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Sherlock let out a soft gasp as he came back to reality. He'd been in his mind palace most of the day, It was dark out and there where no lights on in the flat.
Thats strange, he thought. John usually put the lights on, but John was quite definately not there. Sherlocks brow furrowed, he couldn't think where John could be.
Bed? No, it was too early. Sherlock stood to investigate the situation.
He climbed the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky stairs in case John was in. He pushed the door open carefully to avoid the coats hung on the back falling off.
The room was John free so Sherlock slipped in, letting his fingers ghost over the bed sheets. Sherlock started to assess the room; dents in the bedsheets where a bag had been, the underwear draw askew from trying to push it in in a hurry, Johns best suit missing from the wardrobe.
"Conference..." Sherlock mumbled to himself, sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking idly about his findings.
Sherlock had phased out for almost three hours and when he came to he was tired, he knew he would pass out soon. He looked around, under the impression John wouldn't be home until the following night so he kicked his shoes off, folding his shirt and putting it on the end of the bed. Turning the lights off and clambering into the bed, deciding it rude to sleep on Johns side of the bed, even if he wasn't there Sherlock felt he shouldn't.
It took no time for him to fall asleep, feeling safe in the comfort of Johns smells.
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John let out a huff as he returned to the flat, half expecting Sherlock to be in the same spot in which he left him when he left. The meeting had been a flop, a mixture of poor planning and drunken arseholes had forced the two day meeting to come to a close early.
Part of him was glad because he could come home, have a nice cup of tea and go to bed early, but it was a shame they hadn't managed to cover half the things they needed to cover so he would probably end up having to do over time to finish the paperwork.
Sherlock wasn't in his seat, John shrugged it off, deciding to go to bed so he wouldn't be in bed all day tomorrow. John yawned as he clambered the stairs, not bothering to put the light on, throwing his clothes in a messy pile in the corner before slipping under the sheets. He let out a content groan as he stretched out, not noticing the warm feet touching his cold ones at first.
He was half asleep when some willowy limbs draped over unknowingly to the owner. John let out a loud yell of surprise and jumped from the bed, covering himself with a pillow as he put the light on.
Sherlock cried out too and sat bolt upright.
"YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HOME!" He yelped at John, gaining an annoyed glare.
"And you aren't supposed to be in my bed!" He argued. Sherlock gave him an indignant look as he pulled his shirt on.
"No, wait Sher" He murmured, holding out a hand before pulling on some boxers. Sherlock watched him from his spot on the bed.
"Come here you huge softy" John said as he got back into bed, gently tugging Sherlock into his arms, ensuring himself it was platonic because they had bottoms on.
Sherlock got comfortable in Johns arms, not entirely sure how to react in the situation. He had never been 'cuddled', he started to absorb more information about John.
Smells like sweat and tea, his heart beat is slow and relaxed, his arms surprisingly strong and comforting. His breathing was a little heavy, probably shouldn't be breathing through his nose. His feet where cold against Sherlocks legs but he didn't mind. His train of thought was lost as he fell asleep again, curled up against John.
For the first time in years Sherlock slept peacefully, curled up with John encasing him in his heat.