A/N: Because of Johanirae on DeviantART and her brilliantly adorable fanart 'Problem Solving' (found here; remove spaces: johanirae. deviantart. com/art/Problem-Solving-251677488), I thought I would use the adorable idea (she gave me permission!) for a fanfic~ So here it is, just a little drabble to fit the fanart~ :D

I drop down onto the sofa and reach over toward the coffee table for my novel. It's been a long day – I decided to get all mine and Sherlock's laundry done today, along with half of the housecleaning – and all I want to do is lie down and rest for a bit.

I'm halfway through my fifth page since lying down when I suddenly feel Sherlock plop down between my spread legs on the cushions and lean back onto me, his back warm and heavy on my stomach, his shoulder pressing into my chest. His hands are in front of him, fingertip to fingertip, elbow propping him up on one side of my stomach, his eyes falling shut in thought.

I fumble with my book and feel my face heat up undesirably. "Um, Sherlock? Why are you sitting on me?" I grumble, trying to keep my voice level as my heart picks up its beating in my breast. His hair is right in front of my nose, and I can smell his shampoo, and its making me a bit dizzy. "Get off. I was reading," I protest as firmly as I'm able while I wriggle beneath him, trying to coax his weight off of me.

Sherlock blinks his eyes open, glances back at me for a moment, hands falling to his lap, and murmurs, "Hmm. No nicotine patches. No coffee. Stop it."

I blink at his broken sentences and try, for a moment, to decipher the meaning as I watch him place his fingertips together and close his eyes once more, his head tipping back to rest on my collarbone. I feel warmer than before as I watch him breathe. "What are you talking about? Come on, let up! You can't just go around sitting on people, Sherlock! It's rude, especially when that person was trying to read," I snap at him. Then I'm struggling again, wrenching my arms up and setting my book aside while I readjust my legs over and over again.

"Lestrade just called with a case," Sherlock explains with eyes still shut, a calm, patient tone in his voice, "And I wanted to think it over, but I've run out of nicotine patches, and we have yet to go grocery shopping, so there is no coffee or tea for caffeine stimuli, either. Mrs. Hudson is out, so before you suggest it, I cannot request any from her, because as easy as it would be to break into her flat, I respect the woman too much to steal from her. Thus, the only solution is to use you."

I shift a bit again, feeling uncomfortably positioned and also trying to understand what he could mean by that. I decided I might as well ask him. "Er, and how, exactly, as I useful to your thought process, Sherlock? Wouldn't your violin be, uh, better suited for your thinking? Or maybe, I dunno…" but I drift off, running out of ideas.

"Proximity to you has always helped sharpen my mind for reasons I have yet to come up with, but I know that when I am close to you physically, all my senses are heightened and made more sensitive, so for thinking, this is very helpful. – Now then, would you stop that squirming? It's quite distracting, because I need to focus on serial murders, now. Fascinating new case needs less chatter, more thought," Sherlock replies at length, and then he goes dead quiet again, his breathing calculated and slow. He does lazily open one eye to glance up at me, though. "Problem?"

"…No, I guess not. It, uh, makes sense. Okay then. Right," I mumble, and I try to relocate my book. I find it, reopen it to my dog-eared page and attempt to continue reading.

But proximity to Sherlock is nowhere near as helpful for my thought process as it is for his. I can't focus on my reading at all, only the warmth and pressure of his body lined up with mine. I swallow a few times and go on pretending to read anyway, until he's finished.