He flicked through the channels, stopping on the BBC. The only sound now was the sound coming from the telly. "What's this?" Asked Sherlock, he actually sounded interested. "I believe it's called 'Dr.Who'." I replied, peering at the telly. "Hmmm." He hummed. "Do you like it?" I asked after a few moments of silence. "Of course not, it's-" He stopped, immersed in the show. I smiled to myself, getting up off my chair. Sherlock looked up to me, "Where are you going?"
"Well, I don't know if you'd want to watch the show or-"
"Watch it with me." He said, looking up at me with the face he did when he wanted something and he knew I was a push over so I'd do it. "Oh, uhm-Sure." I said, clumsily walking back to my chair. Silence filled the air for a moment, "Come sit over here." He said, not facing me but the telly instead. I sat there for a moment before getting my chair, nudging it with my foot until it was somewhat beside Sherlock. It was odd having him like this, so naturally I didn't know how to react. Sherlock kept his eyes on the telly, scooting over in his chair. "Sit."
I looked at him for a moment, about to question him. I stood there, opening my mouth to speak but instead said nothing. I shuffled to the couch (made for just one person to sit in it). I looked at him again, seeing he wasn't paying attention to anything else. Out of all people, I would never think Sherlock would be so interested in a show like this.
I slowly got into the chair, sitting as far off to the other side as I could. The leather chair creaked softly as I sunk into it. I glanced at Sherlock, then to the telly.
"Did you kiss her back?!"
"No. I kissed her lips." The telly stated. This surely wasn't in Sherlock's..interest. Was it?
I kept stealing glances at Sherlock, not really sure if this was some sort of act he was playing. This was surely not his interest and he seemed a bit...Off. I mean, it could be the fact that he just came out of nowhere and told his friend that he's not actually dead after 5 months, but even in this situation it was still...Out of place.
We sat in silence, Sherlock's knees pressed against his chest, his thigh against mine. Out of all things that could have happened in one single day, this was it. All of this in one. Single. Day. After enough silence for me to handle, I decided to question Sherlock: "You uh-You like this show?" I asked, grasping his attention. He glanced at me, grabbing the remote. "If you don't like it, I'll change it-" He began. I shook my head, "No, that's okay. I just-This isn't usually your state." He turned his head to me, raising a brow.
"This isn't a usual situation."
Okay, I should have expected that more than anything. I looked at him for a moment, him looking at me. It didn't affect me anymore. That look he gave. He would stare at you with this odd intensity until you looked away. He knew I was used to it, it didn't affect me. But he did it anyway. Well, I shouldn't say it doesn't affect me-But not in the same way it used to.
I didn't know how to reply, so I didn't. I turned my attention back to the telly, catching glances of Sherlock. He seemed to have gotten closer, or maybe I moved closer to him. Sherlock brought his hands up to his arms, rubbing at them. "Are you cold?" I asked quietly, starting to get up off the small couch. "Get a blanket." He said simply, gesturing for me to move out of the way of the telly. I smiled, it was so odd having this all fall into place as if nothing happened...It was still nerve wracking, and my heart beat picked up every time I so much as glanced at him.
I retrieved a blanket from my room, tossing it to Sherlock. It landed on his head, a piece flapping over one eye. He turned to me, narrowing his eyes. I shrugged, "I got you a blanket." I stated, seeing the side of his lip twitch in a slight smile. He fumbled with the large duvet until it fit around him, the rest of it trailing on the floor. I stood there, figuring I'd sit back in my chair next to the couch. I did so, taking up some of the blanket and sliding it over me. Sherlock sighed, not moving his eyes from the telly.
He didn't say anything, and I wasn't sure why he wanted me to sit next to him so badly. I mean, I wouldn't mind but this is Sherlock. I never know what's going through his head, I'm not even sure Sherlock knows entirely what goes through his head. Eventually, I got up. "Do you want your tea heated up?" I asked, moving towards the living area. He didn't answer, not that I really expected one. I gathered our tea cups, pushing them into the microwave. I kept distracting myself with things to do, not sure what was with Sherlock.
Maybe he just really likes Dr.Who.
I carried the two cups, handing one to Sherlock. He lifted his hand, "Can't reach." I rolled my eyes, Nope, he's fine. I came closer to the couch, practically holding it in his face. He wrinkled his nose, taking the cup from my grip. "Sit." He instructed, taking a small sip from his cup. I sat on the chair next to him, giving him an odd look. I went to place the blanket over my lap, but Sherlock simply tugged it away. I sighed, looked over to him. He acted as if he did nothing. "Sherlock." He looked at me, raising a brow.
"What?" I gave him the look. "What?" He repeated. "You're a blanket hog!" I exclaimed, tugging some of the blanket back to me. I never really thought I'd say that to Sherlock bloody Holmes. "Am not." He said simply, tugging it back. I sighed heavily, he only smiled. "If you want the blanket, you have to sit over here and actually watch it with me."
"Why does that require sitting by you?" I asked. He looked at me as if it was obvious, "So I know you're really watching it." I was going to question him further, but decided it wasn't the best idea. I clumsily climbed onto the couch, pulling some of the blanket over me. His thigh rest against mine again, the show starting a new episode.
He kept fidgeting, pulling the blanket over his shoulders, nudging into the couch further, nudging into me further. "Comfortable?" I asked sarcastically. He turned his head to me, "Actually yes." I pretended to be annoyed, but I was honestly the happiest I could be. I had my Sherlock back, and he was just as Sherlock as he always was. Stubborn, sarcastic Sherlock.
I hadn't really noticed that throughout the show, our knees were touching, our thighs pressed closer, out shoulders brushed against each other's, his hip was nearly glued to mine, and the blanket held us together. Our hands were just barely touching, I could feel his cold knuckle against mine. I could feel Sherlock glancing at me every few moments, making sure I was watching it. He was like a child, watching your every reaction to every scene and every line of dialogue. I would glance at him too, just to make it even.
We were getting closer and closer as the episode was coming to an end. I hadn't noticed until I felt a weight on my shoulder, looking down to see a sleeping Sherlock. I felt a pang in my chest, and my stomach grew tight. I felt something, I wasn't sure what. Was it a good feeling? Yes. But was it good to be having this feeling? I wasn't quite sure.
