My eyes flickered open for a second before I squeezed them shut against the bright light that invaded through the window. Sherlock must have forgotten to close the curtains before he went to bed, whenever that had been. It was around half 12 when I had told him that I was going to bed, I had told him that he should do the same soon, but this was Sherlock Holmes we were talking about.

I rolled over in bed and curled up against his side. He had taken of his shirt but had failed to remove his trousers or socks – I had bought him pyjama trousers at Christmas and he had worn them quite regularly to my surprised delight, but they appeared to be missing for now; not surprising in our room.

Before I continue, there is one thing I would like to make clear; I am not romantically involved with Sherlock Holmes - we were close, closer than I'd been with any other person, but we were not involved, we never had been. Despite what those at Scotland Yard might say, Sherlock and I were always platonic.

I was pleased to see Sherlock sleeping again; it had been 8 days since the last time. He always came to bed, but he rarely slept. I rested my head on his shoulder and he slept on. He had been finishing off a lengthy experiment last night, which had involved multiple hair types, sulphuric acid and one of the spare microwaves. I wasn't overly bothered about this experiment – it was a follow up to a case we had closed a few days ago – but it was irritating John, which wasn't surprising.

Sherlock sighed in his sleep and twisted his legs over so that they were stretched out below mine. I giggled quietly as he brushed against the soles of my feet, making me squirm because it tickled. Sherlock tickled me a lot, mainly when we were alone or John wasn't looking – it was a funny thing we always did, it was our thing. I was really ticklish; my sides, my knees, my tummy, my neck and the palms of my hands and soles of my feet were common targets for him. No-one else knows, but Sherlock's tickly weakness is his tummy and ribs; I would tickle him sometimes at night, to make him go to bed. I would tickle him so much that he would gasp for breath, laughing for ages after I stopped. We would curl up on the sofa with me half lying on top of him, arms wrapped around each other – in those moments we would let our guards down, we could pretend that we were happy normal people, living ordinary lives and not having to constantly answer to our addictions, our over active minds, peoples expectations; we could just be.

Apart from each other, we had no-one we could be physically close to. Nobody else we could go to when we just needed a hug, which was partly why we continued sharing a bed, I think. It was when we were still staying in my old flat, I was having nightmares and I often cried and spoke (screamed bloody murder) in my sleep. Sherlock had been up late working on an experiment and had heard me crying in my sleep. He left the experiment and went into my room, sitting by my bed he gently woke me up. I couldn't stop crying and my breath came in painful sobs. I didn't want him to leave me, so I moved over and he got into my bed, he held and comforted me until I fell asleep, then he stayed with me all night. Ever since that night he would come into my bed after he had finished with his experiment for the night. I originally did think it was strange, but now it was the most natural thing in my life.

I snuggled in closer to Sherlock, putting an arm over his chest, holding him close to me. It wasn't often that we got to sleep in like this; he was usually awake when I woke up and was often eager to get a start on things, if he was still in bed at all. Only John and Mrs Hudson knew we slept in the same bed (though it wouldn't surprise me if Mycroft suddenly knew somehow), I could only imagine Lestrade's reaction! It would be hysterical. As bad as the first time we kissed – we'd had been at a Christmas party and ended up under some mistletoe, Anderson made some smart-arse comment and before I knew what was happening, I was snogging Sherlock Holmes.

He stirred, his head rolling over so that his chin rested on top of my head. I nearly laughed, Sherlock was cute then he was asleep. I put my hand on his shoulder and closed my eyes, breathing steadily as he moaned quietly in his sleep.

Behind me I heard John opened the door, "Charlie? You awake?"

"Yeah – he'll just wake up if move" I answered quietly as I could.

"He's still asleep?" I could hear the shock in his voice.

"Yeah"

"Alright them, I'll see you when he gets up" John quietened his voice.

"Mm, John?"

"Yes?"

"What time is it?"

"Half one"

"Right"

"I'm going out at twenty past two"

"Okay"

"Right, I'll let you go back to sleep for a bit"

"Thanks, and John" I twisted my neck to see the ex-military doctor.

"Yes?"

"Could you close the curtains please?"

John smiled, "Of course" John carefully made his way across the messy bedroom as quietly as he could. He drew the curtains over and went back to the door.

"Thank you" I whispered

"It's no problem Charlie"

"See you later John"

"See you later"

The door closed on the quiet conversation and I nestled my head into Sherlock's long neck. Maybe if he slept all day, he wouldn't destroy more of the flat with experiments or his infamous boredom. Still sleeping, he sighed, shifted slightly and wrapped his arm around my waist. I smiled to myself; Sherlock will never be able to appreciate the irony of the fact that he is most intimate when he is fast asleep.

He stirred and lazily shifted closer towards me. He was on the verge of waking up now but I still wanted him to sleep.

I turned my head and pressed my lips to his neck, almost a kiss but not quite (at least that's what I tell myself). He sighed and tightened the comfortable hold he had around my waist as he pulled me even closer to him, so close that I was half lying on top of the genius. As he slowly woke up, Sherlock trailed his hand up and down my back, after a while his thumb caught the bottom of my pyjama top pulling it up; I shivered as Sherlock's hand ran down my bare skin. The hand I'd watched so many times playing his violin, now rested comfortably on the small of my back. I wondered if Sherlock was still asleep, such an act of intimacy being rare whilst the consulting detective was awake.

"Good morning" came the deep, quiet whisper just above my ear, answering my unasked question.

"Afternoon Sherlock"

"I knew that" he replied arrogantly.

"No you didn't. Go back to sleep"

"Why?"

"Because I want you to sleep"

"I have slept"

"Well sleep some more, please"

Sherlock smiled and rested his chin on my head, "I'll lay here with you until you want to get up if you would like, but I see no good reason for going back to sleep"

"Fine then Holmes – just lay here with me, please"

"If you wish, Charlotte"

I sighed in feigned exasperation before laughing quietly and closing my eyes once more. Now we would pretend to be a happy, content, normal couple – though none of those things were exactly true. I cuddled into him as he pulled the covers up to my neck before wrapping both arms tight around me.

Enveloped in warmth and happiness, I sighed contently – then Sherlock's phone pinged with a new message. I felt him twitch. "Don't you dare" I growled. Even without looking, I knew he just pouted childishly. Lestrade had once told me that he was impressed by the authority I had over Sherlock Holmes, how true that is, I thought sleepily, how very true.