Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

What Happened In Room 32 (Part 5)

To Y/N's delight, Sherlock was still in her bed when she awoke the next morning. Although, him not having sneaked off as soon as he'd got his way with her didn't actually mean anything, she reminded herself. For all she knew, someone to hold him while he sleeps might be part of 'his way'. Her lips curved into a smile; if a cuddle was 'his way' Sherlock was more than getting it. Y/N was laying on her back, Sherlock's curly head nestled under her chin, rising and falling on her bare chest. She could track the whole of his long, lithe body against the side of her own. She remembered, then, with a blush and a slight thrill of excited satisfaction, that they were still unclothed. One of his legs resting on top of both of hers as if he's subconsciously trying to tangle them as tightly as possible. 'Sort of like how one holds a rag doll,' Y/N mused, enjoying the lazy grip of his hand at her side, the weight of his arm across her body. 'Or a dragon clutches its treasure.' 

The sun was already high in the sky, its impressive light leaking through the hotel's gauzy white cotton curtains, and a small tilt of Y/N's head allowed her to catch a glimpse at the digital clock sitting on her bedside table. Eleven in the morning had passed several minutes ago. Her smile broadened at the memory of why she'd been so tired, why she'd been able to sleep all through the night and late into the next day.

Absently, she stroked a hand over Sherlock's back; and he shifted against her, his lungs filling with air then deflating in a long, contented sigh. Y/N hadn't meant to wake him. Waking him meant talking, and talking meant facing the meaning behind what they'd done together hours before. Talking meant discussing what it had meant when Sherlock had kissed her on the dance floor. Talking meant picking apart why Y/N had let him. It meant dissecting the future implications of Sherlock having moaned Y/N's name loud enough to wake the whole hotel.

"Comfy?" Y/N asked, deciding to hide her insecurity below a thick coat of light-hearted humour, not that it was difficult. If Sherlock didn't look so vulnerable right now, and maybe if they were dating, Y/N would have lovingly made fun of his surprising affinity for being cuddled. 

Her other hand was at his side, her arm looped under and around him, and she ran a finger over his shoulder blade. She didn't know why. It was just nice having him there.

Sherlock gripped her tighter, pulling her entire body further into the lanky curve of his own. "Yes. Very."

Y/N would be lying if she said she didn't feel elated at the fact that he still hadn't got out of bed and started getting dressed. She'd also be lying if she said she hadn't played his voice over again several times in her head, analysing it for any shred of emotion, a hint of what he might be thinking. 'He can leave if he wants,' Y/N scolded herself, 'Of course he can leave. We didn't specify that there would be strings attached, so I shouldn't be surprised if he acts like there aren't.'

But she couldn't help hoping. Of course, she couldn't help wishing, dreaming, that him not having ditched her as soon as she fell asleep meant that it had meant something to him, just a little bit. Hell, she wanted it to mean a lot. She wanted it to be the start of something, something that involved them, and candle-lit dinners, and taking showers together, and waking up like this every day. 'No,' her conscience said, cutting off her fantasy with the simple, harsh negative. 'I should be grateful that I got to spend the night with him at all; most people don't ever get to do that with their crush. I don't care if he sees this as a meaningless fling or not.'

Obviously, that last bit was a lie.

"Are you?"

Y/N wrenched her mind back to the present moment, deciding to enjoy it while it lasts. Because it might be the last time she gets to. "Am I what?"