John is not asleep yet (well, perhaps a light doze), and the flip of the blanket is enough to have him open his eyes and blink owlishly.

Harry hasn't made any remarks about John's tiredness. That's something of a miracle, considering how much Harry has reveled in winding John up lately. He takes the silence as a blessing and shifts until he can lay down on his side. He makes an effort to encroach on Harry's personal space as much as he can to throw the spare half of the blanket back over Harry's legs, particularly the injured one. The message is clear.

"Wake me at least an hour before the sirens," John says quietly before shutting his eyes, his arm tucked under his head. Just a little sleep will do him well, and he's fairly confident that if Harry was going to kill him in his sleep, he'd have done it sometime last week.