11 | Cuddling

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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cuddling

"PLEASE! I THINK I'M GOING TO DIE!"

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"PLEASE! I THINK I'M GOING TO DIE!"

"Well you know what I want, give me that and I'll take your theory a little more seriously."

"If I give you that then I Damn well am a deadman!"

"No give, no get." Getting up and smiling like an arse. I glance to the quivering man before me. "Sorry Eddie."

And with that I leave him sat on a park bench, verge of tears, fearing for his life. Potentially.

Continuing my morning walk with Banksy, tapping away on my phone whilst he's on the other end of the lead sniffing around. I randomly get a call from Garry.

"Hello?" The phone to my ear, my curiosity peeked.

"Yeah hey, we may have a problem, come round to my place." And with that he hangs up, rightfully so, any longer and the call would have been trackable.

Sighing I open Sherlock's contact.

Won't be back for a few days, don't miss me too much xx
- R

And with that I start in the direction of central London, Banksy leading the way.

--

2 days later.

Yawning slightly, the dreary view of an English summer present from the cab window, the dull sight adding to my lethargic state. The past couple days I had been camped out at Garry's place, attempting to resolve some 'family issues'.

"Here."

I get out the cab at the sound of the man's call, handing him the correct amount of money and staring at the door I am about to head through.

221b Baker street.

A subconscious sigh later and I'm opening the solid door, respectively taking off my coat and scarf at the entrance. The place is unusually quiet.

Walking through the door, waving to Miss Hudson, I make my way up the stairs. Sluggish and tired, deciding that my next mission is to kick Sherlock out of his bed and claim it for myself. Stopping on the mid stair landing, rubbing a hand over my eyes, flipping my hair whilst running a hand through it. I hope he doesn't question me, I can't deal with his deductions right now.

I continue up the stairs, knocking on the door to the flat. Surprisingly, Sherlock answered, rather shocked to find me at his door.

"Rens? Where have you-"

I cut him off by hugging his torso, the lanky idiot froze up like the antisocial boy he is. Snuggling my head into the crook of his neck, walking him backwards into the flat and kicking the door shut with my converse clad foot.

"Did you miss me, Sherly?" I ask, a close eyed smile and tiredness evident in my voice, he sighs, awkwardly patting my head. Hah loser. "I'm exhausted~"

"Go to bed then. You know where it is." He rolls his eyes, attempting to get out of my grasp and back to his work. Though my grip on his torso is fierce and he ends up half dragging me over to his desk. "Get off."

"Nuu~ My legs don't work~ Carry me!" I whine, my eyes still closed. He sighs getting a bit more frustrated, waiting a couple minutes to see if I would let go. His impatience grew thin and he held me more securely, so he wasn't dragging me on the short journey to his bedroom. He picks me up and places me on the sheets, struggling as carrying such a weight won't be usual for him. I hum in suprise that he actually picked me up, or managed to for that matter.

He goes to leave after tucking me in, only to realise I still have my arms around him.

"Ren, You can let go now." He mutters, trying to get up again only for me to pull him down on to the bed, once again cuddling into him. "Ren-!"

"Can't hate me, I'm sleeping." I mutter back, hugging him closer, making it obvious that I wasn't letting go. He sighs seeming to accept his fate, though I don't know if he's aware, but I can hear his heart beating at a mile a minute. I crack open an eye and see what I swear is a smile on his structured face. He looks so handsome.

Daringly, in my 'sleep', my arms move around his waist, pulling him into me more. He ends up stiffly resting his hands on my chest, his forehead against my shoulder as he gets comfortable. His soft curls brush against my face, smells of dusty books and chemicals. It's odd but also soothing and classically him.

He allows himself to relax, figuring myself asleep. An attempt is made at escape, though quickly stopped, as though the decision to stay was much greater than the one to leave, or the fact that my grip was too strong. His hands lightly gripped my shirt... he was conscious of me waking up and catching him getting comfortable. cute.

His breathing becomes steadier and I chance an eye open to find his closed, himself completely submerged in the unconscious abyss of sleep. He must have worked himself out, poor boy.

Smiling to myself at the innocence of this man. He was plagued by something monstrous, much like myself. The way he acts, the way he is, he doesn't even know he gives of such impressions, but then again he probably only does to those who look for it. Those people being myself and Mycroft, probably the only people.

Mycroft knows.

Knows what goes on in this man's head, in his subconscious mind. I know he knows. He gives off that impression that he's been protecting him from much more than the backlash of his works.

A childhood maybe.

I smile sadly, running a warm thumb across his cheek, his calm face being colder than myself.

The contrast makes him lean into the warmth slightly, as I continue to run my index finger over the contours of his face.

I swear if he turns out to be awake through this then I'm going to ram my head between a closing door.

The thought had me pausing, looking at the man, the entertainment of this theorem being enough to accumulate the confidence to aid my fleeting desires.

Slowly I tilt his head, leaning down, careful not to disturb his slumber, my warm face now mere centimetres away from his own. I studied his face, any hint of alertness or that he may have been awake. Letting out an almost shaky breath.

I placed my lips onto his, a sweet and innocent kiss for a sweet and innocent man.

"What a beautiful tragedy you are Sherlock Holmes."

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