Sherlock stayed, obstinately, awake throughout the entire cab ride. Thankfully, the ride was short, so John didn't have to worry about lugging an unconscious consulting detective up the stairs to their flat. Not that John would have expected him to fall asleep in the back of a cab- it was too... improper for someone like Sherlock. John was almost positive that he was one of the only people who had ever seen Sherlock Holmes sleep.

Not that it had been entirely appropriate for Sherlock to tear into the bag of sugar waffles in the back of the cab, either. But he had, much to John's intense displeasure, scattering more than a dusting of powered sugar over not only their pants, but the back of the cab as well.

And then Sherlock had gone on to complain about the sugar, the powered sugar, and the grease, and the texture of the waffle, and proceeded to tell John about everything that such food could do to one's body. By the time that they had arrived at Baker Street, John had tuned Sherlock out completely and was licking powered sugar from his fingers.

"Jeez, Sherlock, you're a mess," John muttered, casting a careful eye over the consulting detective as they stepped into their flat. Sherlock's coat was peppered with powered sugar, there was a thin coating of the powder laying his pants, and when he had stepped out of the taxi, a small cloud of white rained down like a miniature snowstorm in summer. Looking closer, under the light of Baker Street, John thought that maybe Sherlock had powdered sugar in his hair, too.

And all for what? Sherlock had decided, after first bite, that he hated sugar waffles.

"Might want to have a shower," John suggested, brushing the bits of sugar off of his own pants after depositing the rest of the sugar waffles on the kitchen counter. He walked back into the living room just as Sherlock finished hanging his coat up.

"No," Sherlock replied curtly, making an immediate beeline for the couch.

"Oh, no, you don't," John said, quickly cutting him off and catching his arm. "If you're not going to have a shower, go to bed."

"I was trying to," Sherlock retorted calmly.

"In your own bed, ta." John pressed his hand against the small of Sherlock's back firmly, giving him a gentle shove towards the kitchen. "You need a good night's rest. So you stop... using my shoulder as a pillow," he continued, lips creeping towards a smile.

Sherlock frowned in remembrance. "That was really rather rude, John. I was in a wonderful state of REM sleep..."

"Well, go back to your R-E-M sleep," John spelled out, "in your own b-e-d. I'll just fix things up out here and nip off to bed myself."

Sherlock sighed, like John was personally offending him by making him go into his own bedroom. "Don't patter about out here if you expect me to sleep."

"I'll try to keep the noise level at a minimum, although you don't for me."

"Could be worse," Sherlock replied, padding back towards his bedroom. "By the way, John?"

John glanced up from collecting his laptop from the table. "Yeah?"

"... Thanks. It was, well, interesting, to say the least."

John blinked in surprise, looking back at the consulting detective. Sherlock just looked tired, maybe a little abashed, and still worse for the wear with the powdered sugar. John smiled. "Yeah, no problem."

Sherlock nodded slightly, as if to himself, before vanishing back into his room.

Sorry for the delay in this. I got busy with Close Your Eyes, Count the Sheep and I truthfully can say that I neglected this. I couldn't figure out how to bring it to a close, so I put it in the backseat for a bit. But, now, here's the ending. Hopefully, you've enjoyed the ride [fair reference? I think yes ;D] and I thank you for every fav/follow/review that you, my dear fans, have submitted. Thank you for reading, as usual!