When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
Sherlock hardly had luck with sleep that night. It was like his mind would not give the thought of you a rest. He could scarcely believe he was thinking of moments between you and him earlier, as if he were a teen boy thinking about the friendly smile his crush had given him earlier that day.
Of course, the thought of being utterly captivated with you hadn't clicked in his head just yet.
"Sherlock?" The sound of your voice nearly let his soul jump out of his body.
"Y/n?" At this hour, why were you awake? "What's wrong?" he got out of bed, messed curls falling everywhere. "You're shivering," he grabs his jumper quickly.
"I, Uhm, I couldn't sleep...?" you felt like an idiot coming all this way without a planned solution.
"You're not the only one," he curls up the sleeves and pulls it over your head without you being able to decline. "Warm?"
"Against my will, I've been restrained," you look to him, giving that soft smile, "very warm,"
He laughs lightly, making sure not to wake anyone up. "Did you have a nightmare?"
"I'm not seven years old, Sherlock," you cross your arms, facing away, but he hooked a finger under your chin, moving your focus from the window to him.
"Y/n, I'm not an idiot," he wasn't going to rest until you admitted it; you both knew so.
"Just a little one..." you didn't catch the tears welling back up, but he did. He caught it with his thumb, wiping it away, palms holding your face gently as your eyes shut tight. "It's my fault... It's all my fault, Sherlock,"
Letting his arms drop to wrap around you, Sherlock made sure to hold up when your knees nearly gave way. He had hardly a clue what you were blaming yourself for. You knew exactly what you had done. So what was this? What was your fault?
"Y/n... what's your fault?" one hand kept to your waist, the other now back to cup your face.
"This?? You and John have to leave 221B, your parents possibly in danger, Anna-" streaming down your face, you could hardly contain every heartfelt sob. "They're gone, and it's all my fault..." sniffling, your head nudges closer into his chest, "I don't want to hear it wasn't- or that I had no other choice. I'm just sorry, Sherlock. I'm so fucking sorry, Sherlock,"
He wasn't sure what to say. He never was good at this sort of thing. One thing was for sure, however long you needed him to hold you, he would. Minutes, hours or days on end, if you needed it, he would provide.
"Don't be sorry," his sudden words caught your attention. "Whether it was or wasn't your fault, whatever choice you had at the time, it doesn't matter because I chose to help." Sherlock made sure you looked into his eyes, "and I'd do it again, Y/n. That was my choice."
All you could do is nod, giving a wobbly smile when his lips press against the crown of your head, his cheek then resting against your head, making sure you kept close. "Thank you,"
"You have a reputation to uphold, can't go around thanking your arch-enemy," his fingers draw small circles on your side, eventually resting on the small of your back.
"You're a pain in the neck at most, Holmes,"
"Mhm," he rolls his eyes, moving to the door, "you need to sleep-"
"Wait-" taking his hand just as it slipped away, you thought carefully over your words, "I don't want to be alone,"
Almost dumb-struck by this confession, it took him a moment to take one step towards you, leading you to his bed. "Did you expect me to tuck you in?"
"One more word out of you and I swear I'll-"
"You'll what, hm?" he leans closer, a tilt of his head adding to the smug demeanour. "I didn't quite catch that, princess~"
"I don't remember you being this annoying in person," you slump on the bed, Sherlock climbing in right after and laying on his side to face you.
"Hm, I'm certain I've always been this annoying," he fiddles with the ends of your hair, thumb wiping the drying traces of tears.
Your palm rests against his chest, feeling the heightened beating of his heart; it was almost as fast as yours. "Maybe I just forgot," from his chest, your fingers trace up to his face, along his jaw and cheekbones, forgetting when he last called you princess.
Every contact made eyes flicker in moon-lit darkness, yet just as he moved in to kiss you, missing the feeling so very often... you were unsure what made you curl into his chest instead. His lips part, then shut, chin resting on top of your head as his eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment.
Dammit. Idiot.
His breathing calmed nonetheless, holding onto you by the side, drawing small shapes along your back. "Goodnight,"
"Night..."
~~~
Through the night you were hardly unbothered yet again, but as luck would have it, a cold sweat hit your skin, sniffles paired with uncomfortable writhing.
Sherlock, rolled on his side before, now shifted back to face you. His eyes furrow then peak a little open from the distress beside him. "Y/n?" He whispers out, taking a moment to figure what was wrong, "oh," he pulls you into his arms, trying to calm you best he could. Sherlock hushed you softly until your body relaxed against his.
"I'm sorry,"
Whether this was you sleep talking or half-awake, Sherlock hardly cared. All he needed you to know was, "I'm here, my darling,"
~~~
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Can't believe you're all still in the first stage of grief about my death aka denial
