1

John Watson was tired, really tired. The sleepless nights of the past week had finally caught up with him. But it wasn't the nightmares that kept him awake, oh no. It was that thing… That thing, which experimented every night, played his violin in the early hours of every morning and constantly expected him to come to him when he calls…

Not this time, John thought, trying to shut out the noises of whatever that thing was doing downstairs. He turned onto his side, sighing, it was only a matter of seconds until-

"John…?" – He called for him…. Great, John thought sullenly, eyebrows furrowed, what does he bloody want now..? Scowling, he stuck his head under his pillow in attempt to block out the noise.

"John!" John threw the pillow to the side in frustration, hitting the wall with a soft thud.

"JOHN!" The thing called out again, followed by footsteps up the stairs… Oh please don't come in here, John groaned, squeezing his eyes shut…

The footsteps came closer, louder, echoing through the hallway… And then they stopped, right outside his door.

"John?" The thing whispered through the door, knocking gently on the wood. John just could imagine the confusion decorating his young flatmates face. Oh I wish I had a camera on me, he thought slyly.

He heard the door handle rattle, and the door creaked open. The light shone brightly in, illuminating the figure which stood within the doors frame. Sherlock frowned.

"John…? John!" Sherlock called out again, stepping into the room. John turned round to face his intruder.

"What, Sherlock? What can it possibly be NOW?" John growled at the tall man, covering his eyes from the sudden light.

"You were asleep…" Sherlock mumbled, amused.

"Of course I bloody was! What do you expect? It's two in the morning," John said angrily, sitting up, "Now what is it?"

"I was… Well… I'm BORED, John…" Sherlock stated, crossing his arms like an impatient child. He sniffed.

"And you have been for god knows how long," John hissed, "Don't you understand…? I need sleep!"

"Ah, but John," Sherlock sniffed again, leaning backwards against the door frame, "Rest is boring and it's pointless… I need to stay awake!" Its like speaking to a bloody child, thought John, running a hand through his hair.

"It might be pointless for you, Sherlock, but I need sleep…"

"Even with the nightmares?" Frowned Sherlock, looking down at John like a confused puppy.

"Yes… Even with the nightmares…. Look, Sherlock, I'm tired," He sighed, remembering the week's events, "I've been running around after you all week… Don't you think I need some rest?"

Sherlock stood there, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He blinked, "But I'm bored, John…" he whined. Slapping his head in frustration, John gave up.

"And I'm tired… Go away… Can you please, just for this once, keep yourself entertained…?"

"But-"

"Just GO Sherlock!" John snapped, lying down back into the comforts of his bed. After closing his eyes, he heard Sherlock sigh once more. Does he have a cold? Or is he just sulking..? The door slammed. Most likely to be sulking then…

John awoke to silence, not a single sound could be heard within 221b. John abruptly sat up, throwing the covers off him, worried. Could he have gone too far..? Throwing the covers carelessly to the side, he bolted from the room, grabbing his dressing gown on the way.

Reaching the living room, still the silence stayed. Hesitantly, he poked his head around the door, afraid to see his friend lying on the floor unconscious.

"Sherlock?" He called out, tying his dressing gown up. No answer. Frowning, he checked the room for any signs of where he may have gone… Nothing. He pulled out his phone, and dialled Sherlock; but it went straight to voicemail.

"Sherlock… I know you're listening and I'm sorry about last night, it's just that you caught me in a bad mood… ok? Please call back…" He hung up, and went straight to Mycroft's number. His finger hovered over the number, should I? He quickly closed down the number; he didn't want to get Sherlock's brother involved, especially if it weren't major…

Instead he called Lestrade.

"John! How can I help?

"It's Sherlock… Is he there?"

"No… But he called at half two this morning, demanding for a case; but London has been quiet this month. He wasn't too happy about that… Uh, why did you ask?"

"It's nothing, thanks Lestrade."

"John, what's-"

He quickly ended the call, and sighed. If Sherlock wasn't with Lestrade, who knew where he'd be… He flung himself onto the armchair, and waited, his phone loosely held in his hand.

He wouldn't turn to Mycroft…

Yet…