A/N: Just a little something for the 'sleeping patterns' challenge on Tumblr from morbidmegz and based off something my brother-in-law did once to prove a point to my sister (long story and he lost). I chose sleeping position B; hope you like!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Tangled
It had happened again.
Once again Sherlock had woken up to find himself face to face and entwined with Molly Hooper.
He had been living with her for the past month or so since his 'suicide' while he planned his next move and they had been sharing a bed for almost as long; ever since Sherlock decided that the couch wasn't suitable for either of them to sleep on.
They always began the night a respectable distance apart (in fact, Sherlock had even experimented with different distances) but, for some reason, every morning they ended up tangled together. What surprised Sherlock the most, however, was the complete lack of embarrassment on Molly's part.
Every morning she would give him an apologetic smile before gently disentangling herself and leaving the bed.
At least, that was what he thought she was doing.
He'd never been particularly adept at reading emotions and so it wasn't until that particular morning that he realised it wasn't an apologetic smile, it was an understanding one.
Perplexed by why Molly would feel the need to be understanding in the situation, Sherlock decided that he had to get to the bottom of the situation. Which was why he spent the day installing hidden cameras in Molly's bedroom.
He had considered telling her what he was doing, but he hadn't wanted to change the variables of his experiment too much. Besides a small part of him (that he would never admit to) was worried that if he told her she would stop finding her way into his arms during the night.
Anyway, it wasn't as though he was being a voyeur, it was all in the name of science after all.
The next morning he awoke to find himself entwined with Molly once again and he could barely contain his excitement: today was the day he would solve the mystery of their curious sleeping pattern.
The results, however, were not what he had been expecting and he found himself leaving the cameras up for the next week just to be sure that they were correct.
Sure enough, each video would show the same thing. At some point in the night, Sherlock would start thrashing about, waking Molly who would reach out a comforting hand which he would then use to pull her against him, holding her tightly against his chest.
What shocked him the most, however, was that more often than not his thrashing would cease before she could make any move to comfort him and he would seek her out on his own.
Apparently his unconscious mind considered the petite pathologist to be a source of comfort and security.
The results were clear and there remained only one possible course of action.
"Um…" Molly said uncertainly as she climbed into bed and Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist, spooning her.
"As the end result seems to be inevitable, there seems little point in attempting to keep a respectable distance," Sherlock explained, answering her unspoken question and unconsciously tightening his hold on her.
Molly bit her lip, "Um, ok," she said after a moment, relaxing slightly in his embrace.
"It's only logical," he continued, as though she hadn't spoken.
"It's fine, Sherlock," she assured him, stifling a yawn, "whatever you need," she added sleepily and, before long, both the detective and the pathologist were fast asleep.
The next morning they still woke up to find themselves face to face and tangled together, but Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well.