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If they had decided to get a hotel room before starting the case, like John had suggested, they wouldn't have had this problem. But of course, upon arriving at the tiny lakeside town where three burned bodies had been discovered with their left eyes missing and their tongues cut out, Sherlock had been too eager to begin working to bother with the hotel room. John partially blamed himself. He had given half a thought to the idea of calling up the only inn in town and reserving a room, but he hadn't ended up doing it. The fact that it was the only inn in town, and the fact that it wasn't a particularly touristy town, implied that they would have no trouble getting a room when they needed to. Plus, once Sherlock was busy swooping around in his coat and looking at eye sockets with a magnifier, John was too busy admiring him (and cringing at him) to be distracted. But he thought it would be okay. It was a small town, it's not like rooms were in demand.
Well, he was right--they were able to get a room. But he was also wrong, because it was with some difficulty. Sherlock ended up solving the case faster than anyone had anticipated, and he and John walked away victoriously and headed straight for the inn to collapse. Unfortunately, it turned out that a local political family was having a wedding that weekend, and when John inquired at the main desk, all of the rooms were taken by their rather large number of guests. John gave a panic-stricken look to Sherlock, who was standing by the door, paying no attention, too busy smirking over something on his phone. John proceeded to plead with the desk attendant, who looked at him sadly and a tad uncomfortably, insisting that there was nothing she could do. John was halfway to Sherlock, about to tell him the bad news, when a bickering couple came storming down the stairs and loudly slapped the key card to their room onto the desk. After they left, the receptionist smiled at John and motioned him over. It seemed there had been an opening, and if they would just wait a moment for the room to be cleaned, it was all theirs. The room only had one bed, but it was better than nothing. John thanked her profusely and joked about his good fortune, and when the room was ready, he grabbed both his and Sherlock's bags and started up the stairs as Sherlock followed behind.
It was a small room, and the bed seemed smaller than normal, though John knew it was a standard double. When they walked in, Sherlock looked up from his phone for the first time, and one eyebrow arched. John thought for half a moment that he saw Sherlock's resemblance to his brother.
"One bed?" Sherlock asked, suspiciously.
"Keep up, Sherlock, I told you that as we were walking up the stairs."
Sherlock grunted and shoved his phone into his pocket, but didn't inquire further. His eyes roamed around the room.
"Oh. He was cheating on her with a mutual friend. Male friend. Interesting. Mildly."
Noticing that Sherlock was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, waiting for a reaction, John smiled and shook his head. "Not going to ask how you know that. Not giving you the pleasure of explaining it to me."
"Oh, don't be like that," said Sherlock. "I saved an innocent man from going to jail today. I deserve to be pleasured."
John broke eye contact at the double entendre that surely only he understood, and turned away abruptly to hide his smile. "Go on then," he said. "Have at it."
"Simple," said Sherlock. He moved his bag over to a chair and pulled out his nightclothes. "I heard them talking as they exited the inn. They really ought to keep it down. It's not exactly the type of thing one wants to publicize."
John barked out a laugh. "Brilliant," he said. "Absolutely brilliant. Sherlock Holmes, how do you do it?"
Sherlock smiled. "It's all between the ears, John."
"In the ear canal?"
"Precisely." They looked at each other and laughed. They held eye contact for longer than was strictly necessary.
"You're sleeping tonight, then?" John asked, motioning towards Sherlock's change of clothes.
Sherlock nodded. "Well the case is over, John. I do sleep sometimes. You know that."
"Yes, of course you do."
Sherlock looked at John, curiously. "You don't mind sharing a bed with me, do you? I know some men our age would find it awkward, but historically speaking, it was not uncommon-"
John shook his head. "No!" he said, cursing himself for sounding a little overeager. "I mean, it doesn't bother me. I...we...it's fine."
"It's all fine?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.
John nodded, smiling. "It's all fine."
Sherlock nodded. "Alright then." He walked into the bathroom to change.
John sighed and relaxed the tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Sherlock had been smiling much more than usual today, even taking into consideration his post-case high. It made John happy to see it, although it did strange things to his stomach. And sometimes his breathing would hitch for presumably no other reason besides the fact that Sherlock had smiled at him. He ran a hand through his hair and shook the thoughts from his head.
