Mary

I awoke to a dry mouth and a sore body. Soft, afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds, warming my face. I kept my eyes closed for a bit, feeling out my surroundings. I was covered in a light blanket up to my chin, and my upper body rested against something soft. Something soft that moved. I tugged my eyelids open, squinting at the room around me. I could see specks of dust swirling in the rich, golden rays of light streaming from the windows. Still trying to wake up all of my muscles, I shifted my head to where I could see what I was laying on. My vision blurred for a moment, struggling to focus. After a moment of alternating squinted and wide eyes, I discovered that I was laying against John's chest. The soft material I'd felt was a thick, beige sweater that had left a patterned imprint on the side of my face. He was asleep, probably exhausted. As I tried to figure out how I'd ended up here, I remembered the day's events. I rubbed my eyes, trying to figure out how to get off of John without making it weird.

Oops. Too late, I thought as his eyes fluttered open. I froze, unsure whether to feign ignorance or just go with it. As his eyes focused, John furrowed his brow in confusion, blinking himself awake.

"What...I'm sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "I guess I must've fallen asleep."

"Psh. I should be sorry. I slept all over you. Crap is that drool?" I asked, pointing at his sweater.

He glanced down, inspecting the spot with sleepy interest. "Who cares? Hungry?" he asked. I nodded sleepily, stretching my back out. "Alright. I'll order takeout."

I smirked, watching him stumble around to find his phone. Noticing his phone, I frantically searched for mine, hoping for and dreading missed calls. I found it stashed in the couch cushions, the screen completely blank. I checked my call logs, searching for anything from the agency.

"What's wrong?" John asked, standing in the doorway with his phone halfway up to his ear. I raised my gaze to meet his, and seeing the worry in his eyes, lowered my eyes to the floor.

"Nothing," I answered, setting my phone aside.

John sat beside me, leaning over until he found my gaze. "Still nothing from the agency, huh?" I grimaced, shaking my head. He studied me for a moment before placing a soft hand on my arm. "Um. I've got a sort of idea, if you're interested."

I looked up, cocking my head in interest. "I am now taking suggestions."

John gave a half-smile. "I hoped you were. You see, Sherlock and I...we're not really...people people. You understand?"

"Oh more than you know," I replied.

"Well, since the blog's been started, we've had a simply enormous amount of cases come in. As you know, Sherlock spends hours rejecting people, and not doing it very nicely. I was thinking that maybe you could be...somewhat of a receptionist? Or a PR person? Something like that. Since we got in the papers, clients have just been pouring in."

I smiled at the possibility. "In the papers? When were you guys in the papers?"

"Recently, actually. I think Mrs. Hudson stole the clippings, but I put them up on my blog," John said, pulling out his laptop. Within a few clicks, he was at the homepage of his blog. He clicked on a green heading and it took him to a few pictures of newspaper clippings surrounded by tiny blurbs. I grinned at the headlines.

"Hat-man and Robin? Wow. Just wow. God, look at that hat. Did you see what Mrs. Hudson said about it?" I asked, pointing at the last few comments.

John read them and laughed. "He hates that stupid hat. But it's kind of become his...I dunno, trademark I guess."

"Oh really?" I said mischievously.

John met my gaze and saw my gears working. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing! So with this job, I'd be answering phones all day?"

John raised a suspicious eyebrow at me before answering my question. "More like emails. Sherlock's got a blog, too, and that's how people get a hold of him."

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. "Okay. One thing, though. I assume this will take care of my portion of the rent?"

"Of course."

"Well can I get a small allowance then? Don't take it wrong! Christmas is coming up."

John smiled. "You don't have to get us anything. I've got all I need and Sherlock...well, I doubt Sherlock would miss getting presents."

I drummed my fingers on my knee for a moment. "Okay, I get that, but gift giving is kind of in my nature. It has to be done. Christmas..." I looked away in a moment of surprisingly strong emotion, "was kind of a big deal back home."

John met my gaze with sympathetic eyes. "Alright," he said after a moment's pause, "consider it done. Rent paid and a small weekly allowance. Is it a deal?"

I grinned. "It's a deal," I said, sticking out my hand for a handshake. Once he grabbed it, I added, "Oh, as long as you help me pick out a gift for Sherlock, of course."

"What?!"

"Come on, John. The man is an island wrapped in an enigma wrapped in self-absorption. I'm at a loss already."

John groaned. Before he could give a reply, a muffled voice reminded me of our poor, drugged flatmate.

