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Only Holmes could fall asleep in the middle of prison, surrounded by criminals, his head dropping to rest on Watson's shoulder as his mumbling fades into soft snores; the smell of the garbage he'd dived into earlier lingers, the faintly acrid scent of the makeshift laboratory they'd found, all overlapping and piling together to make it a... strong, unforgettable experience, as most things with Holmes are.
Watson sighs, then goes still as Holmes's head tilts as if about to wake—he doesn't, but it's too close a call.
Well, Holmes clearly needs it, and when he wakes they can bicker some more about this mess; for now Watson lets him be.