It was neither the first - nor the last, he suspected - time John Watson found himself dragging his sorry self into a cab after a long night of running across rooftops, breaking and entering, and, at one point, full on tackling a man. Not that he didn't love every second of it - the blood pounding in his ears, grinning like mad and looking over to see the same expression mirrored on Sherlock's face even as they charge after certain danger. However, sleep was still essential to the human body and, quite honestly, a luxury he'd become quite fond of, even if chasing after criminals with a certain Sherlock Holmes was a hobby that often disagreed with it. So maybe it wasn't entirely surprising that London was already awash with the rosy light of dawn by the time they were headed back home, but right about then he wasn't exactly in the mood to take consolation in that fact.

He could, however, relish the cool glass against his forehead. He could even close his eyes and pretend it was still dark outside and he hadn't been awake for about twenty-four hours straight. Adrenaline and a shot of espresso could only get you so far. Sometimes all you needed was a pair of heavy eyelids and sweet, sweet silence.

"Yellow car."

John's eyes flew open. Well, so much for silence. He blinked wearily, shooting Sherlock a look that couldn't decide if it was irritated or just flat out confused. "What?"

"Yellow car." The dark-haired man repeated impatiently. Oh, yes, as if that explained it. Figures he'd be his usual self even though John knew for a fact that he hadn't slept a wink either, sporting that bright-eyed look of having just finished a case regardless. "It's a game, John. Do keep up."

"A game."

"Yes. When you see a yellow care you say-"

"Yeah, 'yellow car'. I got that bit, thanks." John sighed, running a tired hand over his face. God, was he hallucinating or was Sherlock just high? "But why?"

"I thought it would be fun." Sherlock answered simply, resuming his position of steadfastly staring out the window - no doubt on the look out for the ever elusive yellow car. "I thought you liked games? I quite enjoyed Scrabble."

Oh dear Lord. Like he needed reminding of that one. Though in retrospect, engaging a genius in a word game hadn't been the best plan. Still, he should have at least stood a fighting chance in Monopoly - judging by the way most of Sherlock's funds seemed to either find their way into pricey cab fares for across London and back or test tubes, you wouldn't think the man knew what fiscal responsibility meant. John hadn't even dared consider making him play Risk, lest it spark a new dream of world domination. That was just what they needed. "Not at six in the morning, I don't."

He thought he heard a humph of annoyance from the other side of the cab, but considering the blessed stretch of silence that followed it, he wasn't inclined to care if Sherlock was sulking at the moment. His unusually good mood wouldn't have lasted anyways, not unless Lestrade was already standing on their doorstep with a messy triple murder case all wrapped up with a bow.

Whether London was less than forthcoming with yellow cars that morning or Sherlock had just dropped the game, John didn't know, but either way the cab pulled up to 221b without any further incident. John's face split into a huge yawn as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, which made it extremely hard to look as annoyed as he was that Sherlock had left paying the cabbie up to him again. "Sherlock, I can't - yellow car - afford to-"

Oh shit.

Did he really just-

"Good eye, John." You could just hear the smirk in his voice.

John huffed in agitation , shouldering past into the refuge of their flat, even as he grumpily decided that he did not like games.