Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Written for Auction Prompt - Perceptive

Word Count - 1601

Lead The Way

(Or 5 times John and Sherlock share a bed out of necessity, and 1 time they do it willingly)

1

"Just put the pillows there and it'll be fine," John murmured with a shrug. "You really don't need to stay here though, Sherlock. Just come up and check on me every few hours."

Sherlock growled at him, arranging the pillows in the middle of the bed in a perfectly straight line. "If I wasn't going to stay with you, they'd have made you stay in the hospital overnight. You have a concussion!"

"It doesn't mean you actually have to do it," John replied with a shrug.

"Oh, and if I had a concussion, you'd leave me alone, would you?"

John's silence spoke volumes.

Finally, he nodded. "Okay. I'm going for a shower."

"Leave the door open."

"Sherlock -"

"Leave. The. Door. Open."

John left the door open.

…

The wall of pillows did not make it through the night. When Sherlock woke for the six am check on John, it was to find himself wrapped around the Doctor like an octopus. Pulling himself away carefully, he returned to his own side of the bed before waking John.

"I'm okay, Sherlock," John murmured tiredly, still half asleep. "Get some real rest now, okay?"

"Hmm," Sherlock agreed, watching with a small smile as John slipped back into sleep in seconds. He debated with himself for a few moments, before he settled back down by John, his arm falling back onto John's waist.

Well, John had told him to get some rest, and Sherlock had never been more comfortable.

2

John shot up in bed, confused at what had woken him but alert to any noises in the flat. He didn't have to wait long, when a shout of fear rent the space, sending shivers up John's spine.

He knew that voice.

Jumping from his bed, he moved quickly but cautiously down the stairs. Finding nothing in the living room, he approached Sherlock's bedroom, just as another shout made itself known.

Opening the door, he saw Sherlock tensed in the middle of his bed, struggling against an unknown force in his sleep.

"Sherlock," John said, repeating himself three times before Sherlock's eyes opened, looking wildly around the room. He seemed to relax slightly when he saw John in the doorway, but when he reached out to him, John had no choice but to go.

"They had you, John," he whimpered. "They had you and they had me bound and I couldn't get free and I tried, John, I tried, but they made me watch, they made me -"

John hushed his friend gently, sitting himself up against the headboard as he pulled Sherlock against him, stroking a soothing hand through his hair.

"Nobody has you, nobody has me," he murmured. "We're home, at 221B, and nothing will change that, okay? They won't get us."

John didn't know who the 'they' were, but he knew that on his 'holiday from life' Sherlock had faced off with some of the worst scum on the planet, and he also knew that as much as Sherlock had appeared to just slip straight back into his life in London, the younger man struggled with some of the things he'd seen and done.

And some of the things that had been done to him.

When Sherlock was settled, John tried to move from under him, but Sherlock let out a wordless whimper. Sighing, John slid down the bed until they were both lying down, Sherlock's head firmly on his shoulder.

"Go to sleep, Sherlock," he murmured, his hand running through his soft locks, "I'm right here, we're both safe."

Sherlock slept through the night, and when John woke up in the morning, he realised he had too.

3

The snoring was unbelievable. Why Sherlock had thought it a good idea to put the drunken John in his bed rather than trying to help him upstairs, he had no idea.

Clearly it was a terrible idea.

Kicking him, Sherlock smirked when the snoring stuttered and died. He settled down beside his flatmate and was just drifting off when…

He sounded like a goddamn foghorn!

"Johhhhhn," he moaned, kicking him again. "Stop for the love of god!"

The snoring stuttered again, and John turned away from Sherlock onto his side. Sherlock waited for a snore that… didn't come.

Huh. Apparently John didn't snore on his side. Sherlock shuffled across the bed, fitting himself against John's back. Let him try and turn over now, he thought smugly, burying his face into John's neck.

Comfortable in the, thankfully, silent room, Sherlock drifted off to sleep.

