Sometimes John and Sherlock accidentally talk all night.
Like maybe the intention to go to sleep at a normal time was there, but then they get distracted.
11 PM: They finish the movie and it just naturally feels like time for bed. Teeth are cleaned, doors are locked, and they settle in between the sheets, and damn is the bed comfortable compared to the haphazard dog pile of limbs they had gotten into on the sofa.
“What did you think of the film?”
“Nice; very enjoyable.”
“Did I tell you it was my favorite when I was a kid?”
“Yeah. Would watch it on repeat.”
“Interesting. But it’s no longer your favorite?”
“Right. I dunno- I still love it, but not in the same way.”
“I understand. Your favorite now is that one Bond, um…Die Another Day?”
“Yeah.” John gives Sherlock a small, soft smile. He looks almost bewitched.
“What’s that look for?”
“It’s for you. ”
“Yes, but why?”
“Because it’s really nice to have someone remember things like that about me.”
1 AM: The discussion has shifted to favorites, and why they’re favorites.
“So you would rather listen to that same Rolling Stones album again and again for eternity than ever even trying something like Debussey?”
“Alright, well, now I know.”
“You know what?”
“That we’re breaking up.”
2 AM: …and now they’re just naming things they like.
John: “Long car journeys”
Sherlock: “The smell of coffee.”
“You hate coffee.”
“I hate the taste of coffee.”
“You are a complex being.”
They laugh some more.
John: “Rainy mornings that last all day.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Sherlock fidgets with his lips, trying to figure out how to phrase his answer.
“Because you always wake me very…pleasantly… and often you continue waking me pleasantly for most of the morning…afternoon…even into the evening sometimes.”
“Do I? When it’s raining?”
“Yes. Not every time, but under a certain set of conditions I can, for the most part, look at the forecast for the morning the night before and know in advance whether or not I’ll be getting anything done the next day.”
John looks back at him, a concoction of surprise, then near embarrassment, then a sly smile.
“Interesting, see, I find that I get one thing in particular done consistently on those days.”
4 AM: The topic has shifted between worst hangover stories and crazy uni memories to some more difficult things, like John’s time in the service, and Sherlock’s addiction.
“We’ve sort of been dealt a few tough hands eh?”
“Makes me want to take you away somewhere and just be relaxed for a bit.”
“I would agree to that in an instant.”
“Yeah? Let’s do that, then.”
“I do get them on occasion.”
More laughter.5 AM:
John is trying to work in to the concersation something he’s been wanting Sherlock to know for a long time. It’s difficult, though- he’s never really said anything like this- anything so personal.
“It says a lot about you, I think, that I can do things like this- stay awake all night, not having to be overwhelmed or rampant. You balance me, John.”
“Yeah..yeah I- I know what you mean. You also- I mean, you sort of…I don’t dread…my life to come…anymore. I used to think of all the days and years I had left to endure, wonder how I would fill them, hoping I could find something that wouldn’t feel so miserable, something to settle for, but you- fuck, Sherlock, I think back to that now and it feels like a horrible nightmare. I’m…more than just glad, to have found you. You- damn, this is hard, I-”
Sherlock ties his fingers with John’s and moves even closer.
"Take your time. No rush. No pressure. Anything you want to tell me, you can. You’re safe here.”
"I suppose…You umm…you made me rethink- my plans, for me, yes. But not only that, you also showed me a way of living so different from what I had known, so much better and full of richness, I look back at those days where I no longer wanted to be alive and think -it’s probably because I wasn’t alive. I had every responsibility and felt every drawback of life but was denied any of the good stuff. You showed me so much more than I ever knew was out there- you sort of saved my life by…showing me how to live it? That’s so cheesy, I-”
And now Sherlock is crying. So John starts crying.
6 AM: they’ve got themselves together by now and moved on to something a little lighter.
"Right…so, you mean to tell me that James Moriarty, criminal mastermind, scary man with an affinity for the latest in explosive fashion, still sleeps with a teddy bear?”
"How did you figure that one out?”"It took a few-visits- to piece it together, mostly because I was in disbelief myself, but he shows signs of a stiff neck as if he sleeps in an extremely bent position with one arm hooked partially under himself, likely around a small item. Persistence of this soreness shows that he didn’t just sleep wrong once, he makes a habit of this position. But what really sealed the realization was the right thumbnail. Much shorter than all the others, wrinkled texture, dry skin around the edges where the rest of his finers are immaculately manicured. Exposed to moisture for long periods of time.”
"No fuckin way!”"Oh yes. He sucks his thumb. What a terrifying creature.”
"I’m always curious what you could tell about me right away and what took you a bit longer.”
That’s a dangerous path John- not everyone wants to know what others can tell about them.”
"Yeah but I’m just tired enough to ask anyway.”
"Well, all the things I pointed out at Bart’s…then more and more about your childhood based on your dating habits…around a month after we moved in I had narrowed down the approximate size of your…tyre lever…”
"Well…I had underestimated, to be honest. Your stature is misleading, as I’m sure you know.”-
"So, that is to say, you were-”
"Incredibly anxious and then surprised in the best possible way.”
"I was going for ‘not disappointed’, but alright.”
"Not in the slightest. My God, not even a little. In fact, what’s the opposite of disappointed?”
7 AM: Talking has ceased. The sun seeps in at the sides of the drapes, pale and gray. It’s a bit chilly, but neither know- it’s aafe and warm in the bubble of their room.
Neither sleep until around noon, after tea and toast in bed- the rain hits the roof in steady droves, tapping occasionally at the window if the wind blows a certain way.Sherlock gets absolutely no work done.