I woke up tucked into Sherlock's side, his warm arm curled around me in a protective fashion. You know that feeling when you have to get out of your warm bed in the morning? The one that leaves you groaning as you're called from behind your bedroom door? That's how I was feeling, Sherlock's comforter insulating our body heat generously. I could've stayed like that all morning.

I probably would have-

If the doorbell hadn't rang.

Sherlock groaned, rolling over lightly in my direction, one eye barely open. A small smirk stretched over his lips when he noticed me. My cheeks turned hot, and I wished I could just hide beneath the covers. His arm lifted slightly so his fingers could trace the outline of my hair, playing with my morning hair. I smiled sleepily, shamelessly enjoying the view of a shirtless Sherlock messing with me. It made my heart tingle with happiness.

The doorbell rang again.

I wished silently that whoever it was would just take the bloody hint and go away. Sherlock took his hand away, much to my displeasure, and left it to flop onto the pillow in front of his face, "Whoever it is rang twice, they're serious about coming in, by Mrs. Hudson has invited them in and if it was a client she'll call for us.

I grinned, "And if it's not a client?"

Mrs. Hudson's ginger voice yelled up the stairs, "Boys! You've got a visitor!"

Sherlock groaned once more, flipping the blanket over so he could tumble out of bed, "She'll call for us."

Slipping into our clothes, Sherlock was first out the door, examining the stranger and welcoming them in no doubt. Well, "Not exactly welcoming..." I chuckled to myself. He was probably busy picking out their problems and telling them their own life's story while I finished pulling on my jumper and pushed open the door.

I wasn't greeted by my expected sight however. When I entered, Sherlock was sprawled out on the floor, face first. "Sherlock!" I cried, running to him and falling to my knees. He had a pulse, he was alive and breathing. Who had-

There was a loud thud, and everything went black, my last images being Sherlock unconscious at my side as I fell. A hot and gooey liquid running down the side of my face. Someone was in our flat. Someone who didn't want us around.

A familiar voice found its way through my ears, "Sorry doctor Watson, but Sherlock can be a bit of a softie when it comes to you."

"I really can't stand softies."