Sherlock x Reader Unknowingly Loved

Unknowingly Loved

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It is usual for his loyal assistant to stay up with him to the wee hours of the morning. She usually busies herself with menial tasks until he breaks out of his thinking trance. He would pretty much stare at the void and she would be having a lively dance party for one for all he knows. Oh, I'm talking about an avid violinist/consulting detective and his (H/C) haired assistant.

Sherlock stares, as is his wont, to nowhere in particular whilst thinking. With his knees tucked up to his bathrobed chest, his pale hands are clasped in a critical manner. He sits like this on the sunken couch for hours.

Then, to his surprise, he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder.

His inexplicably bright eyes open and shift to his right. (Y/N), in a lax arrangement, begins to doze off to sleep, her head nodding steadily. She hugs herself as if her layers of jumpers and shirts aren't doing their job. Sherlock frowns at her figure. Some (H/C) strands of hair falls onto her face and Sherlock turns awkwardly to tuck them behind her ear.

Tiredly, (Y/N) reaches up to press his hand against her cheek.

"Your hands are warm," she mumbles, sleep ridden in her voice. Her (S/C) hand drops back down to her lap the second after. Sherlock quickly withdraws his hand, and his face tints into the slightest shade of red.

His first instinct, once he regained his composure, is to push his assistant to the other side of the couch. But before he does, a nagging voice (that oddly sounds like John) scolds him not to do so. So Sherlock sits rather uncomfortably, the heat rising to his face. He lets his legs stretch into a regular sitting position.

"(Y/N)?" he addresses softly. She stirs meagerly upon hearing her name. (Y/N) ends up burying her face onto his shoulder as she answers,"Yea? Are you–"

She stops mid-sentence and her head falls onto his lap, completely asleep. Though very tired himself, Sherlock's face has incredulity written all over in response to the situation. But upon hearing her quiet snores, his face softens into a countenance of compassion. His eyes droop mellowly and he stifles a small yawn with the back of his hand.

The words that next come out of his mouth pretty much betrays all that he has ever believed about himself. It makes him a whole new person. It makes him a whole person.

"I'll protect you."

Sherlock's remark is quiet in volume and lacking in his usual spite. The words fall with unintentional tenderness.

"From what?" (Y/N) mumbles quite drowsily. She clutches onto his pant leg but her grip loosens after a split second. He leans back on the well-worn couch before replying.

"I don't know. From anything. I guess," Sherlock asserts faintly though his rich voice cuts through the silence.

(Y/N), despite being well asleep, has a smile graced upon her slightly chapped but soft lips.

Sherlock leans down to brush his lips onto her head full of mussy hair in an innocent kiss. He reclines his head and matted curls, content with knowing he could sleep with a newfound warmth in his heart. And little does he know that he, too, is unknowingly loved.

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