Author's Note: Hello again! I wasn't planning on updating this quite so soon but the thoughts were in my mind and I didn't want to keep them from you. I'm unsure whether this story will eventually have a regular updating schedule or not, because I don't know how frequently or well I'll be able to write this once school goes back next week. I also don't know how long this story will be, but I have at least another 2 chapters in mind. Please let me know what you think :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. If I did, it'd be a little different...

Sherlock stood in the doorway to John's room, debating whether or not to wake him. He must have rolled out of bed during the nightmare he must have had, however he seemed to have remained asleep this time when landing on the hard surface. He appeared to have shifted to a calmer mental state, his features soft and breathing even as he slept. Over the past months the traumatic nightmares had been occurring less frequently, though it still pained Sherlock when they did occur. His friend's unrest continually upset the younger man, in a way he still did not understand. It was truly unprecedented that Sherlock had not gained the knowledge he desired in this period of time. John Watson had changed Sherlock's opinions on companionship, whether or not this was a good thing remained undetermined in his usually sharp mind. The detective crossed the room as quietly as he was able to, pulling the duvet over the figure sleeping at his feet. The urge to gently touch the face of the sleeping man was overwhelming, and Sherlock quickly returned to his former place by the door in order to control himself. He yawned involuntarily, the three sleepless nights he had just had due to a particularly tough case, which he had solved in the early hours of the morning, were beginning to take their toll on him. Sunlight streamed in the window, muted by the typical autumn cloud cover that had not completely broken in weeks. He found himself staring out the window, watching the city come to life as the early morning risers begun to appear in the streets. For once Sherlock decided that testing his deduction skills on people in the street provided him little entertainment, and he found his attention drawn back to the sleeping man. He wondered whether his newfound emotions were common amongst friends. Surely feelings strong enough to even register in his well-guarded mind would be crossing one of the lines John frequently reminded him were 'socially unacceptable'. Sherlock attempted to identify the variables that drew him to this individual, who seemed no different at first glance to any person he would usually pass by. There was his army and medical training, though he was not the first doctor or soldier Sherlock had met. His looks were not unpleasant. In fact, he appeared rather…

"Sherlock! What are you doing?!" Shit. Busted.

"Oh, Umm, I was just, erm, looking for the skull," he replied immediately in a feeble attempt to cover his blatant staring.

" I don't have your skull." John sighed. Of all the ways to wake up, lying on the floor being stared at by a well-known sociopath was not one of the best.

"Really, Sherlock, what is it? I happen to know Mrs. Hudson hid your skull three days ago. I also know that you are well aware of this fact. The only reason you haven't approached her is because you're afraid that she'll crush it. Is there something you need?" John really shouldn't have been surprised at the unusual presence of his flat-mate; this was Sherlock in question, after all.

"Oh, nothing. I'll, umm, just be off then." Sherlock turned and quickly retreated down the stairs. John had yet to see him look so uncomfortable in the months they had known each other. What was really going on in that curly head of his?

John appeared in the kitchen some time later, after showering and dressing, taking his time to clear his head of the rather inappropriate thoughts that had begun to form in relation to a particular consultant detective. He wasn't sure when thinking of his flat-mate in such a manner had become appropriate in his mind, and he was also unsure if he was completely comfortable with the revelation. Sherlock was leant over the kitchen bench, thoroughly engrossed in whatever experiment he was currently conducting. John cleared his throat, causing him to startle and thump his head on the overhead cupboard with great force.

"John! Oh good lord, did you have to do that?!" Sherlock cried, his head in his hands. John crossed the kitchen, mumbling apologies as he prised Sherlock's hands away in order to examine his head. He run his fingers over the now tender area, glancing into the other man's eyes for signs of immediate distress. Sherlock, who appeared to be fine, although he would have bruising in the coming days, held his gaze. Suddenly, he felt the moment change. All that mattered was John, the outside world ceased to exist in that moment. They inched closer together, his hands moving to lie at John's back, his eyes instinctively closing. The feel of his friend's breath on his lips sent all of Sherlock's underlying doubt flying when John froze, coming to his senses immediately, seemingly out of nowhere. He pushed Sherlock aside, grabbed his coat and left the flat, slamming the door as he went. He needed air. Lots and lots of air.

Sherlock remained leaning against the kitchen bench, his mind kicking into overdrive. He moved to sit on the floor where he had previously been standing, reprimanding himself for getting carried away. This was John Watson, his only friend, he could not just go and almost kiss him whenever he pleased, possible head injury or not. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, immediately texting John.

Message from Sherlock Holmes

7:43 AM

I'm sorry. Please come back. –SH

He stared at nothing in particular, waiting for a reply.

Message from John Watson

7:47 AM

Need space. Gone walking. Be back later. –JW

Sherlock sighed, getting up and wandering to the couch. He would sit and attempt to process his thoughts until John came home. Maybe he could slow his whirling thoughts enough for a short nap. If only John were here, he always slept more soundly if he was. Despite his doubts, pure exhaustion overtook him sooner rather than later and he fell into a sleep only experienced by those too tired to function normally. There was only so long one could stay awake without sleep.

Instead of dreaming of cases as he expected, however, John Watson filled his unconscious thoughts.