A/N: Written again this morning while working! I hope you enjoy it! Short one!
Day 17
Bed Mates
If you had told Sherlock that before John Watson walked into his life, and before he was forced to jump by an insane Moriarty that he would enjoy spooning mousey Dr Hooper he'd have given you a death glare and make a cutting remark.
But after everything that had rocked his little sociopathic world he really did enjoy knowing he had his life saver and support rock in his arms. Little Dr Hooper with her insecurities and love of cats was all he really wanted in life now. She was his mellowing factor - it allowed him to put up with a rather feminine Mary Morstan, to put up with his best friend getting married and leaving 221b.
In fact he saw a rather warped benefit to that because now Molly, and Toby the cat, lived with him. Molly had far more effective ways to relieve his boredom that John ever did.
If he woke up away from her, or she was clinging to her half of the bed while he was starfished across the majority, he would pull her, still sleeping, into his arms and make sure she was comfortable.
Molly had always been an easy person to read for Sherlock, and even asleep she was as clear as crystal in her emotions - the small smile and sigh that graced her features while fast asleep always told Sherlock that she was happier in his arms.
Molly barely remembered a morning that she hadn't woken up in Sherlock's tight grasp. At first she'd found it comforting - finally being with someone rather than sleeping alone, or with Toby. Then she found it a little claustrophobic. But when Sherlock had to disappear for a week to Scotland for a rather baffling case she realised how cold a bed was on her own and happily accepted him back.
It disturbed her a little that Sherlock was always awake before her but she was vaguely used to it - after a night shift at the morgue she had always been somewhat recalcitrant getting into bed with the man she loved. But at 2am when she collapsed in the door and showered intensively, she knew Sherlock would be awake and waiting for her in bed.
His long limbs cocooned her short ones and when awake she would sweep her birds nest excuse for morning hair under her head so he wouldn't have to breathe it in.
If you had told Dr Hooper that Sherlock would willingly cuddle her night after night, her little heart would have beaten faster and then probably broke, remembering the insincere compliments that she had bore the brunt of for a fair few years. She would've raised an eyebrow and laughed it away, calling it nonsense whilst stammering an excuse to leave. She would've cried at home at the thought of a happy future with Sherlock and thought the futility of such a dream.
But spooning with Sherlock was a dream come true.