4

John shifted, shivering slightly against the cold. Blinking his eyes awake, he saw Sherlock snuggled up in all the blankets beside him.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled at the corner, managing to get just enough to cover his body. Falling back into slumber, he startled when the cover slid off him once more, as Sherlock shifted slightly, pulling the blankets back to himself.

Rolling his eyes, John repeated the process, only this time, he spooned up against Sherlock's back and tucked the blanket around his own.

Finally warming up, he told himself he'd be glad to get home from Sherlock's parent's home, but he wasn't sure that was completely true.

Oddly, Mycroft's manipulations in telling Mr and Mrs Holmes that John and Sherlock were dating had turned out better than expected. Sherlock had been… well, much the same as usual, only a little more freer with physical contact, and John had… enjoyed the closeness.

As perceptive as Sherlock was when it came to solving crimes, John was thankful that the man was less observant when it came to matters of the heart.

Maybe he just needed to get back out onto the dating scene, he told himself firmly. Sherlock was… Sherlock. He didn't feel things that way and John. Well. John wasn't gay. Much.

5

"Bloody hotel can't even do a simple booking right," Sherlock sniped as the two of them unpacked their things.

They'd travelled to Sussex to work on a case for the local police who'd called out to Lestrade for help, and when John had booked, he'd asked for a double room with two beds.

The hotel had seen fit to place them in a double room with a single queen size bed.

Shaking his head, John lay down on the left, his assumed place when the two of them shared the bed, which seemed to be happening more and more often.

Sherlock joined him a few minutes later, offering John a strained smile.

"I could probably work for a few hours, if you don't want to -"

John cut him off with the shake of his head. He'd worked hard over the months since Sherlock's return from his enforced holiday to get Sherlock eating and sleeping on a more regular basis than he had before and he didn't want that progress ruined.

"It's not like we haven't shared before, right?"

Sherlock frowned. "But those times were for reasons."

"And this time is also for a reason - the reason being that the hotel staff are incompetent. Think of the review you can leave on Yelp when we get home."

Sherlock laughed, grinning a cheeky grin at John as the two settled properly under the covers.

"Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

…

When Sherlock woke the following morning, it was to the sound of the shower running. He marvelled at how rested he felt, having slept the whole night through. Turning his head, he caught the scent of John on his pillow and inhaled deeply.

It was a smell he hadn't known he relied on so much until he no longer had access to it, and he'd missed it almost as much as he'd missed the Doctor himself.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts, he inhaled once more and smiled to himself. John smelled like home.

+1

They fell through the living room door, laughing and shoving each other gently. They'd just returned from an exhilarating chase across the rooftops, which had, of course, ended in the capture of another bad guy. Sherlock stared at John for a long moment, watching as the large grin softened into a gentler smile that John seemed to reserve just for him.

"Are you hungry?" John asked, shuffling through the pile of takeaway menus on the kitchen table.

Sherlock shook his head silently, still staring at John. "I love you."

John dropped the menus.

"What?"

"I love you," Sherlock repeated, much to both of their surprise. Sherlock hated repetition. "I love you, and I think I've always loved you."

John blinked. "I…"

He seemed at a loss for words and Sherlock's heart sank. Just as he was about to turn and run, to lock himself in his bedroom where he would be safe to lick his wounds in solitude, John marched forward and caught his wrist between gentle fingers.

"When you say you love me, do you mean you love me as a friend or…?"

Ah. Sherlock could see the problem now, because he wasn't exactly known for romantic entanglements and John was currently confused at his meaning.

"I'm in love with you," he clarified, smiling brightly when the John's eyes lit up.

Sherlock leant down, slowly and cautiously, until John seemed to get the idea. They met in the middle, John standing slightly on his toes, to Sherlock's silent amusement.

Oddly enough he found it quite adorable.

"Come to bed, John. Not because one of us is drunk, or sick, or having a nightmare. Come to my bed because it's where you want to be. Please."

John smiled, reaching up an arm to caress Sherlock's cheek. "Lead the way."