The Girl Without a Mark

Unexpected Comfort

Sherlock was still sitting on her couch, arms resting on the back while he contemplated puzzles in his mind, her head in his lap when a soft knock came from the door. He turned his head to face it and called softly for whoever it was to come in.

It was John, and as soon as he spotted them like that, he smiled softly, closing the door soundlessly before crossing his arms to lean against the wall. He caught Sherlock's gaze and gave him a knowing smirk.

"She conscripted me to be 'a good pillow,"' Sherlock whispered, using his finger for air quotes.

John threw his head back and gave a silent laugh before replying.

"Got you wrapped around her little finger, has she?"

"Shut up."

"Well, anything you two might need when she wakes up?

"She's cold to the touch and I can't move. Grab that quilt and place it over her. And turn the thermostat up."

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's bossiness but did it anyway.

"Is that it, then, your Highness?" John's hands were on his hips.

Sherlock waved him away, and the older man just shook his head and walked out, softly closing the door.

I was woken from yet another devastatingly sad dream about my family by someone saying my name and shaking me firmly yet with a touch of gentility. I opened my eyes to find myself face to face with Sherlock's hipbone, tears leaking from my eyes. I looked up at him, and seeing even the slightest concern in his eyes made me give in completely to the overwhelming depression that had been present throughout the dream.

I sobbed, bringing my hands up to my face to cry into them. I felt yet another one of those firm touches pull me up by my shoulders to be hugged against a warm, broad chest. I clung to his neck and cried, clutching his shirt. At the same time, his arms wrapped around me, feeling strong while a small part of my brain had me inhaling his scent and tittering about the fact that I was basically straddling his lap.

A hand came up to hesitantly cup my head, and I nuzzled into him, trying to calm down.

"Deep breaths, little musician," he murmured. "You're going to hyperventilate and pass out again."

"Sh-shut up," I gave a hiccuping, yet deep breath. "I kn-know that alrea-ready."

He gave a small chuckle, but it was lovely and surprising to hear. I don't think I'd heard him chuckle before. Not genuinely anyways. I kept taking deep breaths in an effort to calm down, but sometimes a pang in my heart would make my tears renew themselves. Less and less would I break into tears again. Somehow, I relaxed enough to fall asleep with my face in his neck, his arm and hand never moving.

When I woke sometime later, I was kind of pleased to find I was still in his lap, sitting sideways in almost bridal fashion, my face still in his neck. I wanted it to last longer by pretending to still be asleep but was foiled when he spoke.

"I know you're awake, your breathing pattern shortened."

"Why sit me like this instead of laying me down?"

"Your hips were going to hurt and mine were starting to ache. Besides, this was much easier to do."

"Never figured you to be one for such close physical contact."

"I don't like tears. It's annoying."

"Thank you, mon cherie."

His hand simply moved to rest on my knee, his own gesture of kindness.

"Dare I say you fancy me?"

"Oh, jog on, Deveaux."

"You're going to have to give me a valid reason, someday, Sherlock."

"Can I not comfort you when you are clearly distressed?"

"You don't usually go for physical closeness."

"I'm allowed to be mercurial."

"Just don't toy with me. I'll make your life a living hell."

"I believe you on that."

"I win!"

"Americans. Such an incorrigible, unbearable breed you lot are."

"Speak for yourself, scathing, condescending, doesn't-know-how-to-cook-good-food-worth-shit Brit."

"Ouch.

"I win, yet again."

"Fuckin American."

"That's British-American to you, good sir."

"Splitting hairs."

"Dual citizenship."

"..."

He didn't want her to get off his lap. It was nice, holding her like this. He told himself it was the least he could do to reward her for not lacking a brain, but a small part of his brain said otherwise. He ignored it like he usually does.