Hello there! Not much to say except I should probably tell you guys that I'm starting school a week from Monday, and am already becoming busy with school stuff. So, I don't have as much time to write, and thus future updates most likely won't be around every 3 days like I'd hoped. Though, I will say I don't have very much more of this story left to write. But just a heads up. Plus, I’ll try to keep the chapters lengthy to make up for it. :)

Thank you to everyone who's read, voted, and/or commented! You guys rock. :)

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The next morning John awoke to the sound of a heartbeat drumming in his ear. As he lay there with his eyes closed, not yet fully awake, the gentle thumping threatened to lull him back to sleep. He probably would have drifted back out of consciousness if he hadn't become aware of a strange sensation on the back of his head. It felt as if someone was playing with his hair, but due to the fact that his hair was rather short it felt more like a scalp massage than anything.

John should have been more concerned with the fact that he had no idea whose hand it was, or why there was a heart beating so loudly in his ear, but at the moment he was too comfortable to care. For a while he lay there, completely still, enjoying the feel of fingers in his hair, an arm draped over his torso, and a deep voice humming softly in his ear.

Wait, what? John's eyelids flew open and he found himself staring at darkness. He became painfully aware of a weight on his right arm, and the fact that whatever he was resting his head on was moving, slowly, rhythmically, as if it were breathing. John reached up and placed his free hand on the surface his head was resting on, and felt it tense up. The heartbeat in his ear sped up a bit as well. It was then that John realized it was Sherlock's chest his head was resting on, that it was Sherlock's slender fingers softly tousling his hair, that is was Sherlock's voice that had been humming in his ear. Of course, once he moved all movement and sound ceased to exist.

"Are you awake John?" Sherlock whispered, his voice barely audible, and gentle enough to not have woken John in case he was still asleep. A few brief moments of silence passed as John debated whether he should answer or not. As pleasant as it was for him to be curled up against Sherlock like this, he knew it was wrong. Flat mates didn't cuddle in the morning, even if they'd spent the previous night asleep in the same bed. After all, that had only been because Sherlock was too tired and too unsteady on his feet to go out into the living room, and John's leg wouldn’t allow him to sleep on the couch.

"Erm, yeah," he said, his voice still groggy with sleep. He removed his hand from Sherlock's chest and rubbed his eyes. He then yawned and let his hand rest on his own chest. He held his breath and waited for Sherlock to pull away, but he remained still. All he did was remove his hand from John's hair and let out a slow breath.

"Sleep well?" Sherlock asked, and the gruffness of the voice voice sent shivers down John's spine. He felt his heart skip a beat, and was glad his head was on Sherlock's chest and not the other way around, so Sherlock couldn't tell.

"Yes, actually," he said when he realized he'd been asked a question. "Did you?" He tilted his head upwards and stared at Sherlock, and saw the half smile that appeared on his face when he glanced down at John and nodded his head slightly.

"Very." John felt a blush creeping up, and turned away so Sherlock wouldn't see. A few moments of silence passed with neither of them moving or speaking. With his head turned, John could see that the room had now been bathed in warm sunlight, and he smiled as he stared out the window at the morning sky. He didn't make any effort to untangle himself from Sherlock, who didn't seem to be planning on moving any time soon either. It was strange for John, as he didn't believe Sherlock to be one so comfortable with such closeness, yet when he looked up at the detective his facial expression was perfectly serene. It was only when Sherlock glanced down at John and caught him staring that he seemed to grow a bit flustered. His eyes darted around the room and he cleared his throat nervously. John let out a small sigh and began to pull away, thinking that Sherlock had finally had enough, but to his surprise Sherlock stayed put, trapping John's arm beneath his body.

"Breakfast?" Sherlock asked suddenly, appearing to nearly have surprised himself with the way he blurted it out. The inner parts of John's eyebrows were turned upwards as he stared at Sherlock, who was staring off into space, his facial expression emotionless.

"What?" he asked. Sherlock shrugged and looked down at him.

"Breakfast. Do you want any?" A string of unintelligible sounds came from John's lips before he was able to answer Sherlock's simple question.

"I suppose. What do you have in mind?"

"I believe we still have some eggs and sausage..." he trailed off and glanced upwards. "Maybe bacon. I'm sure we have bread if you want toast. I know it's not much but it's something, yes?"

"Yeah," John said. Sherlock sat up, freeing John's arm and allowing him to do the same. He yawned and stretched, and when he opened his eyes he saw Sherlock standing beside the bed. John hadn't even noticed him get up. He raised an eyebrow at him.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock stared at him like he didn't understand John's question.

