Fluff & Stuff

Comfort

Sherlock stirred in her sleep, her eye brows furrowed together and a frown. She looked scared, an adjective John never thought he'd use while describing his beloved companion. Her eyes were tightly shut as she pulled at the blankets that used to be covering her body. John gently nudged her shoulder with his own but Sherlock still suffered from the bad dream. He nudged her plenty of times but still she remained unconscious. He scooted over to the edge of the bed, grabbing a book from the night stand and then scooting back over to Sherlock, opening the book he always read to her when she had trouble sleeping. She questioned his methods before but decided not to complain when she was aware of the results. One thing calmed Sherlock in her sleep, either the book or John reading it. She thought it was the ladder. John kept convincing himself it was the book.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort." When John read the first sentence, Sherlock ceased stirring and she grew peaceful. John was overjoyed, like every time he got to stop Sherlock's nightmares.

As he continued reading, Sherlock snuggled close to him and buried her face into John's chest. John's face was unexplainably red and his eyes were as wide as the moon. Still, he continued reading. Reading for his Consulting Detective.