the infamous sherlock holmes

day ten.

3rd september 2009.

dear dairy,
i'm starting to not mind sherlock now.
he's grown on me.
not enough to get a word out of me though, he tries.
although not as often now.

anyways farewell.
-o.t

sitting up, you stretched your arms to the side and cracking your back in the process. ouch- you'll know about that in an hour. seems that you'd fallen asleep on sherlock's settee again. a case file on the side and a blanket over you, you struggled to remember what happened last night. then, you went back to your messages quickly, finding the one you'd thought you'd dreamt of.

come over, i bought drinks and i've found a new case.
s.h

you groaned. that explained the headache. now you wondered what it'd be like to stand up, that wont be happening until you had to. you laid back in the couch, wondering what you'd said. 
shit. what had you of said?
fucks sake, you would've slapped your forehead but the migraine was enough punishment.

walking through the door, sherlock entered the room. "sorry, did i make you take the couch last night?" he said, looking equally as confused.

relief settled in your stomach for a second. "i don't remember. do you have any paracetamol, ibuprofen?" you asked as he walked into the kitchen. "if so, three please. and a glass of water."

you heard him scoff as you left. "you're really that bad? you don't remember anything do you?"

shit. "and... you aren't?"

he walked in with a box of tablets and the tall glass of water, smirking. "nope, i remember everything but when i fell asleep." he furrowed his eyebrows, still grinning. "you're much funnier drunk, i must say."

"so i didn't tell you anything?" you asked.

"oh no, you were about to but i stopped you. distracting you with the slightest thing was so easy. are you not going to take the paracetamol?" he asked as you placed the box on the side table.

nervously, you looked from the box to him. "could you get them out for me? my body hurts to move."

sherlock laughed once more, opening the box and handing you three. he smiled, genuinely, before walking off and down the hallway. "i'll run you a bath. want me to head to yours and grab some clothes too? mrs hudson can take care of you, she'll be delighted honestly."

surely something must have happened, sherlock was never this nice. never. but you couldn't call him a sod or a melt, purely down to your hangover. otherwise from that you'd be blowing off insults at him. 

"go for it." you said before taking the tablets with your water. your clothes felt heavy and you felt like death itself. your legs wouldn't move and you felt sick. fucks sake. "do you have a bucket too?" you shouted, covering your mouth afterwards.

coming down the hall, sherlock's sleeves had been rolled up, his shirt undone slightly and he had a bucket in-hand. whether it was your hangover playing up or sherlock was being so kind, he looked hot. very hot. you accepted the bucket gratefully.

"i'm never letting you drink again. at least not that much." sherlock laughed.

"i'll drink whether you let me or not. there's these things called pubs and clubs, you know?" you rolled your eyes, sticking your head in the bucket - just in case.

feeling sherlocks hand on the back of your head, he smoothed your hair out, holding it back for you. "yeah well, chances are i'll always be with you. i'd never trust you alone in london of a night out, let's be honest."

"whatever." your voice bounced off the inside of the bucket.

gently, you felt sherlock slowly put your hair into a plait. tying it with a hair tie at the end he placed it down the middle of your back. then, he walked off. back into the bathroom. you'd wish he hadn't to be fair. you weren't used to his touch, at least not this kind. gentle and caring. you hadn't experienced that before. 

your legs suddenly found the strength to walk and you and the bucket made your way to sherlocks bathroom, where he stood in the middle. 

"do you have to leave? i can just put these clothes back on." you said from behind him.

"not happening, you need clean ones. those need washing." he pointed to you. you looked away, reluctant to reply but still not agreeing with it. "promise, you won't notice i'm gone. i'll be quicker getting home than lestrade when he needs help." he winked at you, making you smile slightly.

"fine, fine." you replied.

"uh, its ready now, i'll leave you a cup of tea on my bedside table. you relax there until i'm back. if you need anything mrs hudson won't hesitate to help." he patted your hair before heading to the kitchen. 

~timeskip: 04:53pm~

laying down in sherlock's bed, you almost fell asleep. baths just had that effect on you. they always made you sleepy. it was the heat, you guessed. relaxed your muscles too much.

then, you heard the front door open. sherlock. there was no way you were moving at all. you laid your head further in the pillow, smiling. your eyes still closed, you heard the bedroom door creek open.

"hey, i got your clothes. you been alright?" you heard sherlocks voice. when you looked up, you barely saw his hand reach for the light switch.

"no. don't." you could manage out.

his hand moved away quickly. "alright." he walked over to the side of your bed, laying clothes next to you. "i wasn't sure what you'd want to wear, so i brought a two outfits. comfy and cute."

"comfy." you bluntly said. "please." a small huff from sherlock escaped. he nodded and put the other outfit on the window sill. "i can't move." he looked over at you.

"you? you're asking for help?" he asked with sarcastic amazement. letting out a 'mhm', you felt sherlock's hands gently pick you up. "careful now, don't move your head too much." his voice was soft as he stood you up. "i'm not helping you dress yourself though. you're hungover, not two."

"no shit, sherlock." you scoffed.

shaking his head, sherlock left the room. he closed the door behind him before you started looking through the clothes. damn, you didn't even remember buying these clothes. or ever seeing them in fact. though, you couldn't care less about when you'd gotten them. you'd rather just quickly get into them.

as you walked out the room, in the joggers and two-sizes-too-big t-shirt, you yawned. where'd sherlock gone? you looked around before calling his name. 

"right here." he said walking into the living room. now, he looked more stressed than before.

"you okay?" you asked as he sat in the arm chair across from yours, looking like he's in a world of his own. he brought a hand to his mouth and was quickly pulled out of his trance.

"worry about yourself. you need to get better." he said, smirking. "we have a new case. jim moriarty. you remember those suicides? he bought them. and the bombings? also him."

you stared at him for a second. "so what's stopping us from catching this bitch?"

amused, sherlock smiled. exactly what he was thinking.