Paper Doors - John's POV
John H Watson liked to cuddle. He didn't make a secret of it with his girlfriends. In bed, on the couch, saying hello, saying goodbye. He liked to hug, cuddle and show affection.
He cared for Sherlock Holmes.
They had a strange relationship it was true. He had shot a man to save her life after knowing her for only a handful of hours. He put up with smelly experiments on the kitchen table, human digits in the vegetable bin of fridge and unmentionables in the butter dish. It was safe to say that if he didn't care for her there was more than one of these things he wouldn't be putting up with.
He made her eat and he made her tidy up her papers on a semi-regular basis – which in some people's eyes would make him more of a caretaker than a friend or even a flatmate. And maybe if it was only that the lines wouldn't have been blurred a long time ago.
But as mentioned, they had got off to a funny start.
He had shot a man for her.
But it wasn't all one sided.
She had given him a reason for living. The excitement and rush that he craved after his return from war. Without Sherlock he would still be limping around London with a cane, or maybe he would be dead. He had stared at his service revolver more than once. Had held it in his hands and felt the weight of it. The cold metal. The smooth finish. Had wondered if it would be easier to just lift the gun, set the barrel to his head and pull the trigger…
The nightmares still came. They were bound too. Sherlock didn't magically make them go away. But she did help. In her own strange way. He would wake screaming, sobbing, or sometimes just not able to breath after a night of relived terrors and go down to the kitchen for some tea to settle his nerves or his stomach. In no time at all she would appear. Sometimes she would just sit quietly and drink the tea he would pour for her as he made his own and the reassurance of another person's presence would be all that he needed.
Other times she would play her violin.
She would stand there in one of her many dressing gowns, sometimes in the dark and sometimes with a lamp on and play. John had never been one for classical music but the way that Sherlock would draw soothing melodies from the strings had him reconsidering.
On these nights he would close his eyes as he sat in his chair and he would just listen and his eyes would grow heavier…and heavier…
And then there were the other nights. The cuddle nights. The nights where he would find himself on the sofa with her.
They would start sitting next to each other in silence. Always silence. For being someone who constantly talked Sherlock knew when to remain quiet. Or maybe she just didn't know what to say. Either way he was grateful for it.
He would never be able to pinpoint when it happened but he would fall asleep with her warmth by his side.
The first time this happened he woke with her head on his shoulder.
The second time his head was on her lap.
The third time her legs were swung over his own with her feet resting on the seat at his side and her head lolling forward at a very uncomfortable angle.
The fourth time he woke to find them both on their sides with Sherlock snug up against his chest and his arms wrapped around her.
By the fifth, sixth…seventh time it stopped being embarrassing and almost a routine…it was bound to crop up outside of his nightmare interrupted evenings…
They had been trailing a suspect for two days. Two long, weary, tiring days and were finally sneaking into Baker Street at 6AM after pulling an all-nighter and trying not to wake up Mrs Hudson in the process.
John was trying his best to support Sherlock as they clambered up the stairs to the flat. He knew that she had been working on the case for a week and he wondered just how much sleep she had snatched in that time. His flatmate had a terrible habit of burning the candle at both ends when it came to solving a case.
She pulled away from him as they entered the flat and made a beeline for the sofa.
She flopped into it with a sleepy moan and kicked off her shoes.
"Eat, then sleep!" he snapped at her from the kitchen. She couldn't risk missing anymore meals, she hardly ate as it was. A groan of annoyance was the only reply he got but he heard her shifting and hoped that she was sitting back up and not getting more comfortable.
John joined her on the sofa and managed to force two jammie dodgers and half a glass of milk on her before she slumped against him, her eye-lids drooping and remaining shut.
He decided to close his own eyes just for a second before he woke her up to get her to bed.
He fell asleep thinking about how dangerous her eating habits where.
John woke up suddenly as his chin hit his chest.
Ouch.
Not quite asleep and not quite awake he was aware of the uncomfortable position he was in and the weight of Sherlock's head on his shoulder. Not exactly comfortable for her either then.
Sluggishly he maneuvered them both until he was lying down on the sofa with a still sleeping Sherlock draped over him, her face buried in his neck.
Happily he wrapped his arms around her, securing her to him.
This was nice, holding a woman in his arms who didn't expect anything else - not that he didn't enjoy the occasional fling but sometimes it was nice to just hold someone.
John cuddled her close and sighed happily. He closed his eyes in contentment and drifted off.
When he next woke it was to Sherlock shifting in his arms and the sound of violin music.
Not just any violin music.
It was the music that Sherlock had picked out for Lestrade's ring tone.
Ugh. John held on tightly to Sherlock's waist, refusing to let her go and ready to snuggle back down with the comfortable weight of her on top of him. Greg Lestrade and Scotland Yard could wait until they had slept properly.
"John…" Sherlock moaned in annoyance above him. Her voice was thick with sleep which proved his point. They needed rest.
"Just ignore it Sherlock," he grumbled, trying to coax her back down, stubbornly keeping a hold of her and thinking of how long – not very – they had been asleep for.
"But its L-," she began and for a second he thought he had won and then she started to move again.
"Waya doin'" he groaned.
"Trying to find my phone," she hissed, sounding more awake than she had before.
"Stop moving. I was comfy," he grumbled back at her, obstinately keeping a grip on her.
He hated how the Yard took her for granted the way they did. It would serve them right to be kept waiting for a little while. To see that she didn't have to jump at every little case they threw her way.
"John, let go!" she snapped at him as he hugged her to him as she went to crawl over him in her hunt for her mobile.
"I was comfy," he whined.
"Good for you but hardly relevant right now. I need to find my phone!"
For a split second his hold on her waist loosened and she took full advantage of it, rummaging about by his head. He tightened his eyes, determined to hold onto the last remnants of sleep.
The ringing stopped as suddenly as it had started and John did a mental jig. Brilliant. Now she would settle back down and they could get some more sleep.
"See," he yawned and Sherlock paused in her rooting. "Now get back here and go to sleep,"
John was ready to snuggled back down, sure that Sherlock was still sleepy enough to allow a cuddle. After all, it was more autopilot with the phone than anything else. She could have been conducting the whole search and argument while asleep.
He relaxed into the sofa and waited for Sherlock to settle back down when the sound of a fist banging against the door had him opening his eyes for the first time since the phone rang.
"Who is it?" he shouted none to politely.
"Lestrade," came the answering shout.
It would be wouldn't it?
"Ugh, come in. The door's open,"
Sherlock began to wobble above him and would have over-balanced head first into the arm of the sofa but he quickly replaced a hand on either side of her waist to steady her.
Through bleary eyes he looked to the door to see Lestrade just standing there. Honestly. The man wakes them up and then just stands at the door. He could have done that without the phone call and the door knocking.
What the-
He watched as Lestrade backed out of the room and shut the door again.
Well, that was just rude. Who went around waking up people and then just-
Oh.
John looked up, his eyes landing on the thing above him - that thing being Sherlock's chest – and suddenly realised what this would look like to someone just walking into the room.
But seriously. They were fully clothed!
Tada! What do you think? I loved the thought of John being a cuddler. I think he has that sort of personality :)
Feedback is always appreciated :)
Take care :)
