A thorn by any other name would hurt just as deep, or whatever the saying is.
~~~
Greg Lestrade would say Sherlock Holmes was always the smartest in the room. Whether at 221B or Scotland Yard, no ordinary person ever came close to compete with his...
Being allowed to take one of Sherlock's very few casual clothes, you were surprised at his array of hoodies and sweatpants despite his usual attire. Eventually, you choose a navy blue hoodie and quickly join him in the living room, looking at the fallen structure.
"Wasn't too good at it as I thought I would be," Sherlock admits, looking at his work in shambles.
"Eh," you pull back the sheet and pull the brooms to the side. "Who needs a fort? This is more than enough," his hand was grabbed and tugged down. "And since I was late, you get to choose the movie," you nudge him.
"Really?" he was handed the remote, channels at full access.
"Really." You then stand and go to the kitchen, "but no movie night is complete without hot chocolate,"
Sherlock's eyes follow you, softly admiring how you move and look. The way the sleeves fell just over your wrists, constantly being pulled back. Sighing out in content, he wasn't sure why he felt the ability to let down his guard fully. Something about you, your presence had him comfortably scrolling through options until an action movie was chosen.
He didn't know what it was, nor did he care. All he hoped for was a night with you. Talking until daylight or until one of you was fast asleep, and that was all.
He just had hope.
Hope you would enjoy this as much as he would.
~~~
The smell of his cologne lingered on his clothing, gently meeting your senses throughout the movie, no matter how you sat. Knees to your chest or legs crossed, you were going to make sure you enjoyed the night Sherlock had planned.
What meant most of all was that he listened.
He listened once, and without fail, he lifted your mood. A day of tiring work in both lives you balanced; this was what you needed. Something you never had, and yet all it took was one word, and this man had gone out of his way to make sure it happened.
A man you used to think of as nothing more than just a man. A man who was called a sociopath, uncaring and avoidant of all things human. He made it seem as if they were all describing a different man.
Just as the movie reaches halfway, you look at him with earnestness, quickly allowing a hug. "Thank you again, I really needed this," is all you think of before letting go. For some reason, those few seconds had your heart soaring, like a sickness had infected your body, and all you could feel was a warm feeling of contentment.
How you hadn't felt that in so long.
"You're welcome," he tries not to let the blood rushing to his cheeks show in the room's darkness. "I'm just glad you like it,"
"I love it," you correct, focusing on the movie with a smile as Sherlock did his very best to hold him down. It caused his lips to quiver, hands fiddling with a sudden rush of excitement and joy.
"Good, good," he whispers, doing the same as you.
~~~
It seems his plans to talk until morning were interrupted by his exhaustion. He never needed sleep, but in this moment, as the movie came to an end, he was met with a shockwave of tiredness. So, he looks at you, wondering if you needed to head to bed before realising you had done so without notice.
He couldn't care less about that fact. To him, it was no worry as long as you were okay.
By that point, he was too tired to care about the what-ifs; instead, he was looking to see if he could adjust the pillows to have you rest more comfortably. Fiddling with the blankets, he put another over you in case you were still cold. Your body turned his way, the soft breathing while the television made part of your body glow a gentle blue. He couldn't help but sink, laying with you, before feeling a wave of sleepiness hit him.
While this was no care to him, it was a mistake knowing that John could walk in at any moment. You were never going to find out about it, but Sherlock wouldn't stop being teased until the day he died.
~~~
As the hours passed, morning creeping up to wake people up for their early shift, you couldn't care as Sherlock's body had stopped the sunrise from blinding you. With his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the other supporting his head against the pillow, Sherlock's snores flood the ghostly apartment, not a sound made.
Except for the eventual footsteps jogging towards the landing. John had his bag ready, doing up his collar and cuffs, only needing his trusty coat. Oh, but that lovely coat was in 221b's living room, which he happily stumbled in on. "Friends, my ass," John chuckles, snapping a photo with a grin before sending it off.
When John sent out those photos, he thought nothing more about the recipients within the group. The only problem is that Jim had a bug in Mycroft's phone. This was a cause for concern as, at that very moment, Moriarty was asleep with a phone suddenly chiming beside him.
Turning focus back to the two of you, nothing was disturbing the deep sleep that was currently taking place. Especially as Sherlock nuzzled his face closer to you, tightening his hold for a second before relaxing under your very own grasp. You couldn't help but move closer to the source of warmth, Sherlock'a cologne keeping you fast asleep like an alluring lullaby.
All good things eventually come to an end, as they say. So when Sherlock's alarm from his room started to go off that Saturday morning, you were woken immediately. Sherlock soon followed, both eyes opening slowly, only to realise you were directly in front of him.
The single second of eye contact had your face firing up with a warm feeling, embarrassment causing you to sit up with a cough. "Sorry, I didn't realise I fell asleep,"
"I didn't want to wake you," he admits, ruffling his tussled curly hair. "How... did you sleep?"
Better than you ever have was the truth but not the words you let out. "Pretty good. Thank you for last night, it was fun,"
Sherlock's heartfelt that burning sensation, as if someone had wrapped it in a warm blanket and hugged it tight. He simply nods, scratching the back of his neck, "Would you like to shower? I can see if Mrs Hudson has any spare clothes,"
As much as you appreciated it, you doubt Mrs Hudson had anything that would suit you. "My flat is close by, but thank you," you explain, hearing a phone start ringing out in the living room. Scrambling for yours, it turned out to be Sherlock's, Lestrade calling him about a new body turning up.
"Hello?" Sherlock let a monotone irritation exude from his voice. "Another?" His eyes brighten up, "We'll be there right now- no need, I'm actually with Y/n right now- what do you mean, you know?" But the call ended there, "dammit, John,"
"What is it?" You stood up, checking your reflection in the mirror.
"John must have told half of England you stayed the night," he clicks his tongue, getting up and hurrying to his room. "I'll be right back, feel free to get changed while I shower,"
~~~
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