Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

"Sherlock, You're Having A Nightmare" ((Final) Part 2)

Over time, Sherlock had loosened his hold. His body filtered out the remaining adrenaline from his blood, leaving him fatigued and aching. Y/N noticed that she was supporting a lot of his weight now, and pulled out of the cuddle, taking the sides of his face in her hands. Sherlock gave her a lopsided sleepy smile, and she kissed his forehead again, him ready for it this time and tipping his head forward like a cat seeking out its owner's palm.

"Do you want to try to go to sleep now?" Y/N asked.

Sherlock still had one hand on her hip, and its grip tightened.

With one finger curled under his chin, Y/N directed his gaze back to hers. "I'll stay with you, if you want."

Besides the odd 'thank you' or 'I'm fine', Sherlock hadn't said very much, probably couldn't say very much, his throat recovering from its earlier workload. His voice was croaky at present; where usually it flowed like smooth silk, it now caught like brittle winter leaves, breaking as he twisted it around his tongue. "You don't have to." Which was a lie. He wanted her to very badly.

Sounding determined and confident, the first time she'd been those things in---well, ever, Y/N nodded conclusively. "I'm going to. Shall we keep the light on, or off?" Mainly for his benefit, she added: "I usually like them on."

The corners of Sherlock's lips twitched upwards gratefully as he replied, "On. Please." and settled down with his head on the pillow that Y/N had fluffed for him.

She mirrored his actions but on the opposite side of the bed, noticing something flicker over his expression as she did so, igniting like a lit match touched to the wick of a candle behind his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Cheekbones dusted with a hint of a blush, Sherlock cleared his throat, hesitating with a sweet mien of vulnerability. "Nothing's wrong. I just wondered if you...wanted to come over here."

"Over there?" Although she knew what he meant.

"Yeah. You know. To cuddle?" He choked out the last word, heart forcing it past the barrier his logic had built to try keep it in.

Y/N couldn't help smiling; he's being too cute. "Sure." She wasn't sure why it was so easy at that moment to shuffle closer to him, settle into the space against his body he'd created by lifting his arm. But it was, and she did so as if it were second nature.

. . .

The next morning, Y/N woke before Sherlock. She knew that it was morning because a weak line of watery sunlight was filtering through the gap in the curtains and faintly illuminating a narrow patch of the floor. It was not Y/N's floor. She knew this because his carpet is a little trodden down from extensive wear, whereas---because she hasn't been staying in the guest bedroom for very long---the carpet in her room was still plush and bouncy underfoot. Y/N watched a speck of dust flow lazily down the column of light and settle onto the floor.

Sherlock shifted behind her in his sleep. He'd curled himself around her back, one arm snaking under her pillow so his hand dangled off the side of the bed. He had his other one---his hand, that is---resting on her waist. Every time he breathed in, slowly and deeply, his chest nudged Y/N's shoulder blades under the covers.

Y/N stopped thinking about her bedroom carpet, and the speck of dust, and instead focused her gaze on this. The fact that she was being cuddled by her flatmate, in his bed, and she didn't mind. Her face wasn't uncomfortably hot with a flush, her lungs were maintaining a steady rhythm rather than erratically gulping for oxygen. She was not only content within his embrace, she...enjoyed it. Treasured it, the security of his strong limbs, the surprising heat of his body.