Come to Bed- John Watson x Reader

You scowled as you tapped diligently away at your keyboard, watching the words appear on the monitor before you, occasionally pausing to correct a mistake or change words around in your endeavor to complete your report.
"[f/n] what are you still doing up? It's nearly three o'clock in the morning!" a voice you recognized as John Watson whispered and you looked up, blinking as your eyes readjusted to compensate for the darkness of the room surrounding the little haven of illumination your computer screen provided.
"Is it really that late?" you mumbled, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes in an effort to force the exhaustion from your gaze. At John's nod you gave a tired chuckle, "I guess I got carried away." you reluctantly turned back to your computer and continued typing, "Still, I've really got to finish this."
"No, you need to sleep [f/n], you can't keep staying up this late just for your articles! It's not healthy!" John growled, strolling over to stand beside you. When you didn't reply he just groaned in exasperation, peeking over your shoulder to see what you were working on. "What's the subject now?"
"Poisons." you replied,  "Symptoms, deadliness factors, level of toxicity, that sort of thing. Thought Sherlock might appreciate it."
"Which one are you writing up?"
"Tetrodotoxin," you answered, rubbing your eyes in an effort to stay alert as you glanced up at the man standing beside you. "Most commonly seen in nature in blue-ringed octopus venom and a type of pufferfish that Japanese people like to eat- after the poison's been removed of course. Over one hundred times more toxic than potassium cyanide. Works by stopping brain signals from reaching the rest of the body, causing paralysis which stops breathing and causes heart rate to increase." you rattled off the facts automatically,  having done quite a bit of research on a variety of poisons in preparation for your article. It was an interesting subject to be sure, if not the cheeriest of things to spend hours reading up on. You just liked to know things. Who knew when something like this would come in handy? Especially when you so often hung around Sherlock Holmes himself and his friend, the invaluable John Watson.
"Doesn't sound like something you'd want inside of you, " John commented, regarding the several dozen pages of handwritten notes scattered around your computer, "How many poisons did you research?"
"I dunno, a lot." you muttered, avoiding his gaze.
"How many [f/n]?"
"Not sure, maybe fifty?" you offered, trying to downplay how much work you had really put into this project. You had probably researched more than fifty for all you knew. But the project was important to you on several levels, some of which you would've preferred not to mention.  And no, you weren't planning on poisoning anyone anytime soon. It was more your embarrassment at wanting to impress the crime-solving duo, less for the curly-haired thinking machine than the nicer, kinder sidekick. You didn't like being so clueless when they talked about their cases, it made you feel utterly dull. So you started researching, finding stuff out. You even had your own website filled with the things you had been studying, documenting everything you learned carefully. At least no one could say you weren't thorough with your research. It had only been two months and you had already filled your little corner of the internet with pages and pages of content on a variety of subjects from how memory and amnesia worked to the politics of organized crime syndicates to musical theory to how fear affected one physically to graphology and forging techniques. All subjects you thought might one day be beneficial to you as you worked with John and Sherlock. Granted, it was sometimes difficult to absorb so  much information so quickly but you were managing- more or less. You were stressed, that much was obvious. You weren't sleeping well either and you continually had trouble focusing. You had hoped that John wouldn't notice but you were sure that the consulting detective had discovered your true motives long ago.
"Fifty poisons?" John exclaimed disbelievingly, "[f/n] you need to take a break! You don't have to know all of this, at least pace yourself before you end up killing yourself over this! It's just cases, you can take your time learning!" He grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from the desk, forcing you to look him in the eye. You tried to push him off but you were too exhausted to do much more than bat at his arms like a kitten, "Please, this is foolish, at least get some sleep!" His gaze pleaded with you and you felt your heart wrench.
"It's not foolish," you muttered, looking at your feet like a scolded child, "I just want to be smart, like you and Sherlock! I don't know enough to be of any use on your cases and I want to help! Sherlock, he's Sherlock and you're a doctor and a soldier but I'm just me! What can I offer?"
"You don't have to offer anything!" John growled, leaning forwards and kissing you deeply. You felt your face flush as you returned to kiss, your lips dancing in sync as his hands moved to cup your face. He pulled away and gazed into your eyes pleadingly, "You don't have to be like Sherlock or have a degree to help, you just have to be you. That's what you do best. You're [f/n]. My [f/n]. Now come to bed and get some sleep or else I'll be forced to drag you there."
You smiled slightly, taking his offered hand as your free hand reached to close your laptop, shutting out its gentle illumination as you allowed John to lead you to bed.