AN: I saw this thing floating around on Tumblr where John was trying to sleep and Sherlock wasn't letting him so he kissed him to shut him up. I had to write it.

Hope you enjoy!

John rolled over in bed, trying to find a position that would let him sleep. He was exhausted, but tonight just wasn't his night. His leg throbbed from when he'd banged it against a metal bar, and his right shoulder sent flashes of pain every time he moved. Of course he over-extended it catching their guy. Bloody criminals never knew when to give up.

By some miracle he actually found a comfortable position. He soon drifted off into a mostly-asleep state. Oh well, it was good enough for him.

He had a few blissful minutes of rest before his bedroom door slammed open.

"John!"

John groaned and tried to cover his ears with his pillow. Sherlock's voice still made it through to his ears.

"—and I wracked my mind but I could not identify the compound, and that is entirely unacceptable, so I decided to experiment with known compounds—"

Oh God. He'd been experimenting. John felt his plans of sleep vanish in a puff of smoke. You don't know long-winded until you're on the receiving end of Sherlock's experimental findings.

He felt the bed dip as Sherlock sat down.

"—At first I thought it could be a powder, but I soon found the consistency was wrong, so—"

"You know, some of us have jobs to go to in the morning."

"—I decided to carefully mix various types and states—"

Sherlock hadn't even paused in his monologue, the git. John reluctantly pulled his head out from under his pillow and faced Sherlock. The man had now degenerated to scientific jargon that John had no hope of understanding right now. His brain helpfully translated it into a lot of "blahs."

Sherlock made a wild gesticulation, the beaker in his hand nearly hitting John's nose. John flinched back instinctively. Sherlock turned and waved the beaker in his face, making him go cross-eyed trying to keep an eye on it. It didn't have a cap, and John really didn't want a spill on his bed. That would just ruin his entire week.

Sherlock was still talking. Normally, he would gladly listen to Sherlock. He was just as interested as anyone involved with the sciences (even if his specialty was the medical sciences). But it was an ungodly hour of the night, he was in pain, and he had to go to work in a few hours.

Sherlock stopped waving the beaker in his face, and John breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about. Now, how the hell was he going to shut Sherlock up?

Sherlock was looking insufferably smug right now. He must have moved on to praising himself (though John couldn't be sure, since his brain was still stuck in "blah" mode).

Suddenly, a little idea crept up on him. It was the mischievous kind that he usually pushed away, but this time he didn't bother. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't wanted to do it for a while now. Why waste a perfect opportunity?

So he leaned forward, grabbed Sherlock's shirt, yanked him forward, and kissed him.

It was a simple press of lips, but Sherlock went still. John held the kiss for a few moments before deciding it was enough. John licked Sherlock's lips before pulling away (he just couldn't resist).

Sherlock looked shocked. John just chuckled and snuggled back into his pillow. Ah, blissful silence.

Not the most graceful of ways to come clean to his friend, but who the hell cares?

John peeked out of one eye and saw Sherlock staring at him. He still looked a little shocked.

John rolled his eyes and turned a bit to face him. "Well don't just sit there! You're making me antsy. Either lie down before you keel over or go back to the kitchen and clean up that experiment."

For a moment Sherlock did nothing. Then he blinked a few times, stood up, and left the room. John felt a little sad to see him go. After all, a man can hope, can't he? He rolled back to his old position and tried to fall asleep again.

A few minutes later, he felt the bed dip. He started and tried to turn, but his shoulder put up a loud protest at the sudden move. He hissed and suddenly another pair of hands were there, holding him down and cradling his shoulder.

John watched as the other man made himself comfortable on John's bed. "Sherlock? I thought you went downstairs to clean up."

"I did. Then I came up here to 'lie down before I keel over.'"

John snorted, and Sherlock ran a hand over his face before grasping one of John's. He thought he felt the light press of lips against his temple, but that could've been his sleep-deprived imagination.

"Go to sleep, John. We'll talk tomorrow."

And John did.

AN: Hope you liked it. :) Reviews are loved!