Warm and steady hands are wrapped tightly around your upper shoulder. Your eyes jump open and show your widened pupils. You stare directly into sky-blue eyes, filled with worry and fear. The room only enlightened through a single lamp on the ceiling. The orange light doesn't burn your eyes, but you're still blinking fast. The blue eyes are surrounded by dark lashes and brown eyebrows. A stubborn curl had fallen in the blue lake, and gets swiped away quickly, with long, skinny fingers. You try to sit up and the hands press you back down into an unfamiliar bed. You eventually give in and lie back down, trying to figure out what had happened. Now his whole face is in front of you, his tiny wrinkles around the eyes, the curls, which are an utter mess, and his rosy lips, that are pressed against each other firmly.
Your shivering hands reach to get a tight hold onto the underside of Sherlock's arm.
Huge, wet drops fall down your pale cheeks, run down the length of your neck and die in the t-shirt you are wearing under the hoodie. John must have taken it off of you, when he carried you inside the house. As you realize what it means, being in a shirt with short sleeves, you glance down at your arms. Gradually you can only see shadows and the vague forms of the scars on your body. You quickly let go of Sherlock's arm and try to hide your wrists under the beige bed sheet. Only now you notice that you're in a completely different room. There is a French bed and a single window. The walls are painted equally as the ones in Sherlock's apartment, next to the entering door there was a darker spot in the corner. Before you menage to ask your whereabouts, Sherlock who's sitting next to you on the bed whispers:" 221a".
You shoot him a confused look, he roles his eyes and ads:"Where in 221a Baker Street, same house, different room"
"Oh" is everything that comes out of your too dry mouth. The very moment you thought about being thirsty, Sherlock hands you a glass of water. You manage to sit up, with his help and drink the glass at once. "Thanks" you whisper, your voice still rough and filled with sleep. You notice the cold sweat that covers your whole body. The air in the room isn't that warm, after all it's November and the heaters aren't running during the night. The chilly air cools your body down immediately, and you feel yourself shiver in the darkened room. With long fingers, Sherlock pushes you down under the covers. Without any kind of protest your let yourself bury deeper into the blankets. You lie calmly in your bed and watch Sherlock who's searching through the cupboard left to the bed. A grin is plastered on his face, as he turns towards you. Without looking again, he grabs a thick quilt and plants it above you carefully. As he turns to leave, you warn but your voice breaks at the end of the sentence:"You don't really think I can fall back asleep, do you?"
He simply shakes his head, no. You shakily sit up on your bed, wrap yourself up in blankets, leaving one for Sherlock, as you pet the spot next to you.