Merry Reunions [Sherlock] [#Yuletide]

Shared Beds and Traded Rooms

"I saw it coming, you know."

We were standing at the edge of the room, struggling to make conversation after all of these years. Around us, the others milled and talked comfortably, recovered from the awkwardness of Sherlock's entrance.

"Saw what coming?" I asked him.

"Greg and Mycroft." Sherlock nodded his head to the pair, whose hands were intertwined as they sat together on the couch. "It's been going on for ages, in secret. Poorly hidden, though. All the signs were there: they were never together in public, each of them was always texting some mysterious, nonexistent contact, always too happy despite being 'single.'"

"Are those really the signs of a relationship?"

He shrugged. "Well, that, and I found them snogging at a crime scene last March."

I giggled, and the two of us turned to Mrs. Hudson, who was calling the room's attention. "It's gotten a bit late," she said. "I'm off to bed - Molly and Philip, I've two spare bedrooms with your names on them. These boys can stay in the bedrooms up here."

I turned to Sherlock as people began to disperse. "You didn't clear out my old room?"

He began to stutter as the slightest hint of a red blush bit into the snow-white skin of his cheekbones. "Thought it be nice to have a guest room. You know, for... Party things. Like this."

I nodded slowly, skeptical about his stammered reply. Still, I shook it off as Greg and Mycroft approached, still hand-in-hand.

"We'll take the spare room, yeah?" Greg asked.

Sherlock nodded, and the couple moved down the hall. He turned to me. "I'm going to go to bed too. Are you...?"

I nodded, heart suddenly pounding with the realization that I'd be sleeping in the same bed as Sherlock Holmes. He led the way down the hall, but we passed his room. I stopped, gave him a quizzical look.

He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I, uh, moved into the other one. Better view."

This I knew to be a lie. I'd slept in that room long enough to know that the closed curtains hid nothing but the brick wall of the building behind yours. Sherlock's room - or, at least, what used to be his room - had always been the nicer of the two.

My suspicion was short-lived, as it was drowned by a tidal wave of realization that struck when I found that, yep, there was only one bed in the room. To be shared. By myself and the man I'd been in love with for almost a decade.

"I could- I mean, I wouldn't mind-" I stammered, hunting for the suggestion of sleeping out on the couch.

Sherlock waved me away with a flick of a long-fingered, ivory hand. "Don't be stupid, John. You're a doctor. You know important a good mattress is for the lower back."

He wasn't wrong (he never was). He left me standing in the doorway as he immediately peeled off his shirt and changed into a pair of sweats. My heart was racing, booming in my ears so loudly that I was certain Sherlock could hear it.

Still, he crawled into bed nonchalantly. "Goodnight, John."

Realizing that I'd been staring at him for the entirety of the process, I quickly changed into my own pajamas and hit the lights, sliding beneath the already-warming covers. I could feel Sherlock's presence, the slight movements of the duvet as he breathed in and out.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."