His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 16: John Ships It

Sherlock lowered the blanket and I gave a sly grin. "We do now." I grabbed the blanket quickly and ran back to Sherlock's chair, plopping myself down. "Don't put your experiments in the big fridge again, or I'll make you eat them!" I covered myself in the blanket and brought my knees to my chest, shivering.

After a few moments of checking out the new fridge, Sherlock came back out into the living room. "I'll keep that in mind." He stopped, frowning. "You're in my chair."

Tearing my gaze from the television, I looked down at the chair, then up at him. "Yes, I am."

"So move."

"I was here first."

"(Y/n), don't be a child."

"Hey!" John piped up, looking up from his typing. "You're both being children, and there is absolutely no need for your churlish behavior! Now shut up before I throw something."

"Fine." Sherlock and I mumbled, crossing our arms and staring at each other. After a few moments, I sighed, giving in. I scooted over to the right side of the chair, leaving ample room for him to sit down, then patted the empty space. "C'mon, Sherly. Sharing is caring."

He sighed. "It's Sherlock." Nevertheless, he climbed onto the chair and sat down next to me. He copied my posture, crossing his arms and bringing his knees to his chest. We were angled a bit, so Sherlock took up most of the chair. It was a tight fit, but I didn't mind. He was warm, and right now that was what I needed. I shivered against him. He looked down at me, suddenly concerned. "You're cold."

"Mhm." I said, still watching the television. They were about to announce the results. I felt a weight around my shoulder, and flinched a little, not expecting the touch. Sherlock froze when I flinched, but then continued to wrap the flap of his trench coat around me, leaving his arm around my shoulder. I looked at him with wide eyes, my (e/c) meeting his turquoise. Well, this is new.

He gave a tight-lipped smile. "Sharing is caring."

I gave a hum of appreciation and tapped his nose. "I taught you well."

He snorted, amused by my actions. I smiled and rested my head on his chest. Since we were angled, he was in the perfect position to be my pillow. He stiffened at my touch, and I worried I had gone too far. Sherlock really wasn't one for these kinds of things. But he relaxed after a few seconds, and I internally sighed in relief.

For a moment, everything was perfect. I angled my head to look up at Sherlock, taking in the view from this angle. His perfectly chiseled cheekbones and mess of dark brown curls were particularly flattering from this angle. I sighed internally. Too bad he's 'married to his work'. I'd marry the hell out of that.... Okay, stop it, (Y/n).

Suddenly, Sherlock's face became furious, and I turned my face to the TV, wondering if I had missed something. Oh- the results.

"No, no, no!" Sherlock yelled, hurting my ears a bit. He gestured towards the screen indignantly, frustrated with the results. "Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!" He brought his arm down with a flop, pouting.

I chuckled. "Knew it was dangerous."

"Hmm?" He asked, a bit distracted.

"Getting you into crap telly."

"Hmm." He chuckled. "Not a patch on Connie Prince." I rolled my eyes at the reference to our case a few days ago. Sherlock rested his head on the top of mine, presumably deciding he needed a pillow as well. I heard John shift and turn around in his chair to see what all the fuss had been about.