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Eyes flickering open to the early morning light in their bedroom, Y/N stretches each muscle out slowly with a content hum.
The comforting hazy warmth of sleep still heavy as she lifts a hand to lazily run along the arm thrown across her bare midriff. Her fingertips tracing each vein and stopping to swirl around every freckle.
Turning her head on the pillow to face the owner of said arm, she’s momentarily frozen as a sharp breath escapes her.
Sherlock had always been an attractive man, a most definite and obvious fact in her mind since the day she first saw him. But at certain moments he still even now left her awestruck.
A soft smile spreads across her face at the scene in front of her. The morning sun streaming through the gap in the curtains onto his face and reflecting in his hair. The light illuminating all the shades of brown and red in his usual near black looking curls.
His long eyelashes brush against the tops of his cheeks on his glowing skin in the light, and the lines on his face nonexistent in the moment. Years of stress seemed to have melted away overnight.
A light dusting of auburn stubble coat his jaw and cheeks, the same shade as the sparse soft hair on the center of his chest.
The sheets sit just at his hip, leaving the rest of his nude form on display. His lithe yet muscular form moving with each slow breath, and pale skin decorated with a litany of scars that each told a story of their own.
He’d once said to her he wasn’t an angel even if he was on their side, but seeing him peacefully stretched out in the early morning glow, he definitely painted the picture of one.
Turning onto her side carefully in his grasp, she trails her finger slowly up his jaw and along his cheekbone. And as her touch drifts to his nose, it scrunches up and wiggles at the contact.
Moving her hand back to his cheek, she leans forward slowly to press a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, his eyes fluttering open moments later.
A sleepy smile tugs at his lips as he sees her, his arm around her waist tightening to pull her in flush to his body. “And what do you think you’re doing Mrs. Holmes?” His raspy sleepy voice asks.
“Admiring my husband,” she admits, savoring the splash of color that stains his cheeks at the admission.
“Hm,” he mumbles, his hand drifting slowly along her bare back. “You’ve taken to staring at me while I sleep?”
“I’ve not made it a habit yet, but I might,” she teases and slides her fingers into his messy curls. “The sun was shining down on you in all your beautiful naked glory, it was hard to not be transfixed by the sight. My sleepy-brain was nearly convinced an angel had fallen into my bed in the night.”
His eyes dart away from her own as his blush deepens and he abruptly buries his face into her neck, “Flattery.”
Chuckling against his skin, she shifts to throw her leg up and over his hip to bring him even closer, “You’re a beautiful man, inside and out.”
“Maybe you do believe that about my physical traits, but it’s quite obvious you’re just flattering me on the other.”
“No. I meant what I said,” she gently pulls her nails along his scalp as he makes a contented sound. “The way you think. The way you view the world. The way you’ve opened yourself up to those you’ve let in to love you. You closed yourself off for so long, and went through more than one person ever should. But internal beauty can still shine when you let it out of the dark.”
Sherlock takes a deep shuddered breath against her, finally leaning back to meet her eyes with his own, “You always see the best in me.”
“I see the man you are when you let yourself be. You may have been ripped at the edges, but you’re still a masterpiece.”
“When did my wife become a philosopher?” he jokes as he lets out another deep breath and gentle smile.
“Changed my career path as I lay in our bed with the sun glowing upon your features. When I realized I’d only felt the power of divinity when I’ve lain with you,” she grins as he rolls his eyes.
“I’m certain no one has found devotion to religion through me,” he comments.
“Oh I wouldn’t say that, I was very well nearly there last night in this very bed,” she whispers as she leans in toward his ear, smiling as another shiver runs up his spine.
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” he growls as his hand slips down to grab ahold of her butt. “You were quite enthusiastically calling out for divine intervention.”
“Indeed I was,” her hips jut forward as he squeezes.
“Though I’d far prefer you call out for me instead with such enthusiasm.”
Her grip on his curls tighten and abruptly tug his head back, “Then you’ll have to make my mind devoid of all else Sherlock.”
Pulling his head back forward, he quickly flips their bodies to make her back flush with the bed. His lips finally meet hers hungrily, drawing slowly out to light nibbles along her lip, “Oh I intend to do just that my love.”