One shots (johnlock fluff mostly)

Not at all

One foot planted flat on the bottom step, the inside foot flat against the second step. One strong lean thigh tucked into the nook of fourth and fifth step alongside narrow hips which then curved over to a rib cage that was supported over the fifth step, not touching just hovering at this peculiar angle. And finally the right elbow tucked into the sixth step where a mop of curly brown curls, rumpled from days of not caring rested.

Yes. This was Sherlock Holmes having crashed once again from lack of sleep over a period of a week. Naturally the transport had decided enough was enough and quite literally stopped functioning and dropped.

Albeit the stairs don't exactly sound comfortable but in all actual fact, if somehow managing to avoid the sharp angles the stairs or preferably near vertical surface were quite a sharp contrast to the tiredness that his body was feeling.

It was at that moment, after something rattling in the flat only around seven more steps ahead of him until he would have reached the door. Then said door swung open to reveal a slightly sleep rumpled army doctor wearing an old army tshirt and baggy pyjama bottoms who upon seeing his friend let out a sigh that could have been a chuckle.

Heading down the steps towards the detective he then managed to work his way around the tangle of limbs until he reached the bottom step.

"Sherlock?" He whispered followed by a gentle prod in the shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. "Sherloooock" this time drawn out in some vague attempt it might get the detectives attention but he didn't even batter an eyelash.

Sighing inwardly John managed to get his hands under the detectives arms and lifted him with a grunt away from the steps into an almost standing position despite the soft noise that escaped the detective followed by a snuggling sound as he seemed to shrivel into his coat unwilling to let the outside world touch him now.

John managed to hold him up and gently shook him. "Come on? Lock?" And after a couple more gentle shakes, because John wasn't really in the mood to carry six feet of surprisingly heavy yet skinny consulting detective up a flight of stairs and then down to his bedroom.

Sherlock blinked open his eyes in slow blinks his whole face scrunching up in a way John would say looked adorable if he was interested in that kind of Thing. Which of course he wasn't. He was John Watson, fifth Northumberland fusiliers, he would not be turned to a soft ball of fluff because of the soft scrunched up expressions and disgruntled kitten noises currently escaping the detective who was being roused from much needed sleep after going nearly 3 days with less than 6 hours charging time.

No he was a captain and he had self control.

"J'hn?" Mumbled sleepily.

A deep sigh falling from the captains mouth as he took on the weight more firmly. "Come on, up to bed" he said softly if but firmly as he practically manhandled the lanky git up one step and then another, the soft leather of the Italian has oxfords scuffing against polished wood from over a hundred years ago.

Some how managing to successfully get the rather sleepy and dazed detective to the top landing and putting his arm around his waist to keep him upright before making the trek to his room and getting stuck at the door which for once was shut as though to be difficult.

John managed to hold Sherlock up using one hand braced against the wall, his arm under Sherlock's to keep him upright as he opened the door as quietly as he could so as not to disturb Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock slumped forward at that point nearly toppling into John as his feet slid and he began to slide down the wall towards his next improvised sleeping area before John grabbed him and using the arm under the detectives he slid it across his shoulders as the other caught the legs that were sliding out underneath him.

"You're ridiculous lock, you really are" he managed to say as he manoeuvred them through the door careful of knocking the lolling head which then preceded to fall against his chest with a disgruntled noise and his large hands pulling together tiny amounts of johns shirt between his fists.

No. John Watson would not be turned. Of course not. Not even when as he laid him gently on the bed said hands didn't want to let go and more soft disgruntled sleepy noises escaped the Cupid bow lips of the worlds only consulting detective.

"J'hn mnnnghh stay" mumbled into a pillow which he had gripped when John had gently prised his hands from his shirt. 

He then untied the detectives shoes and pulled them off setting them at the foot of the bed before moving to unbutton the suit jacket and slide the coat off the unwilling arms.

"Come on, work with me here a little Sher" to which he got another small noise but Sherlock lifted his arms weakly in an attempt to get the sleeves off to which John hung both coat then jacket over the back of the chair in the corner of the room.

Another quiet mumble about alkalis and PH scales and John was sitting himself on the edge of the bed, telling himself it was just so he could rest and recuperate for a second after the strain of carrying the detective when in reality it had not bothered him at all.

No. He would not be turned. Not at all. The mere idea even as he brushed sleep damp curls from the detectives eyes, pushing his fringe back and gently taking his fingers through the tousled locks he  continued to deny any possibility of even finding any part of this situation strangely heartwarming.

"J'hnnn shuusth " And was that a lisp just then...maybe. "Sthop thinking" grumbled into a pillow. Ah yes..definitely a slight lisp.

Chuckling to himself John brushed the fringe back again with a soft laugh as Sherlock practically melted under his ministrations hands flexing and unflexing against the pillow like a cat kneading a cushion.

No. John Watson wasn't affected in any way.

Not at all.