Chapter Text
“Sherlock, it’s two in the morning, can’t this wait for another time?”
“Oh yes, investigating glowing tombstones would be a much better idea in broad daylight. Wonderfull suggestion, John.”
“You know what I meant.”
Sherlock crouched down in front of the tombstone, it was faded and worn, the shallow etches of a name and day barely visible to the naked eye. Carefully, he traced a finger across the worn-down engravings. At least thirteen people had come to him within the week, each claiming to have seen lights from within the graveyard. Typically experiencing lucid dreams afterward.
“Well?” John asked, impatiently tapping his foot.
Ignoring his partner, Sherlock leaned forward, quickly running his tongue across the rough stone.
“Cool cool, now we’re licking. Licking tombstones, in downtown London, at TWO AM!” John exclaimed, throwing his hands above his head.
“It’s the moss,” Sherlock stood up, putting his gloves back on. “Hallucinogenic. Typically grows in wide-open areas but is prone to be overpowered by other plant life. Possesses a luminous quality to it when paired with just the right conditions but doesn’t begin working until a few hours after exposure. Hence why it was causing strange dreams.”
“...And you licked it why?”
“Distinct flavour.”
John narrowed his eyes at the dark-haired man, then sighed, grudgingly following him out of the graveyard.
“Can I ask?”
“No.”
“Alright.”
They chuckled, and John stuffed his hands into his pockets. The air was cold, but not overbearing as the wind had died down hours ago. It was only a little over a week until Christmas, Sherlock hadn’t had a case in days, and his agonizing boredom had finally come to a head. Therefore, he decided to check out something a little less than exciting.
“So..” John began but was cut off by a buzz from Sherlock's mobile. He raised his eyebrows.
“Whatever you’re thinking- it’s a no, I don’t know them. You can go back to the… flat…” Sherlock trailed off as the read the message to himself.
Meet me in the graveyard at 2:24. Come alone.
-AN
“Are you sure?”
John’s voice pulled Sherlock from his train of thought.
“Yes,” he shoved his phone into the pocket of his trenchcoat. “I’ll be right back.”
~~~~~~~~~~
John had only been typing at the computer for twenty minutes before he started to doze off. When it came to cases where he didn’t write any notes then and there, he made sure to write everything while it was still fresh in his mind upon getting home. Of course, there was an exception to the rare occasions he passed out before-hand. Or was hospitalized. Or drugged. Or all the above. His head had nearly hit the keyboard when the door swung open. He jerked awake.
“What-? I’m awake.”
“Of course you are.”
Sherlock hung his coat on the top hook of the rack, then trudged over silently to his chair.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
John sighed, closing his laptop.
“You’re upset.”
“And why would you say that?” Sherlock asked.
“You hung up your coat on the top hook, so that means you plan on leaving fairly soon and quickly, as you can pick up and put it on easier. Since you have no cases, you’re most likely going to take a ‘thinking walk’, which only happens when you’re conflicted or unsure. Which, in turn, makes you upset.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows, his mouth slightly agape.
“I’m impressed.”
“You also look royally pissed, but then again that’s a common look for you when you don’t have something to solve.”
Sherlock sank into his chair, sliding down until the armrests were level with his shoulders.
“Weren’t you going to sleep or something? Seeming you spent the whole time complaining.”
“After I finish typing this out-”
“John, nobody reads your blog.”
“More mine than yours.”
“At least mine contains intelligent thought,” Sherlock snapped, glaring at John.
John stared for a moment, furrowing his brow.
“What’s wrong with you? It’s only been three minutes since your last case and you’re already-”
“This has nothing to do with that! So please, if you don’t mind, I would like to be alone.”
John set his mouth in a hard line, standing up.
“Well, talk to me when you aren’t acting like a complete git.”
As John left the room, he heard Sherlock call out, “Well then I guess we won’t be speaking for a while!”
“What is his problem?” he muttered under his breath, walking up the stairs. He was used to Sherlock's outbursts, they were fairly common, to be honest, but recently he hadn’t had any until now. Paired with him wandering off alone earlier, it was a definite call to suspicion.
As John stumbled to his room, he sat down on the bed, pondering. He didn’t want to openly ask Sherlock about it, as all he would do is deny and ask John if he had anything better to do. As John thought more about it, exhaustion won over, and he eventually fell asleep.