Hearing a dull pitter-patter at the window, John crossed the tiny room and pulled aside the curtain to see that it had begun to rain quite heavily. He could feel the cold of the rain threatening against the glass, and he pressed two fingertips to the window.
"It smelled like rain today." John jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice, not realizing that the man had come up behind him. When John turned around, Sherlock didn't step back, and they crowded each other's personal space.
John swallowed, nervously. "Yeah well, it was predicted. In the forecast." Realizing that Sherlock wasn't willing to move out of the way, and unable to step to the side due to the placement of the nightstand table, John turned back to look out the window. He felt Sherlock's breath very faintly on the back of his neck. He shivered and pretended that it was because of the cold. They stood together, watching the rain for a moment before Sherlock stepped away to get his phone out of his coat pocket. John grabbed some clothes and his toothbrush, and glanced briefly at Sherlock before closing himself into the bathroom.
It wasn’t particularly late, only 10:30, but John still felt a satisfied kind of sleepy. When he came out of the bathroom, Sherlock was standing at the foot of the bed, thoughtfully, with his arms crossed.
“Left or right?” John asked.
Sherlock’s eyes flitted quickly over John’s body, and John felt the familiar feeling of having been deduced.
“Left,” he answered.
John grinned. “Are you saying that because you’ve just deduced that I prefer the right?”
Sherlock looked away abruptly. “No,” he said, sounding slightly affronted. “Don’t be silly, John, I’ve known that for ages.”
John smiled and refrained from asking just how and why. He moved to his side of the bed and pulled back the covers. Suddenly aware that Sherlock was watching him, he looked up. A fond smile disappeared quickly from Sherlock’s face when they made eye contact.
“Well?”
Sherlock huffed, as if John's insistence on sleep was irritating him. They climbed into bed beside each other. Sherlock immediately curled onto his side and shifted down until almost his whole head was under the covers.
John turned off the bedside lamp and lay on his back.
“Well…goodnight then,” he said. Sherlock answered with a grunt.
John bit his lip and wriggled in place. He couldn’t get comfortable sleeping on his back, and because of his shoulder, he liked to sleep on his right side. But the bed was so small that if he turned over, he would practically be spooning Sherlock. He wondered briefly if Sherlock had planned this.
“If you need to turn, turn,” Sherlock mumbled from underneath the covers.
John turned and finally found himself comfortable. Sherlock's head was close enough that he could smell the warm and somehow familiar scent of Sherlock’s shampoo. He took a deep breath, masking it as a sleepy sigh.
“It’s not the shampoo. It’s the conditioner,” said Sherlock.
“What?”
“My hair. The scent. Surely you know I use conditioner. The bottle is in the shower. I know you’re observant enough to have noticed.”
John wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or flattered. He settled for both.
“Um. Thank you? But I wasn’t smelling your hair. I was just…it was just a sigh.”
“Yes, John, of course. My mistake.”
“It was.”
Sherlock didn't respond. Somehow, John thought his silence felt smug.
It was blissfully warm under the blankets, and somehow felt even warmer with the knowledge that the rain outside was pounding relentlessly on the roof. John couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable while he was away from home. The combined body heat from himself and Sherlock raised the temperature to a pleasant, toasty degree, and John was quite certain that he could happily spend every night like this. Once Sherlock's breathing evened out, it didn't take long at all for John to fall asleep.
***
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***
"Good morning,” John said, voice heavy with sleep. Sherlock pulled his hand gently from John's and held it tightly against his side. He didn't speak, and they lay in silence for a moment.
"Sorry," said John, cautiously approaching the subject. "I think that just kind of happened overnight."
Sherlock turned his head to look at John and John couldn't stop the smile that came over his face. Sherlock's cheeks had an uncharacteristic rosey tint from the warmth of the bed. His hair was in disarray, but could probably be finger-combed back into place. His eyes were half-lidded as if he were sleepy, but as soon as they made eye contact, John realized that that wasn't quite true. There was an alert spark behind them. Though he pretended to have just woken up, Sherlock had actually woken far before John. John didn't say anything about it.
"What?" asked Sherlock, as if John's smile had to have some kind of significance.
