Author's Note: I actually wrote this for an RP but I've changed and updated it to post it here. Enjoy
I want to sleep with him. Not sex. Just sleep, in the most innocent sense of the word. I'm in love with my wife and I couldn't ask for anything more. But some nights I can't help but think of him pressed against me instead of her, his face in my neck as I breathe in his cologne. What it would feel like without the bump of our beautiful baby girl and her perfect breasts between us. What it would feel like to have a wide, flat chest and even flatter stomach separated from my own with only a thin layer of cotton.
Even if we could share a bed like all the times we went out of town for a case. We could sleep back to back, both fully dressed and wrapped in our own half of the sheets. I would lay awake and listen to his quiet breaths. I would finally see him fully relaxed. With Mary, this is not an option. This is what happens when she's mad at me but not mad enough to kick me out of bed and tell me to sleep on the couch. I would not be able to sleep knowing that she is upset. I would not be able to sleep because I knew I had done something wrong. I would want to wake her up and kiss her and beg her to forgive me. With Sherlock, this kind of sleep was the most I ever got. And it was amazing.
Even if I could sleep upstairs in my old room, breathing in ungodly amounts of dust and rolling over all night from the heat and the mattress that felt like rock beneath me, as long as I knew Sherlock was downstairs in his own bed, I would feel okay. I would lay there across my sheets and think about how peaceful he looked while he slept and that he would soon be up at three in the morning to play his violin. And I would hate him for it. But now I long for it. I long for months of lying awake all night. I long for his violin at three in the morning to remind me that everything is okay. It would show me that we could have a fight and be okay the next morning after I cursed him for waking up so early. I would go downstairs and make tea and he would play right through it. And I would sip the tea and watch the muscles of his back and shoulders moving gracefully under his robe. He would stop playing after a while and get himself a cup and sit across from me and ask me how I slept. I would lie to him. I lied every time and he knew it. But we were happy.