[COMPLETE] ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????「Sherlock」

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WAKING UP THAT MORNING HAD FELT... STRANGE, to say the least. What drew Julia from her dreams was the sound of somebody knocking at the door of 221B. The flat was chilly in temperature, and thus she scrunched her body up close to Sherlock's; the two were facing the back of the couch, the resting woman's forehead pressed against his back, feeling his heartbeat beneath his skin. He was warm, and that's what she needed, was warmth. Her fingers subconsciously latched onto the back of his partially untucked shirt, the smell of detergent and his cologne saturating her senses. Julia groaned into him, her arms tucking themselves up between their bodies. Taking a deep breath, she sighed as silence returned. "Sherlock," she murmured into his spine, nestling closer until she was completely curled against him. The detective hummed and rolled over, taking a deep breath in through his nose.

These were the moments when he was most human. He was drowsy rather than alert and high-strung, his mind slowly switching on, its mechanisms and cogs beginning to heat themselves up, beginning to click, beginning to work in harmony. Knock, knock, knock. Both the detective and she stirred. Sherlock's hand found her shoulder and he squeezed it like he would with an old friend after being separated for too long. "Who, at this hour?" he rumbled, voice hoarse from sleep. Julia slowly became aware of their situation, tucked up against his side now, feeling his lungs expand beneath his ribs. Sherlock. You're so warm, she thought, fighting her exhausted tongue, not wanting to ruin the moment. He was rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand. The other travelled to Julia's waist, then retracted itself. He was becoming more aware of the position that they were both in. Stop fidgeting. Just a bit longer.

"Julie..." Oh, his voice. The words she could imagine him saying to her in his gravelly, sonorous tone left her restless. Sherlock would surely be able to make her melt with those incredible bass chords of his. He was awake now, sitting up within the small amount of space the two shared. They were just about on top of one another. Her head finally rose, a mess of tangerine curls. Her eyes were painfully dry and heavy. Sherlock's brilliant icy depths met her own and she groggily peered at him, the two both dishevelled, the foggy edges of sleep still apparent upon their faces. Propping herself up, she heard it again; the sound of knuckles rapping against the heavy egress.

Slithering from the surface of the leather, she rose to her stiff legs and stretched, moving in the direction of the oak surface and peering through the door-viewer, she just about jumped out of her skin, seeing a rather sharp-looking Elliot on the other side. "Who is it?" Sherlock stood not far from her, displeased by the noise. From deeper into the apartment came John, shouting for the sleuth to answer the door in a rather angry, groggy manner.

Julia unlatched the lock, allowing the chain to dangle idly to the side as she turned the doorknob. Running her fingers up through her unkempt hair, she opened the door and squinted against the harsh tinny light that bled through the stairwell from up above. His hazel eyes washed over her, frowning softly. "Hey," she mumbled, reaching forward and taking his hand. "What's up?"