Benedict Cumberbatch Imagines

IMAGINE: Sherlock Taking Care of You

| IMAGINE for @captainswaneriel |

You trudge up the stairs to ‪apartment 221B on Baker Street‬. Weariness settles in your bones and all you can think about is seeing Sherlock, your boyfriend, and sleeping. It's ‪10 P.M.‬ on a ‪Saturday night‬ and you just got off of work.

     For the past three weeks, you've been working long hours. You barely have time to eat, let alone sleep. You've neglected Sherlock all of these weeks, and decided that before you go home tonight you will spend some time with him.

     You open the door to the apartment and see Sherlock staring at the wall, in deep concentration. "Hey." You smile softly.

     He looks at you and a rare smile lifts his face. He stands. "Y/N." He says, pulling you into a hug.

     You hold onto him tightly and feel so much stress release. "I've missed you." You sigh.

      "I've missed you." He whispers, brushing the hair back from your face and looking at you. He looks at you in concern. "Are you all right?" He asks worriedly.

      "Yeah, I'm fin—" You start to say before he cuts you off.

     "You feel noticeably thinner. I see the circles underneath your bloodshot eyes, and I smell gallons of coffee on your breath."

      You sigh, knowing there's no point in lying to him. "I'm just tired. Work's killing me a little." You smile tiredly. You pat his chest. "It's all right. It'll be over soon once the busy season is over. Now, tell me what has been happening with you. I haven't seen you in so long, it feels like. What new cases are you on?" You say, turning the attention away from you. Sherlock looks at you, knowing exactly what you're doing. You shrug. He sighs and starts telling you about what has been happening.

As Sherlock recounts what has been happening for the past three weeks, you listen intently. You blink frequently, trying to stay awake and trying to make the little black dots crossing your vision disappear. You shake your head a little, suddenly feeling very sick.

     "Y/N, are you okay?" He asks worriedly, peering down at you.

       You look up at him, trying to get his face into focus. "Yeah. I'm good." You choke out. "I just-I just-I just-" You stutter before your eyes roll into the back of your head and you pass out.

     "Y/N!" Sherlock exclaims, pulling you to his chest and into his arms protectively. He picks you up and lays you down on a chair. "Y/N, come on. You need to wake up." He whispers urgently. He puts his hand on your stomach and feels it rumble against his eyes. His eyebrows furrow. "Oh, Y/N." He sighs. He kisses your head, looking down at you—despite the pale parlor, the dark half moons encircling your eyes, you're absolutely beautiful. Tears fill his eyes and he rests his head against yours. "Please wake up, Y/N."

      A long moment passes, you jolt awake in his arms. A second later, you start shivering, so cold. You stare at Sherlock as he gathers blankets and layers them over you.

     "You passed out, Y/N."

     You swallow hard. "Oh." You breathe.

      "'Oh'?!" He exclaims, standing up. He starts pacing in front of you. From the rigid stance of his back, you can tell he's angry and very concerned.

     "Sherlock—"

     "Y/N, when was the last time you ate or drink something?" He demands. You open your mouth. "Other than coffee!" He enforces.

     "I-I don't know."

     "What?!" He gasps in horror.

     "I'm so busy. I don't even think about eating. I go home each night straight to bed and wake up a few hours later to get back to work. There's no time to eat."

     He shakes his head, worry etched onto his face. "You're run down, Y/N. I see it in your eyes. I see it in your face. I'm so worried for you. You're going to kill yourself over this stupid job. You shouldn't even be here. You should be home eating and then sleeping." He blurts out.

     "I know. But I wanted to see you." You whisper.

"You should have just told me what you're going through. You should have told me everything." Sherlock says, shaking his head.

     "I'm sorry." You sigh.

      He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you tell me you haven't been eating?" Before you can answer, you struck by a hunger pang that makes you grimace. Your stomach rumbles lowly. Sherlock sighs again, this time more gently, and kneels in front of you, taking your hands in his.

     "Y/N, I don't think you understand how much I care about you and love you. I want you to be happy and healthy. I hate seeing you like this." He murmurs. He puts his hand on your stomach, caressing it gently. "Let me make dinner for you. Please." He pleads.

     "Okay." You nod.

     "Thank you." He tells you before kissing your forehead.

     "Thank you for caring about me so much." You smile gently.

     He cups your face. "Always, my love." He whispers before he dips his head down and kisses your lips softly.
[THE END] I hope you liked it!