Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XLVI • 46

You collapsed onto your bed that evening, completely spent. Bowie padded over and nudged your hand with his wet nose, making you smile.
"Hey buddy." You spoke quietly. "What's going on?" You rubbed his ears, trying to expel the images of Sherlock doing the very same thing that flashed across your mind.
You batted away the memories like they were biting insects. You couldn't deal with them right now. Not those ones at least.
You flicked on the telly, hoping something would distract you. You saw news reports- another murder, an old detective show on the next channel, then an Animal Planet special on hound and tracking dogs. You turned it off.
It seemed like everything was just trying to remind you.
You knew John had arrived back by the door opening and shutting, then the sound of him muttering under his breath as he vigorously wiped his boots off in the mud room. It had been a cold, rainy day.
It seemed like everyday had been cold and rainy since Sherlock's death.

Sebastian was weighing on your mind that night, disturbing your sleep. You liked him, but you still loved Sherlock. You knew he'd want you to move on, but you were afraid to. After Jim, you were afraid of every man. Especially the excessively nice ones. Sherlock had never pulled any punches. He told it like it was, and although it seemed cruel at the time, you realised that you'd actually appreciated it.
You got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make tea. Perhaps it would help you sleep.

You opened a book as you sipped the hot liquid, concentrating on the comforting warmth sliding down your throat and the familiar words on the page.
You had read about three paragraphs before Sherlock slipped back into your mind. You shut the book with a cry of frustration.
You couldn't forget him. It wasn't possible.
You climbed the stairs, leaving your half empty cup of tea where it sat.

You opened the door to B, then padded over to the sofa. You had just laid down when you changed your mind. Instead, you got up and made your way to Sherlock's room. You turned on the light and spent a moment looking around, smiling at the little things. The poster of the periodic table on his wall. The collection of preserved insects and plant samples. You took in all of this, the thoughts of him that were occupying your mind becoming pleasant. Now you turned off the light and lay on his bed.
You found a quilt- the one he'd given you so long ago- and snuggled into his bed, comforted by the familiar quilt.

John's POV:

I got up early for work and heard your alarm going off downstairs.
You never slept through it. I thought with a frown.
I went down to check on you, alarmed when I saw you were gone. A million thoughts rushed through my mind at once, none of them good.
Had you been kidnapped again?
Had you run away?
And worst of all, Had you finally had enough of life without Sherlock?

I took a deep breath, willing the panic attack I felt was imminent to go away.
I was about to call you when I realised that your phone was your alarm.
Now I panicked. I rushed back upstairs, making a beeline for my own phone, when something made me check one more spot first. Why I hadn't thought of it first I didn't know. I opened the door to Sherlock's room quietly, and there you were, sleeping peacefully on his bed.
My heart melted.
I wished there was something I could do to ease your pain, I wanted to help so bad.
You rolled over, buried your face in your pillow and moaned groggily.
I smiled, then turned to the kitchen to make tea- scratch that, I needed coffee this morning.
The pot had just brewed when you stumbled out of his room, still clutching your quilt and rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.
"Smells good." You managed.
"Mm yeah. Want some?" I offered, pulling a second mug down. His mug.
"Yes please."
"Do you want this one?" I asked gently, showing you the mug.
"Yes." You nodded, after only a moments hesitation.
"Two sugars?" I asked after pouring the bitter beverage.
You nodded again.
I stirred in the two cubes then handed you the mug, carefully.
"Thanks." You accepted it, still sleepy. You pulled your quilt around your shoulders and sat down at the table with your coffee. You didn't drink it for some time, just sat there with your hands wrapped around the mug and your face near the steam it emanated.

Your POV:

You allowed the steam to rise into your face, the tempting scent of the coffee surrounding you. Eventually, you brought it to your lips and sipped it carefully.
The last time you'd had coffee was with Sherlock.

Flashback:

You had gotten up early and come upstairs to be with John before he had to leave for work. He had just walked out and you had gone to the kitchen to make coffee. Tea just didn't appeal today. You'd been humming a little as you brewed the pot and had just opened the cupboard to stretch for the mugs on the top shelf when a hand stopped you. Instead, he reached up and with little effort brought two down.
"Good morning." He'd said with a smile as he handed them to you.
"Guten Morgen." You dimpled.
"Wie geht es dir? (How are you?)" He asked, switching languages without a second thought.
You'd smiled, thought a moment.
"Mir geht es gut mein Liebling. (I'm good my love.)"
He'd blushed a bit, something he always did when you called him 'love'. That was why you did it, besides it was true.
"Why do you have to be so cute?" You asked, shaking your head.
He pulled a face. "That is never my inte-"
"Oh shut up." You chuckled, "Two sugars, right?"
He'd nodded.
You'd added the desired sugar to his coffee, then turned to him, but didn't hand it over. Instead you stood on your toes and kissed him. He'd been a bit surprised, that much was obvious, but perfectly contented. He'd taken the mug from your hand and set it aside, cradling your chin in his hand instead. He'd looked at you with more love than you'd ever seen him display, then returned your kiss, making your heart beat just a little bit faster. Okay, a lot.

A tear slid down your cheek as you opened your eyes. Your coffee still sat in front of you, the steam running low now.
You weren't sure you'd ever get over him. You just hoped it would get easier.