I Am Offering This Scarf

Chapter 2- A Dip In The Duvet

Dear John,

I know you haven't gotten any of your clothes back to Baker Street yet (Still! You need to get your stuff back here so you don't have to go back everyday!) so I hemmed up some of Sherlock's. You guys look so peaceful together that I didn't want to wake you.

I'm glad that you've decided to be with him! I'm just sorry it took you this long to realize you should!

-Ms. Hudson

My face burns more each of the three times I read over it. He slept in the same bed? With me? But there's only one indent.

Wait...

I get closer to the bed to examine the spot where I thought I'd slept alone. It's too big for just one person.

He'd been against me all night.

I rush over to the dresser and pull the clothes on, which fit surprisingly well due to Ms. Hudson, and fling open the door. It barely hits the wall, yet I hear the violin stop for a few beats before it picks up again. The flush in my face fades when I see Sherlock with the violin. He has his eyes closed and his head is leaned against the closed curtain. The song is sad, like most he plays. It sounds kind of like the one he wrote for Irene Adler. He never told me it was for her, but it was obvious.

It then shifts to a warped version of mine and Mary's waltz. His song is beautiful and I stand dazed after it ends, completely forgetting that I'm disturbed. He opens his eyes, which are surprisingly vulnerable, and gazes at me. He sets the violin into its case gently and flops, into his worn chair, steepling his hands under his chin. "You're angry?" He asks, arcing a brow.

I mentally shake myself and clear my throat. "Uh, yeah. No so much now...but I found this in your bedroom on some clothes for me..." I hand him the note and he scans through it.

"And?" He asks.

"Well she thinks we're sleeping together because we are together." I reply, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall.

He places the note on the table next to him, careful not to disturb any of the papers precariously leaning over the side of it. "I truly don't see the problem here John. People have thought this stuff for years and you never really let it bother you..." He then takes an interest in the papers tacked up on the other side of the room, jumps out of his chair and takes long strides over to the wall with the smiley.

I follow him and stand at his side while he pretends to be interested in what's in front of him. "Sherlock, you may be the wisest man I know, but you're also the most obtuse." I shake my head and open my mouth to speak again but am interrupted by-

"I did make that tea you wanted." He says, pointing over his shoulder.

I walk over to the tea tray sitting on my seat and pick up the cup that I usually use. I dip the tip of my pinkie into it and stick it in my mouth. It's still warm.

And he didn't add sugar.

Funny how he can't remember what the Copernican Theory is but he can remember that I don't take sugar.

"You're not seeing the point here Sherlock. There's a difference between everyone thinking we're gay and then..." I pause unable to think of a different way to phrase this. "There's a difference between people thinking we sleep together, and us actually sleeping together."

He whips around, his blue robe swishing around his legs. "And who said I slept next to you last night?" He eyes are reflect his amusement.

"One, The indent in the sheet is too big for just me, two, Ms. Hudson's note says she saw us, and three, it is your bed and you're to stubborn to put up with another person being in it."