The Case of the Cuddle Chapter 3

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Waking up in Sherlock's arms was one of John's favourite things in life, he decided. It was only the second time he'd done it, but he found himself praying for endless repetition.

His eyes were so swollen that they creaked when he tried to open them. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, and his gut felt like it had been scoured out with wire wool. All the familiar signs of emotional trauma. Then the reality of the previous night burst into his head, and he was hit with a surge of shame and horror.

He had tried to kill Sherlock.

It didn't matter that he didn't know what he was doing at the time. It didn't matter that he had been deluded and blind with terror. The point was that he was a danger to everybody around him.

He dragged himself upright and sat on the edge of the bed. Sherlock groaned his name, reached out, but the doctor flinched away.

'What?' Sherlock sat up, rubbing his eyes. 'John?'

'You should probably call Sarah and ask her to book me in at Ryfield Mental Hospital,' he said, his voice rough and gravelly from all the screaming.

'Why would I do that?'

'I tried to kill you last night,' John snapped. 'Does it not occur to you that that is not a safe quality to have in a flatmate?'

Sherlock gave a derisory snort.

'I'm serious, Holmes! I'm dangerous.'

'Not to me.'

'I tried to kill you.'

'Yes, but you didn't realise it was me, and as soon as you did, you stopped.'

'Next time, I might not realise till its too late.'

'I sincerely doubt that will be possible.'

'How can you be so sure? You can't trust me! I can't trust me!

'There is a simple solution to this, John.'

'Yes, section* me.'

'Rather drastic, and something of an overreaction. No, the solution is simple, easy to implement, and cheaper for the NHS.'

John rubbed his hand over his face. 'Come on then, out with it.'

'I shall sleep up here.'

Now he turned around and looked at Sherlock. The detective had slouched back against the padded headboard, his hands folded in his lap. He must have been hot in the night because he had shed his shirt and was naked from the waist up, but was still wearing his usual well-tailored trousers below. John found himself distracted by the smoothness of his skin, the sinewy shape of his torso. He tried to concentrate.

'And this will stop me throttling you how?'

'You know that I sleep less than you. Substantially less, in fact. And that I am a much lighter sleeper. I will easily detect when you start to experience a nightmare and will be able to wake you before it reaches the critical stage of hallucination.' He shrugged. 'Simple, but effective, as I say.'

'You can't be awake all of the time,' John sighed.

'No plan is 100% fool proof.'

'You only need to fail to wake once for me to throttle you!'

'John, it is clear that you have relapsed as a result of the bomb experience, and that it would be wise to seek professional help. I do not disagree with that. I am simply offering you a means by which you need be less fearful of the sleep which you so desperately need.'

John shook his head slowly, staring into those slanted blue eyes. 'Why are you doing this?'

'Because what I saw in this room last night was the most terrible thing I have ever seen in my entire life. I can't let you go on suffering like that. I just can't.'

They stared at one another. John swallowed. His throat hurt. Why does my throat hurt so much, he wondered. And then he realised. It would be the lump in it, that's why.

'You're so tired, John. You've been through so much. Let me help you,' Sherlock said gently, holding out a welcoming hand.

'Would there be cuddles involved?' John croaked, taking it and allowing himself to be gently folded against the smooth, warm chest.

'I think we can probably manage a few, don't you?'

*For those readers who have never heard this expression, British law allows for an individual who is deemed in psychiatric distress by two qualified doctors to be committed to hospital care for their own protection, and the protection of society. This can be done against their will if necessary. Because it is done under a particular section of the Mental Health Act, it is referred to as 'being sectioned'.

Tomorrow, waking up and cuddling together leads to an unexpected revelation...