"To the kitchen…" John stared at him for a moment longer until he finally understood what was going on. He blamed the slow speed of his mental processes on the fact that he just woke up, and grinned at Sherlock.

"Are you going to cook breakfast?" he asked. John thought he saw the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitch, but he wasn't completely sure. Sherlock nodded and folded his arms across his chest.

"Problem?" John shook his head vigorously.

"No, no. Not at all! Just don't burn the flat down like you almost did that one time." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, who laughed. Sherlock then turned to walk out the room, but John called his name. He paused in the doorway and stared at John expectantly. "Why are you doing this?" Sherlock shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

"Why not? I'm a decent mood this morning and feel like being nice. I don't understand why you're questioning this." To be honest with himself, John didn't know why he was questioning it either. Perhaps it was just too good to be true, getting to spend the night in the same bed as Sherlock, waking up cuddled next to him, and now having breakfast made for him. He found himself smiling as he shook his head.

"I'm not. But I must say I've never seen you in such a good mood when you've just woken up."

"Well this is the first night in a while I've had a decent night's sleep. I think that has something to do with it." John nodded his head and got out of bed. He looked down and realized he was still wearing the suit he'd worn to the party and sighed. After glancing up at Sherlock and seeing the expression on his face, John felt his face get hot.

"I think I'll just, take a quick shower and change." Sherlock stared at John with his lips slightly parted, completely silent for a brief moment before he seemingly snapped out of whatever trance he was in and nodded his head.

"Yes, and I'll just…get started on breakfast." Sherlock then left the room, and John picked up his crutches from the floor and limped to the small stack of clothes he'd placed in a corner of Sherlock's room. He carefully bent down and picked up a jumper and trousers, then headed towards the bathroom.

When John walked into the kitchen, feeling completely refreshed from his shower and hair still a bit damp, Sherlock seemed to be finishing up with the cooking. He was currently focused on cooking several sausages in a pan, and John saw a plate full of eggs and bacon sitting on the counter nearby. He walked over and grabbed a fork, then took a bite of the eggs, humming in appreciation.

"Compliments to the chef," he said, holding up the empty fork. Sherlock's head whirled around to face John and he squinted at him. He opened his mouth and sucked in a breath, and John prepared for Sherlock to start yelling at him about how he shouldn't be eating already if he hasn't finished cooking, or how he should have washed his hands first, or something of that nature, but he never did. Instead, he offered a small smiled and nodded his head.

"Thank you."

He turned back towards the stove and resumed cooking, and John watched him as he did so. His hair was still a bit messy from sleeping, and he was still wearing the t-shirt and pants he'd slept in. John guessed he planned on changing and showering after breakfast.

John decided to make some coffee for them while Sherlock cooked, and once that was done they sat at the kitchen table, which was mostly clear of any experiment-related objects, and ate. Sherlock realized he'd forgotten to make the toast, but that had taken no time to take care of. John couldn't help but smile as he stared across the table at Sherlock, who was looking down at his half-eaten plate, stabbing at his eggs with his fork with a look of intense concentration on his face.

"So, what do you think about that case Lestrade was telling us about?" John asked when he finished his meal. When he looked up and saw the strange look on Sherlock's face he sighed.

"Sherlock…?" John was seriously hoping that he wouldn't have to try and convince Sherlock to help with the case. He didn't want to ruin such a great morning with a petty argument. Sherlock held his gaze for several moments, then looked down and placed the fork he was holding on his plate.

"I have several theories that need testing. of course, they would require the use of some equipment we don't have here so-"

"Sherlock don't tell me you're not going to take the case you’re so obviously interested in because you'd have to leave the flat."

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Oh? What were you going to say?"

"Just that I was planning on heading down to St. Bart's today so I could do some testing." There was an awkward silence that followed Sherlock's statement and John felt his face getting hot. He looked down at his empty place, then sheepishly up at Sherlock, who was smirking at him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and Sherlock's smirk turned into a confused frown.

"For what?"

"For…saying… oh, never mind." John started to get up so he could wash his plate, but Sherlock was standing before he could even grab his crutches, taking the plates off the table and walking over to the sink. John had managed to get up and hobble over to where Sherlock was standing in the time it took him to wash John's plate. He leaned up against the counter and watched as Sherlock placed the plate to the side and began washing his fork. For a while the only sound in their flat was that of water running.

