Sherlock X Reader One Shots || ????? + ????

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is a little saucy still, so skip to the end half if that's not your thing.

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Out of breath and beyond spent, Y/N flops down onto the mattress.

Sherlock looms smugly over her, clearly proud of his work. His eyes are twinkling like stars, his smirk glinting like the moon.

The real moon is still blotted out by thick clouds; a mere milky stain seeping through a wet night's sky. Although the rain seems to have finally dried up, the blustering wind continues to shake the trees by the shoulders.

"Has the storm passed?" Y/N asks, stretching her arms up over her head in a content, satisfied sort of way.

Without having to peek through the curtains:

"Yes, thirty-two minutes ago." Sherlock's lip twitches as he flops down next to her. "It stopped raining around the time you shoved me up against the wardrobe."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"Y/N, I'm going to remember that for the rest of my life."

"Not that, you idiot, I meant the exact time it stopped raining." 

Like a lazy cat rearranging itself in a patch of the sun, Y/N drags herself up to Sherlock's side and settles against him, his heart beating happily below her ear. Comfortably, she drapes an arm over his middle as though it's second nature, and he grins happily, his own tightening about her shoulders.

"A woman in my bed?" He chuckles, delighted. "How on earth did that happen?"

"Baby, if more women knew you could do what you just did, your bed would be teaming with them."

He flushes. "...Baby?"

"Sorry, don't you like that? We can pick something else—"

"No, baby is fine," he says quickly, and Y/N smirks against his chest—which has turned a light pink.

"You sure? Because I don't have to use pet names if you don't—"

His heart speeds up, betraying the calm in his voice. "But I do. I actually...like it. A bit." Quietly: "I've never been anyone's...baby before."

Nuzzling closer, Y/N gives his middle a possessive squeeze. "Well, you're mine now."

He seems to like this very much. 

His other arm snakes over to grip contentedly at her waist, tugging her even closer. 

"So...what do I call you?" he murmurs, breath tickling her hair.

"Whatever you want."

"Hm." He thinks for a moment, as if pondering a very important decision. His fingers tap rhythmically against the small of her back. Then:

"I do like 'Darling' —it's a classic, although a little dull—and very family friendly."

"Is that a pro or a con?"

"And we also have 'Honey' and 'Sugar' —but they're a little overused."

"Still nice, though."

"Then there's the sickeningly sweet nonsense," his gravelly voice drawls sleepily. "Like 'Baby Doll'."

Y/N makes a small sound, and Sherlock blinks---

Then grins. "What was that?"

"Nothing."