Go the Fuck to Sleep, Sherlock

by primroseshows

Summary:

Do you know the bedtime storybook called "Go the Fuck to Sleep"? Yeah, that one! WELL, UH. So this fic is exactly what you're thinking.

Notes:

This idea isn't mine! I saw a reblog of ununpentium's tumblr post and my brain had a conniption of stellar proportions. I messaged her asking if it was okay to use her idea, and then I was too impatient to wait for her reply and wrote it anyway. Sarah, you don't know me, but clearly I like your brain a lot. I give full credit of this idea to you!! Thank you.

The original book Go The Fuck To Sleep is by Adam Mansbach. The original audiobook is read by Samuel L. Jackson, which can be found here. No copyright infringement intended, this is just a parody! I mean, I could also detail how I don't own Sherlock or John either, but these things are really exceedingly obvious. :(

EDIT: HEY OMG DO YOU LIKE AWESOME THINGS AS MUCH AS I DO? If yes, Lunchee has done a brilliant, inspired, wonderful, flaweless, hell-to-the-yes podfic of this poem, which you can find here: http://munchinglunch.livejournal.com/29427.html. I very much recommend it for people who have ears. Thank you so much Lunchee!!!

Chapter 1

Go the Fuck to Sleep, Sherlock
Read by John Watson, M.D. (majorly desperate)

 

Right, time to put the experiments away, Sherlock,
You’re practically swaying on your feet.
You’re running a fever of thirty-nine,
Go to bed, I think you need some sleep.

The beakers will be there tomorrow morning,
Your bacteria samples will keep.
How can you observe them with red-rimmed eyes?
You’ve got to rest yourself and sleep.

I know you think you’re above all this,
That your body’s a tool: faultless, not cheap,
But you’ve got to admit you’re human too,
And sometimes human beings need sleep.

Oh come on, are you going to ignore me all night?
You realize I’m feeling fine and replete.
I’m good standing here to nag you for hours,
Until you give in and go sleep.

Right then, have it your way, continue on
With your wet coughs and your tissues in a heap.
I’ll just mind my own bloody business, shall I?
What do doctors know about the benefits of sleep?

My cup of tea is half-empty and cooling,
When you trudge over slowly and aggrieve.
Ah, finally, you admit that I might have been right:
It’s appalling, but Sherlock Holmes needs sleep.

So I shut the telly and close the lights,
Up the stairs to your bedroom we sneak.
No, let’s not turn back to check on your mold colony,
I’m marching you straight to your bed for sleep.

Good grief, Sherlock, look at the state of your room!
What is that, the skull of a sheep?
Is this the reason there’s been that smell in the flat?
For fuck’s sake, how are you going to sleep?

No, no no no, no way, don’t you consider it!
My bed is my own, you creep!
How about the sofa? Too cold? All right, fine,
You can take my room just for tonight to sleep.

Lie down, here’s my pillow – Sherlock, put down the gun!
You’re so muddled you’ll shoot your own cheek.
And that’s not an invitation to use it when you’re better,
Now shut up, close your eyes, and sleep.

Yes, all right, I’ll get you some water,
No, you can’t have the tea I just steeped.
Take some medication for your fever, bloody hell, don’t chew it—
Are you a child? Of course it’s bitter! Now fucking sleep!

Look, you’re tired, you’ve been up for three days,
Just relax and let go; nature will seep
Into that colossally thick-headed brain of yours and
In no time at all, you’ll be asleep.

I read you a report, about the decay rates of tissue,
And I resist my own urge to weep.
No, it’s not the article that’s off-putting, it’s your face, Jesus Christ:
You’re getting too excited to sleep.

I tell you a tale, about my days in the army,
And during this you don’t make a peep.
Just when I think you’re drifting off to dreamland,
You fucking open your eyes – awake! Not asleep.

Sherlock, I swear, why do you hate me so much?
I do the cooking, I shop, I sweep,
I deliver your phone; and when I care for your sick hide,
You fucking repay me by not going to sleep!

No more stories, then, no more talk,
No more reactions from me you’ll reap.
I’m putting my fucking foot down on this, Sherlock,
Now sleep before I force you to sleep.

I’d drug you out of your mind, you idiot,
Tape down your eyelids, strap you down, and beat
Your body until it’s unconscious by necessity
And then we’ll see who needs sleep.

Oh my God, did your eyes just light up?
The depths of your insanity are too deep.
I’m begging you, Sherlock, I don’t want to hurt you,
I just want you to fucking go to sleep.

No more bathroom trips, no more errands,
I’m shutting off your phone now. Beep!
There, now, all of your distractions are gone,
So fucking sleep, you arsehole, just sleep.

Sherlock, you’re lagging, your face is covered in sweat,
You’ve got no strength for your usual leaps
Of logic, of strength, of impossible facades,
You’re stripped down to your bones – so sleep.

Being sick’s nothing to be ashamed of,
And there’s no one else here to see,
Aside from me, just John, through thick and through thin,
So lay down your arms and sleep.

Why do you have so much trouble with this?
Why are you incapable of sleep?
It’s disgustingly easy, here, budge up, I’ll show you.
Eyes closed, mind blank, good. Sleep.

Don’t get up – Sherlock! Don’t touch my med kit!
Fuck you, don’t measure my heartbeat!
It’s hammering so fast because of my homicidal rage,
BECAUSE YOU FUCKING WON’T GO TO SLEEP.

Okay, fine. You know what? You win.
Suffer your sickness alone, I admit defeat.
I’ve got work early tomorrow; I’m done dealing with you,
Some of us mortals actually covet our sleep.

So good night, Sherlock, it’s your fault I’m so tired,
And the bed’s still warm from your heat.
I am the calm center of a dying hurricane,
I welcome the darkness, and fall asleep.

I crack open my eyes. The room’s dark and so quiet,
And when I turn, what does my gaze meet?
The beautiful image of you, lying right next to me,
Your eyes shut, breath even, asleep.

I take a few moments to just soak in the sight,
It’s a memory I think I will keep.
I hate you a lot, you son of a bitch,
But you’re amazing whether or not you’re asleep.

As if on cue, you waken, and my breath catches
As your hand stretches across the bed sheet.
“John,” you implore, “I can hear you thinking.
Can you shut the fuck up and let me sleep?”