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"Nonsense! How could a perfectly ordinary response of the body cause a difference in how one acts -- that's ridiculous!"
Sherlock is not a cuddler! Or at least that's what he constantly tells himself. He's been insisting that he doesn't act any different than he usually does while exhausted but Y/n disagrees with a passion. She's been hellbent on proving him wrong since he first denied it.
He totally acts different when he's sleepy. And the detective's lover will keep arguing until he admits to it.
***
It had been quite a Friday night.
The thunderstorms (that had been so keen on not stopping since late morning) show no signs of stopping. The loud, pebble-hitting-window sounds that the harsh rain makes had been nothing short of a companion, to say the least, especially since 221B has been oddly quiet since Sherlock left to solve the next case that interested him. Something involving a razor blade and a hairclip. Y/n can still see the twinkle in the detective's eyes upon Lestrade's presentation of the odd murder case via phone call and with a tentative kiss goodbye and good luck, he and John were bounding out the door to greet their next adventure head first.
It's been four days since and Y/n was either working or trying to make sense of the mess Sherlock made when he hasn't been on a case. She thinks she's done a pretty decent job of it, taking it little by little and even went out to get groceries; for once filling up their fridge with things that weren't body parts from Bart's. God knows their landlady has had quite enough of that.
"Thumbs, Y/n! Bloody severed thumbs in a baggie!" she remembers Mrs. Hudson complain in an almost despair. John was smiling sardonically in one corner behind his teacup, silently thinking "At least it wasn't a head."
She grinned wearily at the memory. Yes, definitely a great idea to have fresh produce to greet people when they next pry open their fridge.
A proper lie-in on their couch was warranted, Y/n pondered. Days spent working and cleaning up did took a toll on her and so she decided to leave what's left of her scouring a task for the next day. And with the rain pelting down the windows and the occasional bright flashes of lightning, it was perfect for hot chocolate, blankets and light reading so she prepared for such before laying back down on the sofa.
She was warm and comfortable, unbothered by the chaos outside the windows and soon, she was dozing off, the book falling to the floor when her grip loosens. She hasn't been sleeping for long; was just about to enter dreamland, really, before she was roused by the door carelessly being opened and closed making her open her eyes slightly.
All that filled her vision was a soaked form full of lanky limbs, hastily bee-lining towards the bathroom like a life depended on it.
She wasn't going to lie and say that it didn't concern her but she was too sleepy to do something about it so there Y/n laid, unmoving from her position and was subconsciously waiting for her curly-haired lover to finally emerge from the shower. She must have nodded off again at some point during her waiting because the next time she opens her eyes, Sherlock was already walking towards her, hair still damp and clad in his casual grey shirt and light blue pyjama-pants.
He was still quiet; offering her no explanation or clues as to what became of him and his case or why exactly came home drenched to the bone, promptly lifting the blankets draped on her.
"Sherlock, what's going -- oof!" she could barely even mumble out her question before her boyfriend just merely situated himself on her, head on her stomach and legs dangling from the end of the sofa. The blanket somehow successfully covered both of them and she could feel his arms encircling her from underneath the patchwork quilt.
Y/n was about to muster out another set of words but Sherlock beats her to the punch.
"Sleep now, questions later."
Too tired to protest, she eventually quits trying and just cuddles up to him, giving in to the pull of slumber and slipping from the world of consciousness completely.
***
"That did not happen!"
"Yes it did! I can go ask Mrs. Hudson if you want, I'm sure she remembers everything in great detail when she came up in the morning to bring us tea."
The glare sent her way was enough to make her burst into giggles but she managed to hold them off as to not irritate Sherlock even further.
There was a sprinkle of pink on the detective's cheeks now and Y/n desperately wished she could take a picture without him tackling her so he could take her phone and erase the photograph from existence.
"If you don't believe me I can provide another example."
The challenge in Sherlock's eyes was enough to make her continue.
***
"Call in sick!"
"I can't!"
"Yes you can!"
"Sherlock - it's a Monday - the first working day of the week! Everyone's going to work and I am no exception --" she tries to reason out while attempting to escape from Sherlock's hold that was locking her into place near his favorite chair but was abruptly cut off.
"Precisely! It's a Monday, everyone's going to work and therefore it's not likely to have any shortage of personnel! There are plenty to fill in your shift without compromising anything -- all you needed to do was ask."
"Sherlock --"
"Please~" he begged and it threw her off, her eyes widening in disbelief. This was very unlike her "sociopathic" boyfriend and it's beginning to worry her even more. The only thing that ever made him beg as far as she knows were the whereabouts of his secret cigarette stash (she has no plans on ever telling him where they are) and his desire for a case. This was something entirely different (and he was using that damned puppy dog eyes that she found hard to resist and she honestly had half the mind to reprimand him for it) and yet he was willing to say "please" for it.
What the bloody hell is up with him?
Sherlock took both of her hands and placed them on his cheek and Y/n was surprised to find out they were warmer than normal, "Please call in sick? I -- I'm ill, I woke up ill and I don't wanna be left alone." He said the last couple of words quietly and with a certain rosiness to his cheekbones and it tugged on her heartstrings. She removed one hand from his grip and placed the back of it on his forehead. He really was sick. She's pretty sure he's a couple of degrees higher than normal and it was a wonder how he was able to even get up and do normal Sherlock-y things at all.
