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Sherlock's pacing again. Walking from the kitchen sink over to his desk in the living room, agitated. Gladstone's following him step for step. If Gladstone could show facial expressions he would look worried. He doesn't like it when his uncle Sherlock is being manic.
John's sitting on the sofa watching them and starting to feel a bit dizzy. It's like watching a tennis match. To his knowledge Sherlock hasn't slept in the last 72 hours, it looks like it too. He can see the dark circles forming under Sherlock's eyes, marring the alabaster skin. He reminds John of that painting by Edvard Munch, the Scream.
It's not even as if they have a case, Sherlock's just wound up. Tighter than a really tight spring John thinks as he realises he hasn't slept for the last 24 hours. He knows he's tired when he sounds like Baldrick from Black Adder.
John gets a small white paper bag out of his jacket. It's old and battered but it always seems to do the trick. He takes out a sweet and pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Sherlock pauses sniffing the air and turns suddenly as if he can smell them. John puts the bag on the table and closes his eyes.
"Don't eat them all." John says knowing that his words will be ignored. He's clever though, much more than Sherlock would ever think. Sherlock slumps down onto the sofa next to him and he hears the rattling of the bag. Sherlock sticks a gummy star into his mouth.
Twenty minutes later Sherlock has slumped against John, he's snoring. John opens his eyes. The bag is empty, he smiles knowing yet again he's succeeded in tricking the worlds only consulting detective. Sherlock just can't resist a bag of sweets, even if it's intermingled with a couple of Bach Rescue Remedy gummy stars. He kisses Sherlock's temple and uses his jumper to wipe away the sticky drool at the corner of Sherlock's mouth. They can sleep here for now. John pats his knee, Gladstone jumps up and snuggles in between him and Sherlock. He closes his eyes, happy in the knowledge that his family is content.