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"....did I leave the stove on?"
John Watson, nearly asleep, blinked awake again and looked over his shoulder towards his flatmate, "What?"
"...I w's boiling hyd'chloric acid."
John, who'd been home all day and knew for a fact that Sherlock had been doing no such activity, frowned, "When was this?"
"...'s Tuesd'y."
"No, it's Friday," John rolled half over onto his elbow, "Are you awake?" The only answer was an incoherant mumbling which John took as a "no." He shook his head with a little grin then rolled back to his side to try to get some more kip.
"....Wha' 'bout th' snake?"
John looked back again, "What snake?"
"Th' thin lipped one. 'S got thin lips," Sherlock slurred.
John grinned in the darkness, "How did we get from hydrochloric acid to snake lips?"
"...... t'k th' Tube."
John slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from giggling. Well that was one way, certainly, but he just couldn't resist asking, "Couldn't catch a cab?"
"...n't w'thout a b'tterfly net."
John bit hard on his thumb. The sudden mental image nearly did him in. He rolled onto his back and grinned at the silhouette of his flatmate, "Alright, why are you chasing cabs with a butterfly net?"
"L'strade said.................."
John waited but it seemed nothing more was forthcoming. "And why did Lestrade tell you to chase cabs with a butterfly net?"
"And'son's incont'nent."
John hurriedly stuffed his pillow in his mouth to stifle his sudden laughter. He wasn't sure if he'd misheard that or not, but regardless of whether that was supposed to be 'incompetent' or 'incontinent', it was hilarious. "Yes, they'd definitely need to catch a cab, then," he managed. Then he couldn't resist asking, "Was that where the snake came in?" Oooooo that was bad.
"D'n'v'n bit it." John nearly bit through his pillow. "...'t w's h'ding in h'r ch'zb'r'gr."
This time John almost bruised himself, mashing his palm against his mouth, desperately trying not burst into hysterical laughter. Sherlock was slipping out of REM and into deeper sleep, to judge by his increased slurring, and waking him was simply not something John wanted to risk. "Alright," he said when he got his breath back. He wiped his eyes and continued, "Let me see if I've got this straight: You were boiling hydrochloric acid, then Lestrade called and you took the Tube to go chase down a cab with a butterfly net because Anderson was incontinent and Donovan bit a thin-lipped snake that was hiding in her cheeseburger, and you're worried you might have left the stove on. Right?"
"....'s br'll'nt d'd'c'tion......."
Nearly gone now, John thought. "Yes, you might make a detective of me yet," he murmured. Sherlock sighed and his breathing slowed and steadied as he slid down into deep delta sleep, finally falling silent.
John rolled back onto his side and punched his pillow a few times, with a soft chuckle. Well, this was an unexpected plus. He wondered if this was a regular occurance? If so, Bedtime Stories with Sherlock Holmes was definitely going to be the high point of his day.