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Sherlock Holmes drools in his sleep.
I know.
He seems above all that. Rarefied. But nope, just like you and me (well, not me, I’m perfect whilst sleeping ha ha).
This is how the discovery came about:
It was a rollicking case, far outside London, and involved startlingly brilliant brainwork from you-know-who and a few medical insights from yours truly and multiple chases and a dead satisfying tackle of the culprit, who did not anticipate John coming in high and Sherlock low.
By the time the statements had been taken, the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted, the last train home had long since departed, and John and Sherlock took the very last room at the local inn. That the room had only one bed was immaterial, as Sherlock insisted he’d be up the entire night filing the details of the crime away in his cranium and John was knackered enough to sleep through the end of the world. Barely got his boots off and bam, head to pillow, sawing logs as the Americans say.
The wake-up the next morning was much slower than the go-to-sleep, as John felt truly rested for the first time in a longer time than he wants to think about. Uni? No, now that he considers, definitely not uni, nor secondary, nor Afghanistan, nor the army bits that weren’t in Afghanistan, and absolutely not when he first came back from Afghanistan.
Anyway. Suffice it to say, the rested feeling was novel and John enjoyed wallowing in it, eyes closed, on his back, blissful, with tiny little stretches of this muscle or that from time to time, just because it felt good to wiggle a bit. It was during one of these stretches that John made two realisations at exactly the same time: there now was a rod of some kind pressed against the side of his thigh, and there had always been a much larger rod lying across his chest. Well, probably not a rod, the second one, as it seemed to break apart at the end, given the pressure points. A limb, with branches? No, and John’s brain didn’t seem to function well when rested, which was something he’d have to think about when he finished thinking about the arm across his chest. Plus the knees he could now feel his legs bumping gently against and the probably-an-erect-dick pressed to his thigh.
He thought, and considered, and speculated. Unless Sherlock had let someone else into the room and then buggered off to who-knows-where (I mean, it’s Sherlock; that’s not out of the realm of possibility), then it was most likely Sherlock’s arm and knees and probably-an-erect-dick and general wafting warmth surrounding John. Which was… not bad.
That was a bit of a surprise to John, not minding a bloke being cuddled up to him as he slept. It was impossible to know if it was not minding “a bloke” or not minding Sherlock, and really that question was pretty much moot, given the small likelihood of any other man crawling into bed with John.
Small likelihood not being no likelihood, John decided at that point to check that it was indeed Sherlock curled next to him. Visual reconnaissance. Which meant opening one’s eyes.
Hmph.
Some minutes (seconds? aeons?) later, John summoned the fortitude to open his eyes and thus abandon the prospect of any more sleep. Which he didn’t need -- truly rested, remember? -- but still was reluctant to forego. Onward.
John opened his eyes and turned his head, and there was Sherlock. Looking so much younger in sleep (YES THAT’S A CLICHE but he did. He did.), hair tousled, and face relaxed.
Well relaxed.
Utterly relaxed.
So relaxed that his lips were sagging down towards the pillow his head rested on, and a rivulet of saliva linked the corner of his mouth to that pillow.
John went from content to gleeful in a blink of the eye (which had been done to ensure he was actually seeing Sherlock Holmes drool), and something about that transformation woke Sherlock.
There followed a lot of grumbling and only a tiny, tiny bit of sniggering and eventually an agreement on both sides to never discuss again that SHERLOCK HOLMES DROOLS IN HIS SLEEP, and also that kipping in the same bed was not all that bad and might even be better on Sherlock’s sybaritically comfortable mattress and bedclothes.
I’m keeping my own room, though.