Work Text:
The story of how Sherlock and I got together is a funny one. And it is strange. You wouldn’t guess it if you tried. So, I will tell you what happened.
It was a hot summer night when I awoke. Loud honking and screams were heard from the street. I was sleeping lightly anyhow, and my curiousness was on alert immediately. I peeked out the window – to see some maniac wandering around on the streets. Only wearing a sheet. It took me a moment to realize that maniac was my flat mate. “Shit, Sherlock- what the-“ I quickly put on my pajama that I have taken off earlier, because it was simply too warm, to see what had gotten into him and rushed downstairs.
I burst through our front door, “Sherlock! What the heck are you-“
The man turned around his eyes big and a bit crazy. “Oh, John! Lovely to see you join me! Isn’t it a beautiful day to solve crimes?” he said, spread his arms and almost dropped the sheet. Then he frowned, “Why are you wearing pajamas at a crime scene, John?”
That’s when it hit me. The crazy eyes, the disorientation about time, not realizing he was in the middle of the street – Sherlock was sleepwalking! Oh, dear lord… I had to deal with a few sleepwalkers in the army – the constant danger made you restless – and knew the easiest way to get them back to bed is to just tell them, maybe leading them there. So, I said, “Because it’s the middle of the night, Sherlock. Go back to bed, come!” I put a hand on his sheet-covered back and led him to the front steps. I waved apologetically at the cars that have stopped.
Sherlock frowned, “But- the case?”
“You can solve it tomorrow. Come now,” when we were inside, I gently pushed him up the steps and warned him of the last one – just in case.
“Tomorrow?” Sherlock’s confusion was almost adorable.
“Just a few hours, alright?”
Sherlock nodded, while slowly walking into the living room. “Just a few hours,” he repeated. I nodded, even though Sherlock was not looking at me anymore. I already thought of locking him in his bedroom and taking the key with me, when Sherlock asked, “Aren’t you gonna come to bed?”
What did he mean ‘come’? “Why, yes of course, I will head upstairs in just a minute, when I know you are safely in yours.”
Again, sleeping Sherlock frowned, “But John… Did I upset you? Why won’t you come sleep in our bed?”
“Our-“ what the hell did this sleeping version of Sherlock imply? “I have my own bedroom, upstairs, Sherlock,” I said hesitantly.
The frown increased. “No, you don’t. Mrs. Hudson asked if we needed two bedrooms when you moved in and you declined. We share the-“ Sherlock suddenly stumbled back a bit. “You are my boyfriend, John. Did you FORGET we are together?” My flat mate seemed seriously taken back by this. It was eery though, because his eyes looked right through me. He was seeing different things than I was at the moment. My main concern was to bring him to bed safely, so I decided jumping into this funny parallel universe created by my sleeping flat mate was the best way to do just that.
“Ah, of course not, darling. You really gotta go to bed now though. Huh?”
Sherlock crossed his arms. “Only if you will come to bed with me.”
I took in a sharp breath. “Jesus- fine. Alright, I will. Go ahead. I will be right there.”
When Sherlock walked back – only wearing his sheet – shit, was he only wearing a sheet?!
“Sherlock, please tell me you are wearing underpants.”
Sherlock stopped in the door frame to his bedroom. “Of course not,” he answered, sounding irritated.
“I- Can you put some on, please?” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. Sleeping with my platonic flat mate in one bed is one thing; sleeping with my platonic flat mate in one bed without him wearing anything, is a completely different thing.
“Why, John?” he sounded so irritated. And… hurt?
Fine. It was just a dream, right? At least for Sherlock. I just wanted him to go back to bed so I said – and I still can’t believe I did – the following, “You know how much I like to take them off, Sherlock.”
I couldn’t see his face, but I heard the smirk in his voice when he said, “Yeah, you do.”
Still embarrassed by this encounter I finally did slip into his bed. He immediately wrapped an arm around my waist and laid his head on my chest. His breathing soothed into a calm one right away. I felt nervous, but also guilty because somewhere inside me I liked laying like this.
For most of the rest of the night I laid awake, wondering if I had done the right thing. Have I not secretly taken advantage of the situation? Did I move on my behalf of own crush on my flat mate? For sure I could have said something to make him go to bed by his own, couldn’t I? Several times I tried to free myself and go upstairs, but it seemed undoable. Sherlock held on to me very tightly when I tried to get up. The last thing I thought, before I finally allowed myself to fall asleep, was ‘At least he’s not getting hit by a car.’ I slept surprisingly well after that.
The next morning, I woke up from someone hugging my upper body tightly. “John”, a rough baritone voice said, stretching the vocal in the way that was so typical for him. Then said baritone voice sat up quickly – completely awake now. “John. Why are you in my bed?” Sherlock asked, sounding alert.
I, too, propped myself up on my elbows, “Sherlock, do you remember anything of last night?”
The detective frowned, “I was thinking about the case. Then I went to bed, as it was utterly frustrating to not be able to solve it. I dreamed-“ Sherlock’s eyes grew big. Then he quickly gathered his bedsheets to his chest, as if that could protect him. A second later he dropped them and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I sleep-walked, didn’t I?”
I couldn’t help but smile, “Yeah.”
“I convinced you coming to bed with me?”
I nodded, a grin involuntarily spreading on my face.
“And- and you… did? Come to bed with me?”
“Brilliant deduction, Mr. Holmes,” I said with a smirk.
Quickly, he shot a look at me, then he looked away, that frown growing bigger and bigger. “Alright, John, in case I-“
I wanted to know how far this went - maybe Sherlock actually did have feelings for me – and grabbed his hand. He stared at it in wonder. “It’s fine by the way,” I said, while gently squeezing the bigger hand in mine. “It’s all fine,” I smiled at him in – what I hoped – adoration.
“Is it?” he asked insecurely.
“’Course. Of course it is. I’ll be your protective boyfriend whenever you need me to,” I announced, winked, and got up.
Only to have a full-on gay crisis in the kitchen. While making breakfast. Why the hell did I just say that to him? Sleep deprivation. That was a good excuse. But would he buy it? Oh. My. GOD.
When he finally emerged from the bedroom – fully dressed in purple shirt and tight black trouser – my breath caught a bit. Then I scooped the egg for him onto a plate and sat opposite of him. We – well actually just me – ate in silence, until – suddenly – Sherlock blurted out, “In fact, I would like you to be my protective boyfriend all the time.”
I smiled at my (very well cooked) eggs, “I would like that too, Sherlock,” and stretched my foot out to reach his.
We sat like that, silently grinning, until we finished breakfast.