Sherlock made himself a morning cup of tea and yawned. John who was feeding Gladstone looked into Sherlock’s tired eyes.
“Sherlock, you do realise you put the milk in the oven don’t you?” Sherlock looked at the oven questioningly like it was the one at fault.
“Experiment John.” He replied as John took the milk out of the oven to add to his tea. Sherlock had been awake for four days straight now and was finding it hard to function. John would no doubt say he was ‘overtired’, but the whole idea of being overtired annoyed Sherlock. How could someone be overtired? It was like saying someone was overawake.
“You need some sleep Sherlock.” John said concerned as Sherlock shuffled over to the sofa and lay down.
“Mycroft said you might like a weekend away.” Sherlock said as John sat down in his chair and started to read the paper. John looked over at him exhausted, sprawled on the sofa. Gladstone had jumped up onto Sherlock’s stomach and was making himself comfortable.
“Did he now? And why was that?” Sherlock steepled his hands together under his chin careful to not disturb Gladstone.
“He said I’ve run you ragged this week, and he’s not using the house this weekend, off on some government trip to France. Anthea will arrange a car for you and Gladstone when you are ready.” Sherlock gently smoothed Gladstone’s head.
“On our own?” John looked annoyed. “We’re not going without you Sherlock.” Sherlock turned his head, his eyes sparkled.
“Really?” He asked his lips turning up at the corners. John laughed, Gladstone’s ears pricked up and he wagged his tail.
“Why would we want to go on our own you silly sod!”
The car had arrived within twenty minutes, just enough time for John to throw some clothes in a bag. They sat quietly on the trip down, John watching the sun through leaves in the trees while Sherlock stretched out and dozed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin.
They arrived at mid-day the sun was hot and beating down. The dry gravel crunched under their feet as they got out of the car and strolled into the house. Mrs Welling was waiting for them and took their coats. There were salmon and cucumber sandwiches, hot tea and warm hugs waiting for them in the sitting room. John laughed as Mrs Welling pulled Sherlock down to her level to give him a kiss. It was comfortable just like going home thought John as Mrs Welling winked at him.
“I’ve set up the room next to Sherlock’s for you Dr Watson. Dinner is at six. I’ll be making a cooked dinner for you boys.” She pinched Sherlock’s cheek. “Sirloin for you Sherlock, and a nut roast for John.” John grinned, his favourite. “I think you could do with a nap before dinner Sherlock. You’re overtired again aren’t you.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John smirked to himself.
They went up to Sherlock’s room first. Sherlock lay on his bed as John picked out a book from Sherlock’s collection to read. Gladstone jumped up on the bed next to Sherlock. By the time John had chosen a book and turned around the both of them were asleep. He smiled, pulled the blanket at the end of the bed over them and quietly made his way to his own room.
It was as large as Sherlock’s although decorated in a more demure manor. Cream and beige, pictures hung on the wall, which reminded him of his own home. The bed was huge, easily a queen size. He picked his bag up and put it on the bed, he might as well unpack. After folding his clothes and putting them in the dresser he looked out of the window. The sun was glorious outside and it seemed like such a waste not to enjoy it.
John eventually found his way into the garden and sat in a deck chair in the sun. He took his t-shirt off and the sun beat down on his skin. It was so good to be warm, he closed his eyes.
“John? John?” Sherlock looked at his reddened friend, Gladstone stood beside him. John moaned as he opened his eyes.
“Oh god. My shoulders hurt.” John cringed looking down at his now blood red skin.
“I think Mrs Welling has some after-sun lotion that might help.” Said Sherlock helping John stand. “Mrs Welling!” He shouted, Mrs Welling hurried out of the back door and over toward them.
“Oh my goodness Dr Watson, what have you done to yourself. Come inside we’ll have to cool that down and put some cream on it.” John blushed, he hadn’t been treated like this since he was a little boy.
John sat awkwardly though out dinner wearing a loose t-shirt, an old one of Mycroft’s Mrs Welling had said. He wasn’t actually surprised that it was huge but at the fact that Mycroft actually had a t-shirt. The cool towels and cream Mrs Welling had made Sherlock rub on his shoulders had done the trick.
“My god Sherlock, that food it was amazing.” Mrs Welling popped her head in and smiled. “Thank you Mrs Welling.”
“Thank you Dr Watson. I do love compliments.” Sherlock joined in with the praise.
“I couldn’t have done better myself.” John looked at Sherlock confused.
“You can’t cook.” He whispered. Mrs Welling walked over to the table and tutted at Sherlock.
“Have you been lying to Dr Watson Sherlock?” She asked as Sherlock smirked.
“Not lying per se just not trying.” Mrs Welling frowned at Sherlock.
“You can cook? After all the meals I’ve made for you.” John said annoyed, Sherlock grinned.
“He can if he pays attention. I couldn’t send little Sherlock off to university without being able to boil an egg.” She looked Sherlock in the eye. John laughed at the name. “We’ll talk about this later.” The door opened and the cook carried in an enormous tiramisu. Sherlock’s eyes lit up.
“Remember to share Sherlock.” Said Mrs Welling as Sherlock grabbed a tablespoon.
They were sated that night when they went to bed. John felt that his stomach might explode, and wondered how Sherlock felt after eating three quarters of the tiramisu. He’d never seen anyone eat so much dessert, never mind Sherlock.
John lay on his bed with Gladstone on the end and sighed happily. It really was nice to take a break occasionally. He melted into the soft covers ready for a good sleep.
Sherlock was half way between sleep and awake when his door opened. He felt the bed dip as Gladstone jumped up on it. He opened his eyes to see John pulling back the covers. He was definitely ‘overtired’ if he was having dreams like these.
“Sherlock budge over.” John pushed Sherlock’s sleep limp body. “This seems to be becoming a theme, us sleeping together.” Sherlock yawned.
“Not that I mind sharing my bed with you.” Sherlock drawled. “But why are you here.” John rubbed his forehead like there was something on it.
“There seems to be a leak in my room. I was just nodding off when it dripped right on my head.” Sherlock smiled into his pillow. Mrs Welling was up to her old tricks again. John climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up. “Ahh.. Your bed is even more comfortable than the one in my room. There was an old gentleman downstairs Mr Welling I assume. A nice old man was watching an old Charlie Chaplin film, smoking a cigar. Came up looked at the ceiling put a bucket under it told me not to worry and said I should camp out with you.” Sherlock turned to John and smiled.
“Was he about your height with a little black waxed moustache, terrible comb over?” John nodded. “That’s not Mr Welling John, that’s my father, Hercule.” John burst into laughter.
“Your father is called Hercule Holmes?” Sherlock grinned.
“Never let it be said that my grandparents didn’t have a sense of humour.” John looked into Sherlock’s eyes questioning.
“You don’t look anything like him.” Sherlock laughed.
“Fortunately.” John plumped his pillow.
“Your mother must be stunningly beautiful.” John blushed.
“She is, and no doubt you will meet her tomorrow, wherever father is mummy’s never too far behind.”