𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬³ | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

"Good morning, Mrs Holmes," Sherlock's soft voice whispered, as he moved his warm arms around my waist. Grinning tiredly, I rolled over onto my shoulder, until my nose was touching his.

"I had a wonderful time last night," I smiled, kissing his lips softly.

I had arrived home from a seemingly endless day at the Yard to find my flat decorated in white rose petals and candles and my husband grinning proudly in the centre, dressed in a silky shirt and clasping a large wicker basket, containing food and lots of it.

"What's all this?" I had giggled, sliding off my dark coat and moving towards Sherlock. He placed the basket down onto his chair and sidled over to me, arms moving to hold my waist.

"It's our second Anniversary, and since we didn't celebrate it last year, I thought I'd make it extra special this time," he whispered seductively, leaning down to kiss my neck. I laughed, holding him tighter, pushing my lips against his jaw. His hands moved to undo my grey blouse as I giggled,

"Out here? Really? That's new," I had grinned, my hands moving to his neck. He gazed down at me with his big, glasz eyes,

"Mm, thought we'd give new places a try," he pushed his lips hard against mine, causing that warm and desperate feeling to start fluttering deep within me. I moaned,

"Oh we are going to have so much fun tonight."

And we did. Nine times.

Sherlock kissed my cheek lightly, pulling me out of my trance. My stomach growled loudly, causing the both of us to laugh. I loved it when he laughed- his shoulders shook lightly and his beautiful eyes crinkled at the edges, as his mouth pulled into a perfect smile and the deep baritone echoed from his body. He kissed my forehead,

"I'll go make breakfast."

"Mmkay, don't take too long. But at least make me several pancakes, waffles, eggs, crumpets, bac-"

Sherlock laughed again, squeezing my hand, "I'll see what I can do." He sat up and pulled on his pyjama bottoms and left the bedroom, making his way towards the kitchen.

Smiling, I yawned and stretched my delicate arms up to the ceiling, then rolled over, grabbing my cotton shorts and t-shirt, slipped them on and laid on my back. I gazed up, my mind drifting to my husband, who I could hear cursing as he made a hell of a lot of noise. Never much of a cook. But he was a hell of a lover-

I snickered, blood rushing to my cheeks. I yawned again. 'God, I'm so tired,' I thought, thinking back to the previous evenings. 'At least 9 hours of sleep the last week...' I shrugged, it was probably just from all that se-

"I've tried my best," Sherlock said, walking in with a large tray of breakfast. My mouth salivated, the sweet smell wafting through the room.

"Looks good to me," I grinned as he came and sat next to me. Without hesitating, I tore into the pancakes, not bothering to think about manners- Sherlock chuckled, sliding under the duvet,

"Jeez, squeakers, it's barely cooled down. And since when do you use your hands to eat?"
"Since now, I'm just hungry. And I've told you to stop calling me that."

He grinned, "but you do squeak."

"No I don't!" I squealed, voice squeaking. Sherlock burst out laughing as a frown fell onto my face. "Whatever," I muttered, diving back into the food.

Five pancakes. Five waffles. Two crumpets. Gone in seven minutes and thirty-two seconds.

I leaned back onto the headboard, hands on my now-bloated stomach, belching loudly. Sherlock looked over,

"Y/n, you ate the entire thing! That was enough to feed an entire family," he sighed, shaking his head. I grinned triumphantly,

"I know."

He chuckled, "you're going to make yourself sick."

"No, I'm no-" I began, as a sudden wave of nausea splashed over, bile rising in your throat. I threw the duvet off me, hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom. I skidded onto my knees and thrust my head over the toilet- now I was grateful that Sherlock left the seat up- just in time, as my one-delicious breakfast pushed it's way up my throat and out of my mouth, splashing loudly into the water. Retching, I felt Sherlock's arms surround you, one holding your hair and the other stroking your back. You could hear him chuckling. 

"You're not going to be sick, hm?" He said softly, as he moved his hand in circular motions on my back. Even though I was puking my guts up, I still rolled my eyes. After a while, I leaned back, exhausted and leaned my head against Sherlock's shoulder and he held me tight. I closed my eyes, now fatigued.

"You finished?" Sherlock whispered against my hair, as he kissed me on the head.

"Don't think there's anything left in me now anyway," I mumbled.

He chuckled softly, then stood up and scooped me up gently, my head leaning against his neck.

Slowly, Sherlock placed me back into bed and tucked the duvet tightly around me and kissed my forehead,

"Do you need me to stay?"

My eyes were closed as I mumbled, "no it's 'kay. You have that big case to go and do detectivy stuff on." I remembered him telling me about it the previous day- a new serial killer or something.

He chuckled and he stroked my hair, "okay. I'll call Lestrade and tell him you're off sick. I'll see you later tonight," he kissed me once more, "I love you, squeakers. You get better soon- it'll pass."

Except it didn't.