Must Be Hallucinating
Sherlock woke up, gasping and struggling for breath. He was soaked in sweat, his t-shirt sticking to his chest. He forced himself to focus on calming his breathing and his pounding heart. He then reached out beside him, to touch the one and only thing that could truly calm him. But she wasn't there.
His entire body grew taut. Of course she wasn't there. Why would she be? She didn't know. She hadn't a clue what she did to him, for him. He let out a slow, shaky breath before collapsing back against the pillows. He cursed loudly when he felt the traitorous tears form at the corners of his eyes. With a great intake of breath he forced his body to sit up. Bad idea. The room swam around him. He closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly that his knuckles grew white. He kept at bay the nausea that was threatening him at the back of this throat.
"Sherlock?
No.
Her scent greeted him as he felt a cool palm press against his forehead. She wasn't real, she couldn't possibly be.
"Why are you awake? You need your rest, or you'll never break this fever."
Another palm, this one pressed to his cheek. Dreams could feel real too, you know.
"Lie back down, you shouldn't be getting up."
His eyes snapped open and took in the form of Molly Hooper was stood before him. She was wearing one of her ridiculous cat t-shirts, and a pair of loose trousers. Her hair was up in a messy bun, and as per her usual she wasn't wearing any makeup.
"Must be hallucinating." He hadn't meant to speak this out loud, but apparently he did. Her expression was proof enough of that.
She had dropped her hands away from his face, and now had them on her hips. Her head was tilted to the side and she was peering at him with a curious look. "Hallucinating, huh? Well you do have a rather high fever, but I am real Sherlock. I'm here, and I'm not leaving. Now lie back down."
He blinked at her, swaying ever so lightly. That was when she first took notice of his soaked t-shirt.
"You should change out of that, or you'll give yourself a chill." She stepped away from the bed and took a fresh t-shirt from one of his drawers before returning to the bed. "Come on, off with that one!"
He pulled the damp shirt up and off, continuing to stare at her silently. Was she real? He couldn't quite make it out; his fever-addled brain wasn't allowing him to. He let out a blissful sigh when the coolness of the clean shirt brushed against his heated skin.
"All right, lie back down now," she told him.
He did as he was instructed, noting that she had even turned his pillow over so that it was now on the cooler side. He tilted his head so that he could press his cheek to the fabric. When she ran her fingers through his damp curls, pushing them away from his forehead, his eyes dropped closed of their own volition.
"Sleep now Sherlock. You need your rest."
He made a noise, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.
"Do you need anything else?"
He opened his eyes and stared up at her. "You."
She smiled the very smile that never failed to make his heart flutter in the strangest way. She climbed up onto the bed pulling the blanket that he had kicked to the side, over both of them. Without a second thought he curled his body against hers, and that was when it struck him; the familiarity of it all. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence, the pair of them lying side by side in bed together. Oh no, this was a very, very common thing. Their bodies curved together too perfectly and too at ease for it not to be.
His head was on her chest, her fingers massaging his scalp. He moved to nestle his face between the softness of her breasts, but was annoyed when he was met with the curve of wire.
"Off with this," he grumbled, fumbling for the bra strap that he knew would be on her shoulder. "Please?"
She giggled, gently nudging him away from her so that she could sit up. She tucked her hands beneath her shirt and deftly removed the bra. He watched her silently with glassy eyes.
"Shall I take my shirt off too?" she asked him with a cheeky smirk.
"Mmmm ... 'nother time."
She lay back down and he instantly returned his head to her chest, letting out a very contented sigh when he was met with her soft curves. Not too small in the slightest. She giggled when she felt him nuzzle her through the fabric.
"Go to sleep you silly man, they'll still be there when you're feeling better."
He let out a noise of agreement, then settled down and closed his eyes. Several minutes passed in silence. She was surprised when she heard his voice, thinking that he had fallen back to sleep.
"Stay with me?" he asked her softly.
She moved her hands back to his curls, smiling faintly as she glanced down at the wedding ring that adorned her finger. "Of course." She pressed her lips to his warm forehead, her smile widening when she caught a faint glimpse of his own ring-clad finger as he held her tighter. She pressed another kiss to his fevered skin before whispering, "Always."
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:)
*ahem* I am entirely convinced that Sherlock is a titty man ... heh!
Be sure to let me know what you think! :D