Sleeping Journeys

Molly shifted towards the warmth wrapped around her waist. She'd been having the most peculiar dream of mysteries and detective work and Belfast jackets when she was jostled away by a dip in her bed. In her drowsy state she hadn't even questioned it when strong arms had wrapped around her and the smell of smoke stained her sheets.

The story changed entirely when she woke up the next morning and realized she hadn't dreamed Sherlock's arms holding her. He was still dressed in his blue robe and striped bottoms, curled around her possessively. She'd been confused and then flattered. Then she remembered that he shouldn't be entering her house at night without her permission to climb in her bed (also without permission).

"Sherlock, what are you doing here?" He didn't stir at her words. No doubt it was too early for his mind to even remotely begin working. Rich men had the luxury of sleeping in to all hours of the day. Seven AM was an ungodly hour for him. She'd have to be louder. "SHERLOCK."

He jumped, hands flying away from her as if scalded.

"Molly, what on earth are you doing in my bed?"

"You're bed?"

He would be adorable if he wasn't scowling at her from her sheets. She flushed and looked away. Wrapped in her sheets, barely decent and altogether vulnerable, she'd hardly seen him look more handsome. Curse the man, she was supposed to be justifiably annoyed. At least.

He woke enough to realize he wasn't surrounded by the dark and cluttered mess of his room. Her own yellow walls and kitten covered covers sunk in, turning his face a deep shade of red. He didn't even explain anything, just got up and left.

She really should have reminded her that she had an extra set of clothes for him from his stay in her apartment during his 'holiday'.

She wondered about it all day at work, noting that he did not show up for the experiment he'd told her he needed help with. Embarrassed absence wasn't exactly surprising, but to keep Sherlock from such an interesting bacteriophage, he had to be mortified.

When she'd finally settled down after work and grocery shopping and dinner, she had landed hard on her bed and fell to instant sleep.

She woke the next morning to find her limbs entangled once more with Sherlock's. He was in his Belfast this time, still wearing his button up and slacks. Slick shoe heels cut into her calves. She studied his face this time, noting he looked peaceful and worn. Dark circles blackened his eyes even in sleep. He worked too hard these days. Removing her arms and legs from his was difficult but he didn't wake.

"Sherlock?" He mumbled, turned again in her purple kitten bedcovers. "Sherlock, wake up." She nudged him, watched as his eyelids fluttered open. He smiled at her a moment before fully coming to himself.

His eyes widened, his jaw slackened for a moment before he frowned. Once more, without a word he marched from her room.

A suspicion whispered in her mind. Of course, if she was right he was endangering himself, showing up in her place every night.

When she lay down this time, she refused to sleep. A rattle sounded at her door at three AM. Shadows shifted as he crossed her living room, attentive even in sleep to make sure he locked the door behind him. She was glad she kept a clean house. At least he didn't fall over any mess. His eyes were open, and if she hadn't known for sure that he was asleep, she'd have believed he'd come here on purpose. At least he wasn't a sexsomniac.

"Sherlock, you should go home, yeah?" He furrowed his brows, tilted his head. He certainly seemed to think he was home. "Here, let me walk you. We'll just get back to bed, ok?" Soft voice, no startling noises. Easy, light leading touch.

By the time she'd climbed into the cab with him (had he actually walked, asleep, all the way over to her flat?), he'd laid his head on her shoulder and dozed into sleep. Explaining why he was waking up in a cab was going to be awkward.

The cabby watched her expectantly when he pulled up to Baker Street. She'd only had enough to get him here, she didn't have enough to get home. Luckily, she didn't have work the next day.

"Sherlock, come on. Let's go inside now." She hoped he'd be as accommodating awake as he had been asleep. No such luck.

"Molly?" Shivers ran up her spine. His voice was deep and thick with exhaustion. "Where exactly are we?"

"We're going to Baker Street. Come on, I'll explain in the morning." He shimmied from the cab with a grunt and crossed arms.

He shuffled into his room and collapse onto his bed, snoring within minutes. Before long she was nestled in John's old room, dusty comforter pulled up to her chin. She'd never realized before how chilly 221B could be.

She woke in the morning warm and entirely too comfortable for being in a strange bed. Heat pressed against her back, soft breath sounding in her ears. A hand was clasped in hers, her body pinned by strong arms. Through the fog of sleep and comfort, she realized Sherlock had once again found her.

She'd thought he was just going to her house because of the safety it had once offered. That no longer appeared to be the case. He was sleepwalking to her specifically then?

"Sherlock?" He murmured in her ear, letting go of her hand to pull her closer to him. Something hot pressed against her lower back. She flushed. "Sherlock, why aren't you in bed?"

"I am in bed." Large hands slid down her side, resting on her hips.

"Why aren't you in your bed, Sherlock?" He didn't have a sensible response, just a mumble against her neck. After a moment of reveling in the touches, she pulled away.

Once she stood, he appeared to wake up. He'd glanced around, clearly confused before his eyes landed on her. He rubbed his lids with his palms, a groan issuing from the back of his throat.

"Good morning to you, too." She tried and failed not to laugh. "So, why aren't you in your bed?"

"It appears I'm in the guest room." Diverting the question. She'd grown accustomed to his habits.

"Yes, I see that. It appears you follow me wherever I manage to sleep. So why?"

"I can hardly know, can I?"

"I never thought you'd be sleepwalking, but I guess it only makes sense." She crawled across the bed to poke his forehead. "That brain of yours never quits."

He grimaced. She laughed.

"You know, it's odd. Sleepwalking usually happens during NREM cycles. NREM usually works with problem solving and functionality." She grinned at the deepened red of his cheeks. Science and facts could be used against him as much as they helped him. "What then could the great Sherlock Holmes need help solving?" She giggled as he crossed his arms, his fingers drumming against his coat.

"Hush." The tone was almost rude, if not for the spreading cheek down his neck.

"Hm." A thin finger tapped on her chin, brown eyes cutting to his reluctant look.

"What?"

"Well, we can't have you trekking all the way to my house in your sleep. You'll get hit or kidnapped or some other horrifying thing. Heaven knows you've enough enemies. No, it's settled." She grinned, sauntering from the room. She called behind her, "I'll just have to move in."