"It... is... THREE IN THE BLOODY MORNING!" John shouted.

Sherlock, unfazed, raised his eyebrows.

"Really? Already?"

John glared at the man, leaning heavily on his cane. Sherlock insisted John and him switch rooms, just until he was recovered enough to go up the stairs easier. Though it was convenient for John, it was inconvenient in the sense Sherlock's late-night expositions were nearly right outside his door.

"Artistic genius waits for no one, John, not even to the confines of the universe we call time."

"Right. OK, well this time it does- so can you please keep it down?"

Sherlock sighed heavily and sat his violin down.

"I'm making no promises," he said, walking over to his chair. John rolled his eyes.

"Didn't expect you to. Goodnight."

He walked back into the room, silently cursing Sherlock's antics. He sat down on the bed and sighed, knowing he wasn't falling back asleep anytime soon.

The next night...

John woke with a start. His heart nearly beating out his chest as his dream played over and over in his mind. He rose his hand, shaking and clammy, to his mouth to prevent from crying out. Though, he was certain he already had, as he woke himself up by screaming. He laid in silence, hoping he hadn't woken up Sherlock. Tears were streaming down his face he noticed as he sat up. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then heard something from the other room.

Within the other room, a soft violin melody began to play, slowly growing louder. John furrowed his brows, then slowly pieced together what was going on.

...

Sherlock continued to look down at his instrument as he heard the bedroom door open. He expected John to yell, or at least cuss him out. Instead, there was silence.

"Oh, hello John I hope I didn't disturb you-"

He looked up and saw John, who was visibly upset, but not in the way Sherlock anticipated.

"-John? Are you alright?"

"Ye-yes I'm fine," he said shakily. He chuckled a bit, obviously trying to play it off.

"No, you aren't. What happened?" He said plainly, trying not to sound overly concerned.

"Thank you," John said quietly. "For erm... well... you know. Playing when I..."

"No problem," Sherlock said slowly. "Tonight, this wasn't like the others, was it?"

"No, no I assume it wasn't," John laughed. Sherlock noticed tears were running down his face. "It was... you, and you..."

He trailed off, placing a hand over his mouth. Something common he did when he cried, Sherlock noticed.

"I died," Sherlock finished for him.

"Yes," John said.

A sob escaped him, then another, and then another. Sherlock watched helplessly for a moment as John broke down in front of him.

"I'm sorry- sorry I just... I don't want to see that again. I can't. You can't."

Sherlock walked up to him and wrapped his arms carefully around John, who buried his head into the other's chest. He rubbed his back soothingly, still somewhat unsure of how to help.

"I'm not going anywhere, John. Believe me, I can't, I'm behind on rent," he said lightly.

He eased slightly as John chuckled a little bit. He pulled away, rubbing his eyes.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Sherlock said firmly. "If... you don't plan on going back to bed you're more than welcome to stay out here. I'm likely not going back to sleep either."

John glanced behind Sherlock to where his chair was. Papers were thrown around, some crumpled up and tossed.

"You don't have to, obviously but-"

"That sounds lovely, actually," John said, clearing his throat. "I would rather not go back to sleep, I think."

Until dawn, John and Sherlock sat, talking about various things. Somehow they fell upon the subject of John's childhood, something that was rarely spoken of. Come to think of it, neither of them talked much about their pasts- as if it was some sort of unspoken rule.

"You were born in Australia? How was I not aware of this?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged.

"Never came up, I s'pose."

"Can you do an accent?"

"Jesus, Sherlock-"

"Please?"

"I'm not sure if I still can," John admitted, rubbing his chin. He was quiet for a moment, then said,

"G'day mate, how's it doing?"

Sherlock stared at John for a second, then couldn't help but erupt in laughter. A kind of laughter he never dreamed of ever executing.

"Stop it! Stop laughing!" John said, pointing a finger at the hysterical sherlock.

Sherlock didn't even realize how hard he was laughing until he fell out of his chair, which caused John to start laughing equally as hard. In no time, the two were rolling on the floor. That was until Mrs. Hudson came in.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what has gotten into you, boys? It's six AM!" She exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips.

