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“I think I know how to use a bed.”
Sherlock snorted, shaking his head as he guided Molly to her bedroom. He'd come to her flat with the full intention of using it as a bolt hole tonight and stumbled on the horror scene that was Molly Hooper having been awake for nearly three full days on nothing more than copious amounts of coffee and fruit snacks. He’d waded through what seemed like nearly nine hundred empty little baggies of assorted snacks, from strawberry and mango flavored Urban Fruit Snack Packs to Safari, Arctic and Jungle Bear Fruit Paws, from Goodies Apple And Strawberry Gummies to Kiddylicious Pineapple Snacks. He should have tried to coax a decent meal of real food into her but frankly she looked like the walking dead.
It was nearly one AM and he was watching her struggle with taking off the jumper she was wearing. He had meant to give her privacy to change but three days of being awake had apparently made her inept at the most basic of skills. He moved over to her and reached for the bottom hem of her jumper. “Before you use your bed you should dress properly for it,” he murmured, lifting the jumper up. She raised her arms and he could see it took much effort. “Why have you not slept, Molly?”
“Paper, for Stamford,” she said. “Dr. Wilmington left it to the last minute and it’s due for publication in the American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and Stamford asked me to do it and there were eight bodies and we’re understaffed. You wanted results and...” She yawned. “Complicated autopsies.”
“I see,” he murmured, tossing the jumper to the side. She could put it in a hamper later. He went for her shirt next, unbuttoning the buttons. There was no way she would be able to handle those in her condition. “And so you thought doing all that with no sleep was your best option?”
“Mm-hmm,” she said with another yawn.
“Why all the fruit snacks?” he asked, carefully unbuttoning each button but trying to keep her shirt as closed as possible for her modesty. “Why not real food?”
“No time to go to the market, no real food in the flat,” she said with another yawn. “I had them on hand when I babysat Mary and John’s daughter, I figured they tasted good, why not eat them all?”
He smiled slightly at the idea that Molly had so many different fruit snacks in her flat and he never realized it. Charlotte Watson was, indeed, a picky toddler. He was done unbuttoning her shirt and then moved his hands away. “Well, I’ll retire to your guest room and if I’m still here in the morning I’ll make you a proper meal,” he said.
She shook her head and reached out to grab his hands, to keep him close. He looked at her with surprise on his face. “Stay here tonight. Please?”
“In...your bed? With you?” he asked, confusion in his voice.
She nodded, running her thumb over his knuckles. "I don’t want to sleep alone. I spent so much time sleeping alone, so much time I’d rather have spent with you. And I know it’s silly and stupid, but...you’re here, and I’m so tired and just for tonight, please, indulge me.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking down at their hands. He knew if he stayed tonight, he might not leave. He might find a reason to stay every night. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said finally. “I may not leave.”
“Would that be so bad?” she asked, looking up. After a moment, she pulled a hand away to reach up and caress his face. “Would it be so bad to stay with me?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t think it would.”
She yawned again and then smiled when she was done. “Good.”
He stepped closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I will leave you to change into your pyjamas, and then I promise, I will join you.”
She nodded. “All right.” She squeezed his hand once and then let go and he left the room. While she was getting ready he busied himself with trying to straighten up, a gargantuan task he knew he wouldn’t accomplish in the small space of time allotted to him. After a time, there was a clearing of a throat, and he went back to her room. She was in her pyjamas and had managed to pull down the duvet and sheets on the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes and then his socks, and then took his suit jacket off and draped it over her vanity chair. When he was done they both slipped into her bed. He wasn’t sure how they would arrange themselves, but soon he settled on his back and she had her head on his chest, and he gathered her in his arms. She had her hand over his heart and, after a moment, he ducked his head to press a kiss in her hair. “Good night, Molly,” he said softly.
“Good night, Sherlock,” she murmured, already half asleep, her fingers clutching his shirt. Soon he shut his eyes, joining her in sleep, feeling a strange and wonderful sense of peacefulness settle over him.