A sleepy thought occurred to Mary somewhere between comfortable settling and drifting off into dreams, and she stirred herself to ask, over her shoulder, "Did you actually tell that child I would give him a shilling?"
"Mzh?" Sherlock said, quite intelligently, because the one time it seemed he was not on top of things (so to speak) was when he was sleeping somewhere he considered safe, and apparently beginning to snore gently against the space between Mary's shoulder-blades with a hand over John's now counted as one of those spaces.
It still surprised her that she could find this in the least bit comfortable, but by now it seemed rather cozy, and if nothing else did cut down on the number of nights the fireplace needed to be kept lit.
"The small, rather dirty child who brought me John's note yesterday," Mary clarified. John himself was asleep. Resolutely so, in fact, so as to be able to claim he had no idea this conversation had gone on at all next morning. "He said, and I believe I quote, 'Mister 'olmes said y'd give a shilling over, mum,'" and she did her best to imitate the child's manner of speech.
"Did he? Oh. No, I didn't, it's just Jimmy was the one nearest to hand, and he has turned into something of an extortionist." Sherlock yawned, almost pointedly. "Terribly sorry."
"Not to worry," Mary said, snuggling between both of her men, content to sleep. She did not add, Seeing as I've already replaced my shilling with one of yours, it's of no matter, because that seemed the sort of thing that might wake him up, and didn't he seem to be dead set on sleeping?
She certainly thought so.