Sherlock was sleeping. No, he wasn't really sleeping, he was hovering somewhere in between being asleep and being awake. The apartment was quiet and still. He could hear the distant sounds of traffic outside his window. He listened to the quiet patter of the rain. Ordinary people would be content with this. They would be fine with lying in their ordinary beds, feeling warm and safe and…ordinary. They would be happy with listening to the ordinary rain falling outside their ordinary windows. But he was not ordinary, and he was nowhere near content. He felt restless and annoyed, why, he did not know. He eyed the bottle of pills on his bedside table. John had given them to him several weeks ago when he complained of not sleeping. He had taken several of them but did not like the idea of becoming dependent on something else. Cigarettes were quite enough for him. Even though he hadn't touched a cigarette in over three months, he suddenly wanted one now. He glanced at the bottle of pills once more and instead rolled off his bed and opened his nightstand drawer. He pulled out the one cigarette that he had been saving and rolled it between his fingers. He suddenly smiled. Perhaps tonight he needed something stronger.
Sherlock loved the homeless network. He loved them because they were always there. He knew he could depend on them when he needed them the most, especially when he needed drugs. He slipped several crisp notes to a tired looking young girl with dirty blond hair. She smiled and passed him a small plastic bag.
"Enjoy," she said as she pocketed the money.
He gave her a curt nod and placed the plastic bag in his coat pocket. He turned up his collar and stepped out again into the rain. He stepped onto the curb and hailed a cab.
Back inside, he peeled off his wet coat and threw it on the back of a chair. He had the bag of weed in his hand. He went into his room and threw it on his nightstand table. His teeth began to chatter from cold and he decided that he would dry his hair before he rolled his joint. He picked up an old towel from the floor and quickly dried his hair. He then went over to his chest of drawers and opened the third drawer. He shoved some things around for a moment until he pulled out what he had been looking for: his rolling papers and his favorite lighter. Grabbing the bag of weed from the table, he headed to the dining room and set to work.
Sherlock glanced at the clock on the wall. It was about 2 am, or he thought it was. The whole apartment smelled of weed and he kicked himself mentally for not doing it in his room and locking the door. He suddenly pictured John walking through the door and smelling the apartment. He felt laughter bubble up in his chest and soon he was laughing out loud. Tears sprang into his eyes and he doubled over. His stomach was hurting from laughing so much. John, good old John; he would have a fit when he came home, if he came home tonight. He tried to remember which one he had gone out with tonight. Was it Sally? Padma? It might have been Padma. Sherlock vaguely remembered John saying something about Indian food before he left the apartment. How could John leave him home alone on a Wednesday night? Didn't he have any consideration at all? Didn't John know that he was supposed to spend all of his ordinary time with Sherlock? Why wasn't John spending ordinary time with him? Sherlock laughed again. Sherlock suddenly felt the urge to lie on the floor as opposed to sitting on the couch. As he settled himself comfortably on the hardwood floor he stared up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was swaying back and forth but then again he wasn't too sure. Just like he wasn't too sure if he was hearing the sound of keys in the door. Sure enough, the door swung open and he spied John in the doorway. He flipped the light switch on and jumped when he saw Sherlock on the floor.
"Sherlock, Sherlock are you alright?" he asked immediately. He rushed over to Sherlock's side and kneeled on the ground beside him. He lifted his hand to check his pulse and then he stopped. He sniffed the air around him and then let Sherlock's hand drop limply back onto the ground.
Sherlock burst out laughing and rolled over on his side as John rose with an exasperated sigh. He stumbled over to the door and slammed it loudly. He felt all of the effects of the alcohol that he had consumed drain out of his body. They were replaced by anger.
"What the bloody hell are you doing? You scared me half to death, lying on the floor like some kind of corpse."
"It's funny because…because I'm not a corpse John, I'm alive, don't you see?" he asked.
"Well what are you doing on the floor?" John asked testily.
Sherlock pondered this for a moment and then he answered. "Simply being not ordinary."
John sighed and shook his head. He plopped down in the armchair and closed his eyes.
"John, don't you know that you're supposed to stay here and be ordinary with me?" Sherlock asked as he pulled himself up into a sitting position.
"You're supposed to stay here and be ordinary with me," he repeated.
"Sherlock, I have no idea what you're talking about," he said.
"Do you want a hit?" Sherlock asked as he got up from the floor. He picked up the joint from the table and lit it again. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
John shrugged his shoulders. "Might as well," he said.
Sherlock walked over to him and gave him the joint. He sat down on the floor and leaned against John's legs.
John settled back into the armchair and took several long pulls on the joint. He felt the effects of the weed almost immediately. "Why are you leaning against my legs?" he asked. He felt Sherlock shrug his body.
"It felt like the easiest thing to do," Sherlock murmured.
John nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense," he said slowly. He passed the joint back to Sherlock who finished it off.
"Where did you get this stuff?" John asked.
"I have my connections…" Sherlock said quietly.
John giggled. "Was it from that homeless girl; the one with the blond hair and the nose ring? Oi, Sherlock do you fancy her?" John teased. He felt Sherlock's body tense up and he slid away from John.
"I don't fancy anyone," he said. He folded his arms across his chest and attempted to maintain a straight face. It took them only moments to burst out laughing.
John slid down onto the floor. He decided to lie on the ground. "Oh, you had the right idea with this," he said.
Sherlock stretched out on the floor and moved next to John. They remained silent for a few beats when Sherlock turned to John.
"What do you want Sherlock?" John asked.
"What's your favorite color, John?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, blue of course, what about you?" he asked.
"That's a nice color."
"Mmmhm, I know."
Sherlock studied John's face. He looked at him, from his eyelashes to his nose to his lips. He wanted to commit it all to memory. He found himself feeling somewhat panicked. There was so much he did not know about John. What if something happened to him and he never got to find out who he really was? He was suddenly scared.
"John, if I died, what would you do?" he asked.
John turned to him. "What?"
"If I died. Would you be sad? Would you miss me at all?" he asked.
"Oh God, of course I would, why wouldn't I?"
Sherlock felt tears welling in his eyes. "I must look like an idiot," he muttered. He turned away from John and tried to wipe the tears that were now spilling down his face. Sherlock felt John's hand on his shoulder.
"No, you don't look like an idiot. This is perfectly normal," John said calmly.
"No it's not. I'm not normal, John. I'm not ordinary," Sherlock said through his ugly tears.
John gripped Sherlock's shoulder and gently turned him back toward him.
"Well then, I just so happen to have quite a bit of ordinary. I think I have enough for the both of us," he said. He wiped the tears from Sherlock's cheeks and smiled at him. "You're fine Sherlock, just breathe," he said. John pulled Sherlock into a weird hug and patted him on the back. "No more weed for you, do you hear me?" John chided.
Sherlock grinned and buried himself back into John's chest.
"No more weed, John, I promise."
"Will you remember all of this in the morning?" John asked.
"Probably," Sherlock replied.
"Wonderful," John said.
Sherlock took a deep breath and suddenly he was calm. He felt comfortable and warm. He felt safe. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off.
He was finally asleep.