John shook his head as best he could while lying down on his side. "Nothing," he said. "I've just never seen you so early in the morning." Sherlock frowned, confused. "Well, I mean, so soon after waking. You look different," John explained.
Sherlock huffed. "Yes, well you aren't exactly the paradigm of beauty yourself."
"Hey, I said 'different,' not hideous. You like different, remember?"
Sherlock didn't say anything. His eyes roamed over John's face. John felt his cheeks begin to heat.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "I've just woken up, there's nothing to deduce."
"There's always something to deduce," said Sherlock. "But I'm not deducing. Just observing."
John raised an eyebrow, expectantly, but Sherlock didn't elaborate. He met John's eyes for a moment, then abruptly flung back the bed sheets and sat up, planting his feet on the floor. John groaned.
"Do we have to? Our train isn't until noon."
Sherlock walked to his overnight bag and pulled out some clothes. "You would prefer to lie in bed together for the next three hours?" he asked. "Really John. And you wonder why people talk about us."
John smiled and rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. "What do you plan on doing?" he asked, purposefully deciding not to confirm or deny Sherlock's accusation.
Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but when he turned to look at John, he froze. His eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly, and his gaze moved from John's face, to his hair, then briefly flickered down his chest. John tilted his head, resting it on one shoulder.
"What?" he asked.
Sherlock closed his mouth and shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "With the sunlight behind you..." he paused, and decided not to finish the thought. "Nothing." He turned away. "Your hair's a mess."
"Yes, well you aren't exactly the paradigm of beauty yourself," John said with a smile.
Sherlock chuckled, then then looked back at John thoughtfully. "You, John Watson, are a conundrum." He walked into the bathroom, and John heard the shower start.
John flopped back on the bed and pulled the sheets over his head to hide his grin. He felt irrationally happy, and it seemed like everything Sherlock did this morning added to it. He rolled to the other side of the bed, where Sherlock had been, and turned over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow and noting once again that familiar scent of conditioner. He was about to fall back asleep when the covers were abruptly yanked off of him. He gave a loud sleepy groan and curled onto his side. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and shook him with one hand.
"Wake up, John. John. John. John."
John wriggled backwards to his side of the bed, which of course did nothing except cause Sherlock to stretch his arm a bit farther to reach him.
"John. John. John. John."
John scooped his arm around Sherlock's back and pushed him face-down into the pillow beside him. The top of Sherlock's head knocked against the headboard on the way down, and John's eyes flew open.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean for that to happen!" He heard muffled laughter from the pillow. "Are you alright?" he asked with a grin.
"I don't know, doctor, you tell me."
John halfheartedly ran a hand through Sherlock's towel-dried hair. "I don't feel any blood. You're fine," he said. He ruffled Sherlock's curls for good measure.
Sherlock lifted his head to look at John. "Oh, I hope you extend this level of care to all your patients." John was happy to note that he was still smiling through his sarcasm.
"Only the ones I've injured myself. They get preferential treatment."
Sherlock's smile grew just a bit wider before disappearing altogether. His face stilled, and his eyes flickered down to John's lips. John held his breath for just a moment before Sherlock sat up again.
"We should have breakfast," Sherlock said.
"Oh, you're having breakfast now? Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'll have coffee. You know I drink coffee."
John nodded, sagely. "Yes, I do. Just like I know that you sleep and that you use conditioner." He sat up and reluctantly pulled himself out of bed. He felt Sherlock's eyes follow him as he walked to his bag, and then to the bathroom. When he came out again, showered and dressed, Sherlock was standing at the foot of the bed with his coat on and his phone in his hand. There was the distinct sound of a cameraphone shutter.
"Did you just take a picture of the bed?" asked John.
Sherlock turned to him. "Yes."
When he didn't explain further, John prompted him. "Any...reason why?"
Sherlock shrugged, but didn't say anything.
John nodded. "Alright then. Breakfast?" He pulled on his coat and shoved a few last things into his bag before hefting it to his shoulder. Sherlock decided to carry his own bag this time, and stepped out the door first, already tapping on his phone with one hand as he held the door open for John. John gave one last glance to the room, and smiled. The door locked behind them.