Not slash, thank you very much!

"Bored!"

The bellow that had kept me awake for the past hour came again, this time accompanied by a series of deafening gunshots.

I tossed and turned in bed, my pillow pressed to my ears in an attempt to block the noise made by my flatmate. It didn't completely dull the racket; I heard another bang, then a crash, followed by the tinkling of glass falling to the floor.

I heard a quiet 'oops', which became a snigger, and exploded into maniacal laughter. I winced to think of what Sherlock had just damaged and how much it would cost.

All was silent downstairs for several blessed minutes, but no sooner had I started to drift off than a sound of overwhelming dissonance raked across my ears. My eyes snapped open, instantly seeing red. I threw off my bedclothes furiously, with only one directive in mind: find the source of the noise that inhibited my sleep and destroy it!

I wrenched my door open and stomped down the stairs with a growl. Once on the landing I could see Sherlock sitting in the armchair, staring off into space and drawing the bow haphazardly back and forth across the violin strings.

I was about to charge forward when Mrs. Hudson breezed right past me in her robe and nightcap, murder in her bleary eyes, brandishing a cricket bat that was obviously meant for Sherlock's head.

Sherlock's eyes widened in, dare I say it, fear as he saw the furious Mrs. Hudson advance. He dropped the violin, prepared to spring to safety.

As much as I wanted to see Mrs. Hudson punish Sherlock for his disruptiveness, or even perhaps to do it myself, my frustratingly humanitarian heart wouldn't allow it. I dashed forward and gripped the edge of the bat before she could do my flatmate any real harm. "Mrs. Hudson," I said in soothing tones, "He won't do it again, I promise. Just let me deal with this."

She turned to me on the verge of exhausted tears. "I can't take this anymore!" She wailed, but leaving the bat in my grasp she hurried down the stairs.

"Look what you've done to poor Mrs. Hudson!" I hissed, for a moment seriously thinking about using the bat in my hand.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock sighed. He sounded rather remorseful, and he even looked dismayed over having driven Mrs. Hudson to such fury, so I set the bat down. "But John, I'm so bored!"

"Well you don't have to take it out on us." I informed him. Then I gasped, noticing for the first time the bullet hole that had shattered the mirror over the mantelpiece. "Or the flat!"

Sherlock dropped onto the couch, ruffling his hair madly. "We haven't had a case for weeks, John, and I just can't stand it. I can't stand commonplace existence! I need something to do! I can't expect you to understand…" His voice actually broke. "I just feel so purposeless, John! When I'm solving something I have meaning, I have drive. But when there is nothing for me to do I…I feel so useless." He buried his face in his hands.

I stared at Sherlock, for the first time seeing him in a new light. Here was a man who had never felt peace, real peace. His scientific mind demanded that it constantly be active, and if it wasn't, it tore him apart. I could see the despair in his eyes, hear the helplessness in his voice. If he didn't get something to distract him soon, he would have a breakdown…unless he was able to relax. And Sherlock would never manage it on his own; someone would have to help him.

That someone had to be me.

What could possibly calm him down? I briefly contemplated yoga. That was supposed to be relaxing, right? However, my knowledge of yoga was absolutely nil, and I doubted he'd agree to anything of the sort.

I bit my lip and stared out the window as I racked my brain for things that had always relieved my stress. Then I caught sight of the sky: a tiny square of it between two buildings, the stars almost completely faded by the city lights but still slightly visible. The minuscule glimpse flipped on a light bulb inside my head.

Yes. Yes.

"Sherlock!" I announced. "Get up, we're going out!"

Sherlock groaned. "Unless we're going to catch a murderer, count me out. Anything you have to suggest is frightfully dull."

"Nope, come on." I seized his arm and dragged his lengthy frame up from the couch. "We're going whether you like it or not." I pushed him in the direction of his bedroom and dashed up the stairs to mine.

After exchanging my pajamas for jeans and a comfortable jumper, I went back downstairs. Sherlock was already in his coat and scarf, and he glared at me as I put my own coat on. "Well? Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Somewhere that will help." I answered cryptically, nudging him out the door. "Call it relaxation therapy."

I called a taxi, and instructed the driver to take us outside the city. It was a long drive, considering that we were near the center of London, and Sherlock moaned and complained for every bit of it.

Finally we left the city behind us, and we rattled along in the dark fields for several miles before I stopped the cab. I paid the considerably large fare and sent it off, not without receiving odd looks from the cabbie.

We stood in the dark, Sherlock and I, the surrounding hills partially lit by a crescent moon, and the sounds of night life all around us. A cool wind tugged at our jackets, carrying with it the smells of the countryside.

I took a deep breath, the tension caused by my friend's restlessness evaporating already. Sherlock, on the other hand, remained unaffected.

"This is what you had in mind?" His voice was steeped in disgust. "Leaving us stranded in the country? Oh, yes, I feel so much better!"

So at ease was I that I couldn't help but laugh at his caustic remarks. I simply flopped down on my back in the moist grass.

Sherlock sneered down at me as though I had gone mad. And…perhaps I had. But if so, it was a lovely sort of madness, and it would do Sherlock a world of good to go mad as well.

"Come on, then." I said cheerfully, patting the ground beside me in invitation. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."

He rolled his eyes with a stentorian sigh, and then without even taking his hands out of his pockets he allowed his legs to buckle, turning his back to the ground as he did so. He landed with a hard 'oof', opened his eyes, and saw the sky.

His eyes widened, and his lips parted in quiet surprise. "Oh." He said softly.

A myriad of stars arched above us, sparkling like diamonds in dark velvet. Out here they were numerous, with no artificial lights to dim their beauty. Simply gazing up into that endless expanse made one feel totally, inexorably, comfortingly insignificant. It covered me with an unexplainable feeling that there was something out there greater than myself, and it gave me such peace. I knew that Sherlock could feel it too, and his breathless silence was evidence that my scheme had indeed worked, and his anxiety had melted away.

"What a lovely thing a star is." He whispered. He stared at the sky as though lost in it, his eyes bright and shining.

I looked at him, slightly taken aback. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects.

" There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion." Said he, softly, thoughtfully. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the stars. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food are all really necessary for existence in the first instance. But stars are extra." He reached out a hand towards the sky as though to pluck one from its bed of dark matter. "Their brilliance and their beauty are embellishments of life, not conditions of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so, I say again that we have much to hope from the stars."

His musings made me smile. It was good to see my friend so content.

Sherlock turned to look at me, his face drawn in the pale moonlight. "John?"

"Yeah?"

He watched me for a moment, then turned his face back towards the sky, somewhat embarrassed. "Thank you." He said quietly.

Anything I could have said would have added to his discomfort, so I merely grinned and stared at the stars. I took a deep breath and sighed happily, drinking in the sounds and smells of the countryside surrounding us. All our stress had vanished, and the world was a happier place. We could call a cab later. Right now we were perfectly satisfied to lie in the grass and stare into the cosmos with utter tranquility.

I needn't have worried that the 'treatment' I had given Sherlock would have faded with the rising sun, for it seemed that from my relaxation therapy he had learned not only how to express gratitude but to apologize as well. He bought Mrs. Hudson flowers.

Sherlock's comment about the stars is a modified quote from "The Naval Treaty".