The Element of Surprise
Genre: Friendship
Pairings: Greg and Molly in the background, pre-Sherlock and Sally if you squint
Main characters: Sally and Sherlock, appearances by the others
Mollstrade tie-ins: Continuation of the Sally chapters
Sally Donovan may not have had as many years with the Yard as Greg had, but still, there were few things left that could really surprise her.
Waking up in Greg and Molly's spare bedroom with her arms wrapped around Sherlock Holmes was about the only thing left, she reckoned.
That she woke up in the Lestrade's flat at 221C Baker Street wasn't a surprise. She'd been moved in while she recovered from a serious gunshot wound, on Molly's insistence. She'd fallen asleep and woken up in this bed for the past 13 days straight, in fact.
That Sherlock was in her temporary bedroom wasn't a surprise either. He often visited her from upstairs, goading her into friendly debate, bouncing theories off of her about active cases, and listening to her as she talked through her fears and bad dreams after her close call. At times, their conversation had petered out and they had simply sat in companionable silence, comfortable in each others' presence and enjoying the knowledge that they didn't always have to have something to say out loud.
The evening before, Sherlock had come downstairs after she'd texted him. There was something she needed to talk about and he was the only one she felt she could confide in. She worried that John would put on his physician's hat and analyze her, making a mountain out of a mole hill; she worried that Greg would begin to doubt her recovery progress and thus her ability to return to work in four short weeks; she worried that Molly would just worry, and the dear woman had enough on her plate as it was. Mrs. Hudson was a darling, but she could be a bit smothering at times with her mother hen instincts, especially when a friend was hurting.
So, Sherlock it was, and probably would have been anyway, had she really been honest with herself. She had begun to remember who it was who had been at her bedside every time she had begun to regain consciousness in the hospital, only to lose it again, and even a time or two, who had been holding her hand, once or twice absently stroking her hand with his thumb. That was likely, she thought, a big reason why she felt safe with him.
Sherlock had padded down the stairs in his slippers, his dressing gown casually worn over a loose t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He looked utterly opposite of the posh and prim Git she was accustomed to, and she found it suddenly, inexplicably attractive.
She had hashed out what she needed to get off of her chest, Sherlock listening intently, and then their conversation had begun to take random twists and turns, taking them late into the night. When she wanted to show him something on her tablet, she motioned for him to join her on the bed. And so he did, propped up on one of her spare pillows, long legs stretched out on top of the covers. From there, somehow, sleep had managed to claim them both, and when she woke up, she found that he had slid down in his sleep into a position more conducive to comfortable slumber, and she had rolled over towards him, draping her arms across his torso in a firm embrace, and using his chest as a pillow.
She hadn't been awake yet to see Molly and Greg peering curiously into the room at 5:30 am, when they had both been stirred from sleep by Scott protesting something or other. Molly seemed less surprised than she actually was; Greg's expression seemed to convey that maybe he hadn't quite seen everything just yet, and if this was any indication at all, his day was probably going to have overactive sense of adventure.
Nor had Sally been awake to see John at 7:45, peeking in at Molly's direction, after he and Mrs. Hudson had been concerned at Sherlock's absence from 221B – his bed unslept in and shoes and Belstaff still where he'd left them the evening before.
Sally was even more surprised to realize that her desire to remove her arms from around the Git rated somewhere between zero and nil. She was comfortable, she was warm, she felt secure – but more than that, she just felt… at home. She turned her face up carefully to study him, and found a shocking impulse to plant a small kiss under his chin, something she managed to supress just in the nick of time.
What Sally didn't know, was that Sherlock himself had woken up around 7:00 am, discovered himself firmly held down by her, and had found himself resisting a strong urge to kiss the top of her head before drifting back to sleep.
As Sherlock woke up, his entire body tensed for a few seconds as his muscles stretched reflexively. His hand moved over absently to rest on Sally's, his fingers wrapping around hers, as he opened his eyes, and he gazed down at her curiously as his focus woke up.
"Oh, good morning, Old Plod," he said with a friendly warmth, his smile seeming to express contentment.
"Good morning, Git," she said softly, smiling up at him.