When John woke up, he discovered that he was slouched against the hallway wall, with Sherlock pressed against him.

Sherlock

He was snoring softly, with his arms curled up near his chest and his knees tucked under his chin. John's legs were around him, and one of his arms was still wrapped around Sherlock. John smiled as last night's events came back to him, the drowsy fog now fully gone. Sherlock still looked small and vulnerable, but there was the hint of a smile on his face. He looked more content than John had ever seen him.

After a couple more minutes of staring, John became aware that Sherlock's eyes were flickering. Sherlock's curly hair was draped over his face, and John gently pushed a solitary curl out of his eyes. At that, Sherlock woke with a start, and noticing the position he was in, jumped up and stood against the opposite wall. There was an odd look of tension on his face. John wasn't sure why.

"Morning, Sherlock."

"Good morning, John. I trust that I haven't...encroached upon your personal space?"

John grinned then, and Sherlock's face lost the tension and took up a smile, too. 

"Nope. Want some tea, then?

"Thank you John, that would be-"

Sherlock paused suddenly, and John looked towards him, confused. He was staring at the odd scene that greeted them in the living room. Lestrade was sitting in John's chair, opposite Mrs Hudson. He was on his phone, and she was pouring some tea for herself. At their footsteps, Lestrade looked up with a grin on his face.

"Oh hello, sleeping beauties. You finally up, then?"

Lestrade's words dripped with silent laughter. Sherlock looked at him sternly.

"I believe you are before your time, Lestrade. Get out."

"Oh Sherlock, you mustn't be so rude, deary. I really must have a word with you mother."

Mrs Hudson giggled and went into the kitchen. John decided to speak up.

"Got a case then, Greg?"

"Oh no, by all means, don't want to disturb you."

"Yes, well, you're already sat in John's chair, I don't see what more you can do."

Sherlock spoke in a clipped, sharp manner. It was only when John looked at him that he realized that he was embarrassed. Let's have some fun then, shall we?  He thought.

"Yeah, Sherlock and I were having a great time cuddling in the hallway."

Sherlock's pale face flushed pink.

"I do not cuddle." He replied indignantly.

"Hmm, I think you do." John was about to say more, but Sherlock shot him a look that shut him up. 

"Talk business or leave, Lestrade."

"Yeah sorry, Sherlock. Well, I've got something you'll like. A sixty-nine year old lady was found dead of food poisoning in a house full of cats, but none of the cats are hers. Interested?"

Sherlock's eyes lit up. He walked swiftly to the door, grabbed his coat, and turned around. 

"Coming, John?"