Tired friends in a cab

Another solved case, another massive dose of adrenalin in the body.

Sherlock is excited like a child who knows that he has to go to an amusement park, but its dark circles suggests that he has already been there.

Must he risks his own life for insomnia before to convince himself that a sleep could be useful?

We board on a common cab and as usual he sits on the right.

The car starts moving as soon as we give the address, and I keep the moment to face off the problem:

"Do you have dark circles that would be the envy of a vampire"

"Why, have you ever seen a vampire?" he responds with a pompous tone.

You can't even do an innocent joke!

"It was a joke"

"Joke about what?"

"About the fact that you have exaggerated dark circles beacause you insist on not to sleep"

"I was in the middle of a case, it would be a waste of time. Then it's the nth time that resume the argument: I-don't-need-sleep" he explains in annoyed tone.

"You-need-sleep!"

I am pleased that this thing is getting him nervous.

"No" and it's a sentence that doesn't allow replies. At least in theory.

"You're an idiot" I snort, reflecting that isn't the first time I'm telling him it.

"Excuse me? Mine is a mind…"

"…with high functionality which has the only purpose of being used to think, not to sleep"

I'm getting pleasure from teasing him, but he is offended and turns sullen toward the window, giving me willingly shoulders. I turn myself to hide the smirk.

London is magical at sunrise, you can't do nothing with it. We started from the suburbs, and now we are getting closer to the center. There is so much traffic. I ponder dejected that the bill will be exorbitant.

"Anyway, I still don't understand how you don't want to sleep. After all your brilliant mind would get a convenience, and…" But when I turn I have to cover my mouth with one hand and repress a laugh.

Sherlock fells apart from sleep: he has his head bent forward, his eyes shut tight ad his lips parted. I find hilarious the whole situation, but also very sweet.

It's so weird seeing him quiet, calm, with the mind that most likely is wandering among his innermost desires. I wonder what's on his mind. I wish I could be there, among his dreams.

I'm waking up as soon as I notice that slowly his body is falling forward.

Gently, I put a hand on his chest to push him towards the seat.

The taxi driver turns right, so Sherlock bangs his head against the window.

"Shit" I whisper, but amazingly he does not seem to have feel nothing.

The car turns left, and his head this time meets mine.

It's seem to be in a cartoon.

I hear him moan a bit but I can't believe he's still asleep. I look at him bewildered, and yet I have to laugh.

Turn left again.

This time I have experience on my side, so I retract me and my roommate drops like a dead body, resting his head on my lap.

Stop.

My stomach hurts as if it was hooked and I feel for a moment the air flow to the lungs and the blood does not fail in the head.

I stroke with my eyes his hair, his face, his lips.

I support my head on the seat, closing my eyes and giving me a fool.

Maybe it's better to sleep and not to think too much...

I moan. I open my eyes and the scene that I am faced with is incomprehensible: why am I looking at John from a so low point of view?

My brain reboots as a computer, and in a moment I realize my neck rests on his thighs, he is sleeping and from which I was sitting during nap, I pulled up my legs on the seat to be more comfortable.

Just a few moments upon arrival, thank God. Were ages I longed so much my home. Our house. Mine and John's. Although technically speaking is the Mrs. Hudson's house.

Certain that from this position - to tell the truth so convenient - you'd never guess that this man is a military doctor. He's so quiet.

My hand moves to the pocket of my jacket, extracting the cell phone. Waiting for the right moment, I take a picture of John. It is so much funny. It will be a pleasure to take him around a bit when we get off the cab.

I get up, although a strange little voice inside me moans.

John wakes up and his mouth is kneaded, shiny eyes from sleep, and he's trying to figure out where he's.

The taxi does a heavy braking. Sure this guy has really got the license winning it by shooting darts at the pub!

With huff I give him the money that I owe and I get off, stretching me. The sun is rising slowly, at the same speed as Watson gets out of the car.

"Come on, John! Would you like to start a family in that cab or are you going to drop off and pick up at home?"

"Too many words" he says. He rubs his eyes, closes the door and he heads for the house. I sneer amused and I follow him. It's a fantastic show watch him climbing the stairs at a snail's pace. That's why I start to push him up the two flights arriving in our living room.

John clearly head for the couch, but I deviate his trajectory toward our bedrooms.

That's my couch.

I see he's coming up alone, so I let him go.

A sleep would not be a bad idea. I get rid of the jacket, scarf and shoes, climbing two stairs at a time. But my room is occupied.

"John, this is my room"

Faint sound muffled by the pillow.

"John, go to sleep in your room"

"Shut up and sleep" I can barely understand. Meanwhile he moves a few centimetres wide.

Inevitably I have to laugh, but I sit on the edge of the bed.

I see an arm stand up, grab mine and then dragging me down.

"'Night" he says. It isn't fair telling him that it's actually day.

I get up, I close the shutters and take a blanket to stretch on either once I lay down.

He thanks me and he's approaching me. He prints on my nose that maybe had to be a kiss on the forehead. I looked at him stunned and feel a tingling on cheeks, a sign I'm blushing.

However, it was not that bad. If this is what it means to have a friend, then I would get one a long time ago.