Sherlock stopped laughing, realizing who was at the door. He looked quickly at John, who looked confused.

"Sherlock? I thought you said-"

"Oh dear me!" He said, jumping up. "I apologize, John, I thought it was seven." He hurriedly nudged Mrs. Hudson out of the room. "My sincerest apologies for the noise, come again!"

He quickly shut the door, looking breathlessly at John. John raised his eyebrows.

"She's been here the whole time, hasn't she?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes."

John propped himself back up in his chair, smiling slightly.

"What are you all smiley about?" Sherlock asked, sitting down.

"Oh, nothing."

John yawned, leaning his head back against the chair.

"Thank you for, um, staying up with me. I usually don't get the privilege."

Sherlock chuckled, now laying sideways in his chair. He had to admit, he was feeling slightly tired now too.

"I'm up all the time anyway, so it's nice to have company in the early hours." He said, yawning now as well.

Both men engaged in a small amount of conversation before they fell asleep.

For the first time in a while, John slept the rest of the night soundly.

Later that day...

"Drink up, you smiled!" Sherlock said, pointing at John. John groaned, taking a sip of alcohol.

For the past hour, John and Sherlock were playing a game where they would write phrases down on paper for each other to say. If either one of them laughed or smiled while saying it, they had to take a swig. The more intoxicated both of them became, the harder it was. John had to admit, Sherlock came up with some interesting expressions.

Sherlock picked up a piece of paper and read, "Somebody please help me, a dingo just ate my baby and it was my last one!"

Instead of Sherlock laughing, John burst out in laughter. Sherlock ended up laughing too.

"This is terrible! John, I think you need to see your therapist again."

"Do we both drink now?"

"I could only assume yes."

After another hour and a half, they were completely wasted. Which, by many people's standards, was a terrible thing. Especially for them. They somehow ended up playing the game, "Watch Your Mouth!" Where your mouths would be pried open and you'd have to say challenging words. Being drunk while playing this was a challenge in itself.

"Oooaarrelly uns or a arrry a iiiity" Sherlock said.

"English, mate!"

Sherlock aggressively slurred again.

"Orally?"

"NUU!" Sherlock said, hitting the table next to him. "OAR-RELLY! UNSS!"

"Those aren't worrrdds!" John complained, throwing his head back.

Sherlock yelled, but with his mouth pried open it came out more a screech. The door suddenly flew open, revealing Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway. Nobody could've prepared her for the sight of a toothy, drooling, drunk Sherlock whipping his head around with wild eyes. Mrs. Hudson yelled, hurrying out of the room.

"Wa er prorom?" Sherlock asked, lazily falling back into the chair.

John crossed his arms. He sat on the floor next to his chair, refusing to sit in it because it was too much work.

"I'm bored, say we do something else?"

Sherlock took the plastic piece out of his mouth.

"Like... what exactly? Like maybe we can juss tell each other secrets?"

"Terrible idea... let's do it," John said, chuckling.

"I'll go firss, I think tha Mycroft can go suck the biggest fish in London."

Sherlock hiccuped, staring straight at the ceiling.

"When I was in high school... I made out with another guy onna dare," John said. Sherlock gasped quietly.

"Didya like it?"

John narrowed his eyes as Sherlock, who giggled to himself quietly.

"Johhnn, why can't we go out?" Sherlock said suddenly. John groaned.

"Because you'll fight someone, again."

"Will not!"

"Will too!"

"I'll sit onnyou until youl le me go out." Sherlock said, standing up.

John crossed his arms at the approaching Sherlock.

"No, you will not!"

"Whoooopsss," Sherlock said as he draped himself over John.

"Hrmphh- Sherlock geoff of me!"

"Lemme go out, JAwnnn!"

"You can't even walk!"

"Mhm neither can you," Sherlock retorted.

John sighed, accepting his fate.

"No."

"Then here I sit."

Somehow, amid their drunken shenanigans, both men fell asleep, Sherlock still laying on top of John. Of course, Mrs. Hudson came in and made sure to take plenty of photos- which may or may not have ended up on the internet.