Various x Ftm Reader

Covers ||John Watson|| [Rewrite]

Mentions of food & dysphoria

You groaned at the sound of your alarm, and nearly knocked it off the table trying to turn it off before burying yourself under the covers once more.

Everything felt so wrong, it made you nauseous.

Your eyes were shut tight as you tried to focus on anything else, even the dark, but it hardly helped.

After a while you heard the sound of a door opening swiftly.

"No." You groaned.

"Why aren't you up?" You heard Sherlock's voice clearly through the blankets.

"Why are you?" You retorted. Though it was a fair one, he usually wasn't up as early as you. The order was John, you, Sherlock. Even if he didn't sleep, he usually stayed cooped up in his room.

"John woke me up to check on you. Not sure why though, it's obvious you're feeling dysphoria judging by the closed curtains and the blanket burrito. You are not sick because you are clearly already awake, do not sound congested, aren't coughing, didn't immediately ask for John, and there aren't tissues on the floor. It's not—"

"Okay, okay."

There was silence for a moment before you heard the door close, and Sherlock somewhere behind it yelling "John!". There was another voice, and then some more talking (which sounded more like bickering, as per usual in the Baker Street flat), before there was a soft knock on your door.

"Come in." You said. The door opened, and closed gently. You heard the sound of your curtains being pushed open.

You felt a gentle prod against your shoulder. You knew by the touch it was your boyfriend, John, but you still poked your head out.

"Hey. Sherlock told me you didn't feel like getting up?"

You nodded. He kissed your forehead.

"How does a movie day sound? I'll make breakfast."

"Yes, please."

He smiled down at you, and quickly ruffled your hair before leaving. He came back with food he knew you liked, and his laptop and charger.

You undid your burrito so that he could get in, but he quickly fixed it for you, pulling you up against his chest, and wrapping the blankets snugly around the two of you.

All was well until Sherlock needed attention, and undid your blanket arrangement—though not without first agreeing to be quiet, and taking your dishes into the kitchen.

a/n: this chapter wasn't actually that popular, but I definitely like this version much better. I'm not rewriting my last book because that's a lot of chapters, but I did want to make this one a bit better (imo)