Hello there readers! Thank you for visiting my humble fan fic. I do hope you enjoy. Any and all reviews welcome, constructive criticism is especially welcomed. I do not have a beta so any grammar/spelling mistakes are mine and this was hastily posted up. Also, this is just a wee lonely one-shot. I really do not have the talent for chaptered fics!

Disclaimer: If it was mine, then do you really think I'd be using the characters for fan fiction?!

Anyway, on with reading. Please let me know what you think :)

It was not a usual occurrence for 221b to be so quiet. Mrs Hudson had already been up the stairs once to check on her favourite lodgers, but to no avail had found anything out of the ordinary. She peeped through a crack in the door and had found both men sitting quite contently on their arm chairs. Well at least John was. Sherlock was sprawled unceremoniously across the sofa with half of his lanky body hanging off one end.

She knocked on the door quietly, not wanting to startle the two men. John looked up, smiled and raised a finger to his lips.

"Shh, first bit of sleep in 4 days Mrs Hudson and I didn't even need to drug his tea!"

He whispered, seemingly pleased.

"Well then, I'll leave you to it dear" She patted the soldier on the arm and turned to leave, tutting at the mess in the flat on the way out. John fell back into the chair and continued reading his paper, flicking from page to page absentmindedly. He scanned the stories with little interest, just killing time the slumbering detective had granted him.

It was surprising that Sherlock had fell asleep, he'd been doing nothing that morning except brooding and demanding tea, moaning about how inconsiderate it was for people not to leave him a nice murder or two (or at least an interesting one anyway). John had decided not to respond to any of the snide comments, preferring to deal with Sherlock like he would an argumentative child: by ignoring him.

Eventually Sherlock had gotten bored of the unresponsiveness and had instead taken to huddling on the sofa with his skull. Now asleep, the only action he would give was an occasional twitch of his arm, and sometimes a slight muttering about something or other. John smiled to himself and wondered what he was dreaming about, Sherlock's muttering was barely audible and the only word that John had picked out thus far had been "murder".

Morbid? No, just Sherlock. His stagnating mind had probably given him a case to solve in his sleep. Lucky sod. At least it kept him off his back for a while, even if it did mean having to tread about the flat carefully. Which in its current state, could not have been a more dangerous job. Twice John had had to catch himself at the last minute and steady himself on anything his hands sought before he fell; he really wasn't in the mood for a bloody nose and a moody just-woken-up Sherlock.

He threw (as quietly as it was humanly possible) the paper onto the floor beside him and huffed in exasperation. It was good that Sherlock was sleeping, but now it was John's turn to be bored. He did consider waking the self proclaimed sociopath, but the thought of the implications quickly made him turn his nose up at that idea.

Despite usually being on alert 24/7 and ready to make your brain explode with his 100mph ramblings, one thing Sherlock particularly didn't take well were mornings. God forbid anybody who woke Sherlock up before he was ready to. Continues scowls and being sent to Coventry was on the agenda for whomever made that mistake. This behavior could last for a while, ranging from a couple of hours to a few days.

Considering the time Sherlock has gone without sleep for, and the time he usually took to sleep when he gave in to his body's needs, he'd say there were a couple of hours left to go. In the meantime, just what was there to do? He could probably go out somewhere, meet Greg at the pub maybe, but the fact it was raining outside and 221b was just so nice and warm made John ditch that idea.

He gazed around at the room, and looked over at Sherlock who gave a slight 'harrumph' sort of noise. It was only then John took in the position his flatmate held. He was half dangling of the sofa, and was in extreme danger of toppling off and waking up. Although it would perhaps be a funny sight to see (dazed, confused Sherlock, anyone?) he had to admit that the mood Sherlock would fall into just wasn't worth it.

Hoping he wouldn't wake up, John tiptoed across the room to stand over him. He carefully took Sherlock's pulse, which was slow and steady and decided it would be safe enough to try and move him slightly. He was in a deep sleep, and shouldn't stir much. He lightly grasped Sherlock's legs and pulled them over so he was properly lying down, letting his feet dangle off the end. Something which couldn't be helped, after all, the man was stupidly tall.

Grabbing a cushion which had fallen onto the floor, he carefully lifted his head and slipped it underneath. John stood up straight and inspected his handiwork, but frowned when he saw there was something missing. He saw Sherlock's limbs give an involuntary shiver, and crept to the other side of the room to fetch a blanket. Upon successfully retrieving said item, he draped it best he could over Sherlock. Taking his time to neatly tuck him in and make sure he was comfortable. Once again, John stood straight. Much better.

Smiling to himself he began to make the journey back to his seat, but realised suddenly what could absolutely complete the picture. It was a wicked thought, but one he really could not help himself from carrying out. Abandoning his current journey, he made a new one to the stairs. Once there he cautiously put one foot on the first step, then another and carried on taking them slowly so as it not make any noise.

He went into his bedroom, and rifled through the back of his wardrobe. He grunted when he could not find what he was looking for, but tried again with some drawers in the corner of his room. Upon moving several items he found what he was looking for. John gave a wry grin, and took in the thing in front of him. He had found it once when on a case.

They had been in Camden Market looking for a drug dealer a couple weeks back, when separated he found himself looking at this particular stall which stocked all kinds of bits and bobs. As soon as his eyes laid sight on it, he knew he had to get it. It just fit so perfectly, and bore such an uncanny resemblance...Anyway, shaking his head to clear his thoughts; he made his way back to the living room.

Sherlock hadn't moved an inch in his absence, which was good because in order to make this work Sherlock would have been in this particular position. John took the thing out from under his arm, and ever so gently placed it under Sherlock's. The upper half of his body was twisted slightly to face him, and John moved the object until it was snug in his armpit, the top brushing up against Sherlock's face.

He stood back, and had to stifle a giggle at the sight which lay before him. He did consider just leaving it there, but John couldn't help himself. Besides, it could be used for blackmailing purposes. Hastily making up his mind, he took his phone out of his pocket. After fumbling around with the keys he managed to get the camera screen on. It was of very good quality, and everything could be seen in clarity. Sherlock stirred a little, so he hastily lined up the camera and snapped a picture.

Stuffing his phone back into his pocket and almost dived across the room to get back to his chair. He reached it in the nick of time, just in time to hear Sherlock say a loud "What the...?" in a dozy manner. John turned round to face him, and tried to hide his sheepish grin. Sherlock was holding up what John had placed upon him, and was inspecting it incredulously. John steadied his voice, and tried to give him a 'butter wouldn't melt expression'.

In any other state, Sherlock would have been suspicious, but after just waking up from sleep his mind didn't register the relevant data. "Thought it might make you comfier" He said innocently, desperately trying to control himself. Sherlock crinkled his nose up in disgust and simply threw it onto the coach. "Whatever" He murmured. With a heavy step he trudged into the kitchen and switched the kettle on. John stared back at the coach, and couldn't contain himself. He gave out an almighty snort of laughter and brought his phone out again.

Flicking back to the photo, he took in every detail and laughed even more. Thankful for the kettle being so loud and drowning out the whale-like noises he was now emitting, he wiped his eyes and calmed himself down. He stared at the phone screen hesitantly for a moment, but then instantly pressed send before he could regret it.

He didn't once think about the implications it would have on Greg. At the time of receiving the message, he was slurping coffee and spat it back out again in laughter when he saw the picture. It was Sherlock asleep, and he was snuggled up to an otter. An otter, which bore a striking resemblance to the owner whose face it was pushed up against.