John smiled warmly when Sherlock came out of the bathroom exactly twenty minutes later. To be honest, he thought she looked blimey adorable. She had on lavender colored pajamas of a soft cotton, topped by her black fuzzy robe, and her dainty little feet were in matching black slippers. Her hair had obviously been dried with a hair dryer, and her head was sunk against her chest, arms crossed like a child who had lost an argument with their parents.
"Feeling better?" he questioned with a knowing grin, his smile only growing at Sherlock's muttered and inaudible response. He pat the seat next to him, laughing slightly. "Oh, you know you're warmer. Now come on. I've found an old film you might like."
She plopped down onto the couch beside him, not responding as he tenderly tucked a blanket around her shoulders. She was silent the rest of the night, and before he knew it, there was a delicate little head resting in his lap and a body pressed close to his. It was obviously done unconsciously since the poor thing was asleep, and he knew he should have moved her to the bed, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. She looked so small and delicate, and when she stirred restlessly due to some unknown force, he found himself running a gentle hand through her hair, whispering random soothing thoughts in her ear. "Hush now. It's alright. It's alright. Just go on back to sleep. You're safe…"
He never stopped the soft motion of his hand even as he continued watching the movie. He relished the feel of her soft locks beneath his fingers, and there was something deep down, a tugging in his chest, that said that this was right, this was how it should be.
He woke to a soft movement, and he realized, with a pang, that it was morning, and Sherlock wasn't beside him any longer. He got up and, stretching, went to find her.
"Morning," he greeted with a smile, finding her curled up in a kitchen chair. He moved to sit opposite her, but a hand caught his, making him pause in confusion.
"John?"
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"How much of the movie did I miss?"
She seemed genuinely troubled, but he couldn't seem to figure out why.
"An hour or so. You were pretty tired, and you drifted off after a little while." He laughed lightly. "You kinda fell on me when you were sleeping, but I was too scared of waking you to move."
She nodded thoughtfully, releasing his hand gently. "I see… Thank you, I suppose."
"Now, what'd you like for breakfast?" he asked, breaking the silence that had settled in the room. "We can get it delivered here from the main hotel, but in this weather I doubt it'd be warm once it got here."
She nodded, but it seemed her mind was still elsewhere. "Highly doubtful."
"Sherlock, what's bothering you? Do you feel well? Your cheeks are flushed…"
He watched with concern as she immediately pulled away from him, muttering, "John, I'm fine."
"Sherlock, you're not fine. Look at me-" he insisted, moving to place his hand on her shoulder, but she immediately flinched at his touch. He pulled away his hand, almost as if he had been burnt, and whispered, "Sherlock, please. I just want to help you."
"You can help me by staying away from me!" she nearly snarled, leaving the poor doctor to simply stare after her as she pulled on her coat and stormed out of their cabin.
"What did I do?" he whispered softly to himself, watching the door bang shut behind her. "Oh, God, what did I do?"