"So," John said slowly while Sherlock was scraping the leftover food from his plate into the rubbish bin. He wanted to say something about how wasteful it was to do so, but he had something more important he wanted to discuss. Sherlock finished scraping the food off and turned back to the sink to wash the plate. For a while John's eyes remained fixed on Sherlock's large hands, now wet and covered with soap, completely forgetting he'd even said anything until Sherlock turned his attention away from washing dishes to look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"So…?" he asked. John's eyes snapped up from his hands and his face got hot. If he had been so enthralled watching Sherlock wash a plate he knew there was a problem. He cleared his throat and tried to smile.

"You said you got a decent night's sleep last night." Sherlock nodded his head and looked back down into the sink.

"Your statement is correct." John scooted a tad closer and nudged Sherlock with his elbow.

"Does that mean no nightmares?"

"John you were there, you can answer the question yourself." John pressed his lips together in a firm line and nodded his head. Sherlock finished washing the dishes then picked up a towel and dried his hands. He leaned sideways on the counter, facing John, who had his head turned away. He heard Sherlock chuckle quietly, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock place the towel on the counter behind him and leave the room.

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Since it seemed that Sherlock's sleeping with John helped to dissipate his nightmares, they'd agreed to try sharing a bed every night to see if they could completely eliminate them. After about three weeks of sharing a bed every night, Sherlock' s nightmares seemed to have subsided. John had been trying to keep track of how often they'd come, but after a full week without the slightest hint of a nightmare he'd stopped. John's leg had healed enough where he was able to stop using crutches and could get along just fine using a cane. He hated having to use the thing again but at least it meant he was on his way to a full recovery.

Sherlock was back to working on cases, and John couldn’t remember the last time he'd seen him so happy. Though, he had to admit he missed having Sherlock hanging around the flat all day. Of course, there was the occasional text from him to check up on John and make sure he hadn't tripped in the bathroom or something, but other than that there was no communication between them during the day. The only time John would see him was when at night when they went to bed, if Sherlock had decided to sleep that night.

John tried every night to convince Sherlock to get some sleep, telling him that it was important for his mental processes and other things like that in an effort to coax Sherlock underneath the covers with him, but it didn't work every night. The nights John spent sleeping alone he didn’t get much sleep. Of course, he didn't get much sleep on the nights Sherlock came to bed either, as he spent a great deal of time watching the detective sleep, trying to memorize each and every detail of his perfect face. He'd always tried to get his fill at night since he knew that in the morning when he woke Sherlock would most likely be gone, and he wouldn't see him again until right before bed…if he was lucky.

It was becoming harder and harder to live with such strong feelings for Sherlock, knowing that they would never be reciprocated and that he was only hurting himself by allowing his 'crush' to go on for so long. Yet, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get those pesky thoughts of his flat mate out of his head. He often caught himself daydreaming about those nearly translucent eyes that quite possibly also held every colour known to man in them, or he found himself wondering what it would be like to have those perfect, pink bow shaped lips pressed against his own, those long slender fingers buried in his hair like they had been that glorious morning after Lestrade's party. John tried to accept the fact that he would never know what it would be like to experience anything close to what his daytime fantasies had planted in his mind, and so every time he saw Sherlock's face or even thought of him, there was a tightening in John's chest that he hadn't figured out how to eradicate. Until then, he'd decided to settle for late nights filled with longing and days filled with boredom and agony. Keeping his feelings for Sherlock so tightly bottled up was becoming a more difficult task as the days went on, and John wasn't sure how much longer he could go on like this before he lost his mind.

However, one night as John lay on his side, one arm tucked underneath Sherlock and the other resting on his chest, his head laying on Sherlock's shoulder, his eyelids beginning to get heavy, he got an idea.

Very slowly he tilted his head up, until his nose was just brushing against the side of Sherlock's face. He held his breath, and stretched out his lips just enough for them to briefly touch the skin on Sherlock's cheek.

There was no response from Sherlock. No elevated heart rate or change in breathing. No movement or sound. John slowly let out the breath he'd been holding and closed his eyes. As he drifted off to sleep there was a smile on his face, and for that brief moment he was unable to feel the pain in his heart.

The next morning Sherlock didn't say anything, and for that John was partially relieved. In the very back of his mind a part of him had been hoping for Sherlock to have felt the kiss, to have brought it up at the kitchen table where they'd sat drinking coffee, but there was also a huge part of him that had hated even thinking about how that conversation might go. John would just have to accept the fact that Sherlock wasn't 'wired' that way, and even if he was he wouldn't think that way about John.

And John continued to think this, because he didn't know that the very next night, a pair of bow shaped lips placed a gentle kiss on his temple while he slept.