"John!" the voice yelled, incoherently. John and I both jumped, having forgotten that Sherlock was supposed to be unconscious.

"John!" Sherlock yelled again. A loud thump sounded from his room. John and I hurried to the door.

Upon entering the room, we found Sherlock struggling to haul himself out of bed. He stumbled, reaching for the wall and muttering about "The Woman".

"Where is she?"

"What? No one's here, Sherlock," John answered, catching him as his legs buckled.

I helped as best I could, considering that Sherlock had probably at least fifty pounds on me. "Sherlock, you really need to get back to bed. You've got to rest!" I insisted, pushing him back towards the bed with all of my strength.

"I need my coat," he mumbled, thrashing about in what I could only assume was his way of fighting back.

"Nonsense, Sherlock. Your coat's gone, remember? Now lay down. You'll feel fine in the morning," John insisted, tossing Sherlock back onto the bed. Sherlock flopped onto the sheets, face down, and continued to argue with his nose pressed into the mattress.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine. I'm fine now," Sherlock protested. John rolled his eyes and went to the doorway, one hand on the knob and waiting for me to leave so he could shut the door.

I waved him away. "Go on. I'm just going to tuck him in," I joked. John smirked and shrugged, leaving the door open behind him. I circled the bed to where I could actually see Sherlock's face. He was still awake, but completely spaced out. Almost fifteen seconds after I'd sat beside him, Sherlock rolled his eyes up to meet mine.

"Heya sleepy!" I said cheerfully. "How are you feeling? Need an icepack? Glass of water? More comfortable sleeping position?"

He seemed to struggle with processing my questions, but finally dragged his arms up far enough to situate himself to where his head was actually on the pillow. He flung one arm down in the general direction of the sheet, trying unsuccessfully to grab it. I lent him a hand, pulling the sheets up to his chin.

"I need my phone," he mumbled, eyes barely open.

"Sherlock, your phone is gone. Irene has it, or so I'd assume," I replied. "It was kidnapped along with your jacket. Do you want something I can actually get you?" I got nothing but silence for an answer, and noticed that Sherlock had fallen back asleep, snoring softly. Trying my hardest not to make a sound, I rose from the bed and tiptoed out the door, closing it behind me. John sat in his chair, typing what I assumed to be the latest case. I was just about to sit in Sherlock's chair across from him when an ungodly noise startled me.

A passionate female sigh sounded from behind me. I froze, a look of utter befuddlement forming on my face. John stopped typing and turned to look at me, his eyebrows almost in his hairline.

"Oh my God that was so not me," I whispered, feeling my face turn beet red. Frightened for Sherlock's safety, both John and I rushed back into his room, only to find him sleeping peacefully and undisturbed, just as I'd left him. I checked the corners of the room, closing the door to look behind it.

I screamed, bringing John into the room with his fists at the ready and startling Sherlock awake. He bolted upright in bed, asking groggily, "What? What is it?"

"Demon coat!" I squealed, cowering behind John. John inspected the coat hanging off of the bedroom door.

"Well...it looks like it. It really does, but this can't be it," he muttered to himself, checking all of the pockets inside and out. "This can't be the same-" John fell silent as he pulled Sherlock's phone out of one of the pockets.

I gaped. "What? How?! How'd she get in?" I asked, looking the phone over. Sure enough, it was his. A text waited on the screen.

"Through the window," Sherlock answered from beside me, making me jump. "My phone, if you please." Wordlessly, I handed it to him. He checked it and put it away without answering. Before I could ask, he addressed me. "So, you're the new secretary?"

John moved away from the window and looked at Sherlock. "How'd you know that? You were completely loopy. You still are," John noted as Sherlock wobbled against the bed. I held out an arm for him to steady himself on.

"I'm always listening. You know that."

"I prefer PR," I interjected, giving my most award-winning smile. "And I would like the position starting now, if it's alright with you."

He considered it for a minute. "If it means I have less people to kick out of my flat on a daily basis, I'd say we have a deal," he answered, holding out a hand. I grasped it with the hand I'd been supporting him with. It was an involuntary reaction that I immediately regretted as Sherlock collapsed to the floor. John sighed, picking him back up and practically throwing him onto the bed.

"Welcome to the team," Sherlock said, his voice becoming thick with sleep again.

John haphazardly threw the sheets across him and took his phone away, placing it back in the coat pocket. "Now get some bloody sleep, and no messing with your phone until the morning, got it?"

"Yes, Doctor Watson," Sherlock muttered, sloppily saluting him before letting his hand drop back to the bed beside him.