thing that kept the poor doctor functioning during these types of cases was talking to the listeners and Sherlock with his ‘shenanigans’ .
Despite the proper terminology being investigating , John and Mariana insist otherwise.
So when Sherlock eventually leaves his room to seek out some form of stimulation it wasn't surprising to find his best friend passed out on the couch. He distinctly remembered how John had kept dowsing off while riding the tube home after wrapping up the case, and how the second they entered their shared flat he b-lined it to the couch. Thankfully Archie was currently downstairs with Mariana, so they weren't greeted by loud barking after having to run through a busy shipyard for an hour and a half.
Though now that the dust had settled the detective desperately wished the canine was here so that he could be entertained by slobbery kisses and wiggly cuddles. Then again it wouldn't have lasted long as the lazy dog would've easily tired himself out after a few minutes.
Which is what led Sherlock here. Standing in front of the couch silently staring at his roommate's near perfect impression of a starfish. As a sort of last-ditch effort, remaining quiet the detective found himself at a crossroads. He could either A) cut his losses and go about his normal nightly activities and pray John doesn't wake up or B) lay down and get cuddles from John.
Something he's noticed about his best friend is that he had an odd habit of hugging things in his sleep like pillows, blankets, and even Sherlock himself. It reminded him of a book he'd read as a child that talked about how otters will hold hands while sleeping so they don't drift apart. Which was both great and slightly annoying for Sherlock.
On one hand, he didn't have to worry about waking John at ungodly hours to request for deep pressure stimuli because all he had to do was remove whatever he was holding and replace it with himself. On the other hand, however, part of this habit is that any attempts to remove the chosen item will result in a death grip on whatever he's holding, including Sherlock. At that point he'd have to wake him up just to get free, which isn't too bad considering how quick the doctor dowses off again, grabbing something else to cuddle in the process.
Seeing as he was lying on his back with an arm under his head and the other hanging off the couch, the answer had presented itself perfectly in Sherlock's favor. Having made his decision Sherlock adjusted his position before flopping onto the poor man, waking and knocking the wind out of him.
John jolted awake with a wheeze as felt his roommate snuggle into his chest. While this would be strange for most people this was nothing new between them simply due to John's nightmares and Sherlock's need for stimulation in the form of hugs that usually evolved into a full-blown cuddle session.
“What're ya doin mate?” John felt as groggy as he sounded. He wanted to check the time on his phone but hadn't the slightest idea where it was. Meanwhile Sherlock had shoved his arms between John and the couch with his ear pressed above the doctor's heart.
It took a minute for him to get the message before wrapping his arms around him and squeezing at the upper and lower back. This resulted in a deep sigh from the detective as his body began to relax and his mind began to quiet down. They both laid there in silence as John drifted off once again with his grip loosening by only a small percentile. All the while Sherlock listened intently as his friend's heart rate slowed to about 50 BPM signifying that he was in fact asleep.
It was only a matter of time till he too succumbed to sleep as well. It was easy to tune into the melody of John's being. His heartbeat, the rumbling of snores in his chest, and the mute creaking of his joints as he shifted them both to lay on their sides. Effectively sandwiching Sherlock being between the doctor and the back of the couch. Being trapped between them both felt like heaven.
The warmth, the pressure, the safety of John's presence as his arms squeezed him oh so perfectly. If Sherlock believed in an afterlife, he hoped it would be this moment frozen in time. He snuggled closer as he wrapped his legs around John's, letting his eyes slide shut. It didn't take long for his body to relax and his breathing to even out. The sound of his own quiet snores was lost in the audible ocean of early morning Bakers Street.
It wasn’t shocking for the pair to find a blanket draped over them and a picture of them sleeping with Mariana crouched next to them doing a thumbs up with a smug grin in the company group chat.