"Oh, love, you should've told me earlier," she finally resigned from any plans to insist going to work. The detective didn't reply and had opted to just bury his face just a couple of inches underneath her sternum before sighing, arms beginning to curl around her again. She lets him do as he pleases this time.
Dropping a kiss on his hair, she reaches for her phone and begun texting her boss that she couldn't make it to work that day. Nor can she in the next few.
"You're lucky I love you," she teases, pecking his hair once more and an already sickness-succumbing Sherlock just hummed his reply.
***
"That's hardly fair! I really was ill that day!"
"I never said you weren't! You were, John confirmed it."
"Exactly, so you can't count that in!"
"Fine, fine. Just one more then."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and begrudgingly agreed while heading over to his microscope.
A certain recollection hits her as she thought about which specific piece of memory she should present as additional evidence and she bit her lip to keep from smiling too much. She eyes him with a smirk briefly before speaking.
"Remember that one specific morning we had after a really busy night and you didn't want to get out of --"
It happened fast. One second, Sherlock was still in the kitchen with his magnifying contraption and the next, he was dashing back to the living room where Y/n is. She barely got to blink before his large hands were covering her mouth and she reacted with a confused Mmph!. The surprise wore off quick though and when she comprehended the reason for the detective's actions, she stopped her struggling and crossed her arms over her chest in a self-satisfied manner, lips curling up underneath his hold. Gotcha! she thought.
She locks eyes with him expectantly and Sherlock knew damn well what that look meant as he removes his hand and proceeded to sport a vexed look, looming behind his armchair which his girlfriend was occupying with a scowl. All this is done with his very red cheekbones on full display and very much visible on his alabaster skin.
Y/n wanted to laugh. She was sure that this just triggered the start of a sulking session from her lover and this time -- she knew it's well worth the time that's sure to be spent with him giving her the silent treatment by immersing himself completely in his future experiments. She grinned as she looks at his pout - yep, definitely worth it. Her eyes follow his movements all the way back to the kitchen where he sat once more in front of his microscope.
Oh how she enjoys making her usually very confident and stoic detective squirm.
"Ready to admit defeat now, darling?" she teased. When Sherlock didn't reply any words aside from an undignified huff, she stood from her seat and walked over to his brooding figure, bending down and wrapping her arms around his neck from behind while trying to peek at his face so she could gauge his reaction.
His face is still red, that's for sure and the expression his eyes held was something akin to a forced glare; he was way too sheepish to actually give her a proper glower and it's all so amusing to her. They've been together for nearly two years and somehow, Y/n haven't lost the ability to get him all shy about intimacy with just the mere mention of it. It's as if he's still not used to the attention given to him through such affectionate manner and though that does hurt her heart a bit, she was glad she was the one whom he allowed to indulge him in such words and actions.
"Are you mad at me?" she asked in a small voice given the fact that she was so near to his ears. When she was met with silence, she leaned in further and planted a soft kiss right on Sherlock's cheek and was made aware of her triumph when it successfully drew out a combination of a gasp and an audible hitch in his breath which sent her silently giggling. The retaliation from her curly-haired lover had her releasing a similar sound (and maybe a squeal) especially when she was grabbed by the arm and was made to sit on his lap while he went ahead and have his fingers dancing on her sides; tickling her to oblivion. Of course, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't exact some sort of revenge and Y/n always finds a way to learn this the hard way basing on the fact that she kept riling him up repeatedly until his resolve crumbles to little bits and the child within is unleashed.
It somehow ended in a tight hug with the both of them seeking refuge in the crook of the other's neck and was just silently sitting there, breaths audible with how quiet it was but somehow content. The hustle and bustle outside 221B can be heard in the background and it was comforting; grounding to an extend. Y/n smiled as she feels Sherlock drop a kiss on her shoulder before snuggling her closer.
"You're incorrigible," she giggled out, returning his kiss by dropping one on his neck. His hummed reply reverberated through her, the vibrations a pleasant feeling on her skin.
"Sherlock! What're you -- Where are you taking me?!" she laughed out when he stood up from his chair; her in tow. He refused answering her until they were crossing the threshold of his room's doorway, his blue-green-grey eyes landing on her. His lips were pulled up in a rare bright smile; adoration clear in those gorgeous irises that pretty much just turned all her insides into mushy goo. God, she loved seeing that infrequent grin on and even more when it's directed her way.
There was a sigh of relief on Y/n's part when he leaned in and brought their mouths together in a gentle kiss. His lips were so soft and god did she loved the feeling of them caressing hers in their own little dance. She was admittedly still blissed out even when Sherlock decided to pull away but she wasn't oblivious to the changes in his facial features when he did so. From his own intoxicated-by-love-hormones state, there was a certain unmistakable difference when they parted.
In real time, she saw the expression on his face morph and mix into something slightly contrasting the previous one. She'd never miss that hint of mischievousness beginning to cloud his features.
"Alright William, something is brewing in that brain of yours. What are you planning to do?" she asked in an accusatory tone, her eyes narrowing in suspicion at the now-smirking detective. He scrunched his nose in distaste of her use of his first name but decided to ignore it altogether.
"Me? Nothing. Nothing at all, love. Just thinking. You said you found me incorrigible, did you not?" he asked, smirk beginning to widen.
"...Yes?" she answered hesitantly and squeaked when Sherlock shuffled her in his arms. adjusting her position in his grip.
"Good. I'm about to show you just how incorrigible I am."
Laughs and surprised noises filled the flat before the loud closing of a bedroom door followed suit.