The first time John saw Sherlock sleeping…

John had been living with Sherlock for a month now. Cases were the highlights of his day. As he had yet to find a job anywhere so far, if Sherlock was not on a case he was usually stuck watching crap telly. However this time, John was exhausted. The thought of sleeping in bed was more exciting than a case at the moment. Nine days ago, Sherlock had gotten a call from Lestrade about a particularly nasty break in. A whole family had been slaughtered. In the father's office, the wall had been busted open to reveal a hidden safe in the wall. The safe was empty, but the father had kept no records of the contents of the safe. It was Sherlock's job to figure out what the man had been hiding, who had taken whatever it was, and to find whoever had done it. It had taken six days for him to solve it. Of course, John had caught naps here and there. He and Lestrade had actually nodded off on a sofa in the DI's office for a good six hours towards the end of the case. (They promised never to mention it to anyone else when they woke up slumped against each other.)

But Sherlock didn't sleep at all. John had mentioned it to the consulting detective once and he simply responded that he didn't sleep on a case. John had sighed and shook his head. He figured as long as he got the occasionally slice of toast into the detective he most likely wouldn't collapse. So, six days passed with no sleep for the consulting detective. Despite John's short time living with the detective, he could tell that the man was past exhaustion. Just as they were about to leave Scotland Yard, there was a shooting in the lobby of a bank right down the street. Of course, Sherlock couldn't refuse. Although this case was much simpler than their last case it still took three more days to tie up all the loose ends.

John and Sherlock were currently standing on the curb outside of Scotland Yard, waiting for the cab Lestrade had called for them. John was watching Sherlock concernedly out of the corner of his eye. He was more pale than usual and his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. His blinking was becoming increasingly slower and John was worried the man was about to fall asleep on his feet. "You really don't sleep on a case?" John asked then.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed. His hand came up to rub at his eyes. "Mm. No, save for the occasional micro sleep."

"Micro sleep?" John questioned, cocking his head slightly.

Sherlock gave a small nod in return that looked more like he was falling asleep than agreeing. "Sleep that lasts no more than thirty seconds." He yawned widely, having to reach his hand up to swipe involuntary tears away from his eyes. "It's enough to keep me going until I can actually rest."

"Huh." John couldn't understand how Sherlock could go so long with such little sleep. Before he could ask his next question however, their cab pulled up to the curb. John yawned as well as he opened the door, mentally blaming Sherlock. Yawns were contagious after all. "221 Baker Street." John informed the cab driver as Sherlock slid into the back. The cabbie gave a short nod and pulled away from the curb soon as Sherlock's door was shut.

Approximately three seconds later, John felt something plop onto his shoulder. When he turned to see what it was, he found Sherlock's thick curly hair tickling his face. "Oi, Sherlock." He said confusedly, trying to crane his neck to look at the man's face. "What are you doing?"

John was answered with a snore.

He glanced up to see the cabbie smirking at them. "Long day?" he asked. John could only give a disbelieving chuckle and nod his head as another snore sounded through the cab. John relaxed back, allowing Sherlock to rest against his shoulder. God knew the man deserved the rest. Traffic was thick and the trip to Baker Street took longer than normal. The sound of Sherlock's snoring was causing John's eyes to feel heavier and heavier, his chin drooping closer to his chest…

John woke when a hand rested on his knee. "Sir? We're here." John took a deep breath in through his nose and nodded, eyes peeling themselves open. He hummed under his breath and dug his hand into his pocket to get his wallet. He paid the cabbie the proper amount, Sherlock's dead weight still leaning heavily against his side. "Give me a minute to get him up and out." John said. The cabbie simply smiled and nodded. John turned the best he could, reaching his hand up to Sherlock's shoulder. He rubbed Sherlock's upper arm gently, trying to wake him the best way he could. He felt bad, honestly. He knew how hard the man had worked these past days. "Sherlock?" he called. "Mate, we're back at the flat. Let's get you inside and to bed." A few seconds passed before Sherlock's head slipped off of John's shoulder. "Home?" he slurred out, eyes still closed. John nodded, still rubbing his shoulder gently to try and keep the man awake. "Yeah, we're home, mate." He confirmed. He resisted the urge to chuckle as he saw saliva on Sherlock's cheek. He quickly glanced down and saw a damp spot on his coat to match. John couldn't even bring himself to be angry. Sherlock was normally so… inhuman. To see him act so normal was almost endearing.

Sherlock gave a small nod and sat up. John took this opportunity to slip out of his side of the cab, quickly going to Sherlock's side to open the door. He reached in and looped his arm around Sherlock's waist, pulling him out of the cab and onto his feet. John gave the cabbie one last thanks before closing the door. John kept his arm around Sherlock's waist as they made their way towards the front door. Sherlock was managing to walk well enough, though he was leaning part of his weight against John.

John fumbled with his key for a moment before opening the door and bringing Sherlock inside. Right. Stairs were next. Good thing John's room was the one upstairs and not Sherlock's. "Right, just a few stairs now and then you can get to bed."

"Eighteen." Sherlock mumbled.

"Hm?"

"Eighteen stairs."

"Right. Eighteen stairs separate you from your bed." John rolled his eyes. Of course Sherlock would know exactly how many stairs there were. John brought Sherlock's arm over his own shoulders so that he could try and better help Sherlock's balance. His other arm still stayed wrapped around his torso. Sherlock did rather well at climbing the stairs considering he was practically dead on his feet. They stumbled a few times, but never did they fall. However John was never more relieved to see the door to their flat. He pushed it open and led Sherlock inside. He pulled Sherlock's coat off of him and hung it on the back of the door before continuing to guide Sherlock back to his bedroom. He didn't bother with his own coat, he could do that later.

Sherlock tried to open his bedroom door himself, but his hand missed the door handle and cracked against the door frame. "Ow." He grumbled. John gave a low chuckle, reaching forward to open the door for him. It was the first time John had been in Sherlock's bedroom. It was oddly neat compared to the way Sherlock kept the rest of the flat. "Sit on the edge of the bed." John instructed. Sherlock merely nodded and did as he was told, too tired to argue. John knelt to take off Sherlock's shoes and socks while Sherlock wrestled his suit jacket off. When he moved to his dress shirt he seemed to forget that his shirt had buttons on the cuffs and was left with his shirt hanging from his wrists. John unbuttoned them and helped completely remove the garment. This was also the first time John had seen his new flatmate shirtless. John wasn't surprised that he could see all of Sherlock's ribs.

Sherlock stood and fumbled with his belt for a moment before slipping his trousers off, obviously not minding if John saw him or not. "Right." John said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Although he felt like he'd known Sherlock most of his life, the fact was that they'd only been living together for a month. This type of situation was definitely new for John. He cleared his throat, ears turning a bit red at the tips. "Sleep well then."

Sherlock simply hummed in response, falling face first onto his bed.

John turned to leave but hesitated at the door. He turned back and sighed. He couldn't let Sherlock fall asleep without a blanket. He blamed it on his doctor-ly instincts. One of the first things they did in med school was learn to change the bed sheets while the patient was still in bed. John gently rolled Sherlock onto his back before pulling down the covers beneath him and then pulling them over top of the detective. "Night, Sherlock." He said quietly.

Yet again, John was answered with a snore.