Fandom Oneshots [Mainly Marvel, Sherlock, and Good Omens, and House MD]

House MD: (Hilson) "Rest, Even if You Are The Weary"

Oh. God... he was so tired.

Oh. It hurt with this combination of shit that was swirling around in his head.

He felt he overworked and he didn't do enough at the same time.

It was a combination of burnout, lack of sleep, and anxiety for tomorrow bubbling up in a horrid concoction that burned through his stomach and made the gastric acid inside spill out like a bubbling pot.

Wilson's hand trembled a bit as he tried to find the perfect song to relax to. Shuffling through a bunch of songs with little avail, Wilson gave up; he shoved himself up away from the coffee table and off the couch.

Wilson loosened his tie and then tossed it on the floor next to the couch as he headed towards House's bed with a swaying gait. His limbs felt heavy and lazy, making him sway like some zombie from a movie.

He didn't care about the fact he was in House's bed as he flopped on the messy sheets. It felt so nice to lay down. It felt so nice to let himself finally rest.

Wilson rolled on his side while he grabbed the blanket and tucked it around himself and snuggled up to it. He reminded himself to wake up before House got home.

House, who had solved the case a lot earlier than he assumed he would, headed home. When the older man entered his apartment, he was greeted by a Wilson-less living room. House knew that Wilson was home because of the lack of his presence anywhere in the hospital or parking lot.

These days, Wilson didn't go out much and so it boggled House a bit as he looked around for Wilson. He finally gave up his search and ambled into his bedroom.

Then, he spotted the lump of sheets with a head of fluffy brown hair topping it off. "Ah," House realized with a quiet sound. Then, he limped over to the form of Wilson as quietly as he could.

House didn't know what made him feel so soft at that moment. He watched from above and saw the brown hair barely reflecting the setting sun's light.

"Hey, Jimmy," He whispered to the sleeping man who didn't respond. House sat down next to Wilson, making the bed dip in. He watched as the form moved only through breathing.

House placed a delicate hand on Wilson's forehead and started moving some of the stray hairs out of Wilson's face.

That's when the younger man woke up with a soft hum. Dark brown eyes opened slowly. "Mm?" Wilson mumbled as he pulled the sheets up to his nose.

House felt his heart crumple into another mess as Wilson's sleepy eyes glanced into his own eyes. Those sleepy brown eyes widened as Wilson realized he was looking at House.

"Oh..." Wilson tried to get up, making the blankets he was wrapped in slide off smoothly. House could see the crumpled oxford shirt Wilson had worn that day. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

House pressed Wilson back into his bed with his cane. House put the blanket around Wilson again by wrapping the blanket over his friend's shoulders.

Wilson blinked a couple seconds and then he narrowed his eyes. "Is... everything... alright?"

"I'm fine, you're the one who fell asleep in my bed," House responded. Wilson shoved the blanket off of him and was about to get off the bed but House stopped him with a "wait."

Wilson blinked several times before settling to sit on the bed with his legs hanging over just like House was.

"I mean," House turned to the side and rolled his eyes, "You're the one who's feeling down, so, I should be asking you that."

"You never ask me anything that deals with emotions and when you do, you use it to do some batshit insane thing," Wilson's tone wasn't bitter, rather, it was matter-of-a-factly. Wilson wasn't mad, he was just stating the truth.

"Well, you don't typically just pass out on my bed," House gingerly brushed away the strands of hair blocking Wilson's eyes for the second time. Wilson's eyes widened again, finally understanding that House was concerned for him.

"Tired," Wilson mumbled.

"Lose... patients? I assume that's what you're sad about," House said.

"Four of them," Wilson murmured, "I... it's just... all the loss is finally hitting me like a truck." Wilson looked away from House and then down at his fiddling hands. "It'll pass. It usually does pass after a few days."

House, his eyes uncharacteristically soft, glanced down at Wilson's hands. House then grabbed the blankets from the bed and draped them over himself and then he wrapped himself around Wilson.

Wilson's eyes widened again, for the final time in the day, at the things House was doing. He grasped his right hand with his left, turning the left hand's knuckles white.

He could feel the warmth of House's body seep into his weary, tired bones. Wilson moved just a bit closer to feel House's firm chest that kept him from floating away. He felt grounded and safe. Oh, that weariness being chased away by the touch of a certain man.

House wrapped his arms around Wilson's torso and wrapped his bigger, scarred, calloused hands over Wilson's softer, kinder hands.

"Is... this... okay?" House mumbled into the air.

"It is..." Wilson whispered.

"Don't... this doesn't leave the room," House grumbled into Wilson's shoulders.

"It won't," Wilson said. He finally rested his head on House's shoulder.