[They land in their respective twin beds in the polite, beige carpet beige walls brown bedspreads pay-per-view movie cookie cutter clean linen familiarity of an American hotel chain, identical no matter what Godforsaken corner of the world you might be in. One shower, he gets it first, but is quick, and soon they're both clean of dust and dirt, free to recuperate before trying to get out of the country. The room is air conditioned and quiet, there are terry cloth hotel robes to curl up in, a small minifridge with ungodly priced alcohol that he cracks open right away, pouring a thumb of scotch each.
Now, Sherlock does pass out the moment his head hits the pillows, thanks to the drink on top of the little pill from that kit, but it doesn't last. He twists in his sleep, robe sliding down, revealing purpled bruises on his pale chest, and within a few hours he's wrenched back to wakefulness with a gasp, by the pressure against his side. He rolls onto his back, not quite aware that she's up in the dark with him.]
3
Now, Sherlock does pass out the moment his head hits the pillows, thanks to the drink on top of the little pill from that kit, but it doesn't last. He twists in his sleep, robe sliding down, revealing purpled bruises on his pale chest, and within a few hours he's wrenched back to wakefulness with a gasp, by the pressure against his side. He rolls onto his back, not quite aware that she's up in the dark with him.]