Married Sherlock x reader having a romantic day
It had been a while since you both had a day off.
Ever since Sherlock gained international recognition, he had no shortage of cases to keep him busy. You tried to help where you could- even quitting your job to act as his secretary- but even with the extra assistance, he was gone far more than you wanted him to be. Often times, he would get home after you’d knocked out and rise only a few hours later, making those small moments of intimacy you so loved a rare occurrence. Even on the days he was home, you’d wander blearily into the living room to find Sherlock already in his customary immaculate suit, engrossed in that day’s activity of choice. Due to this, you’d gotten used to waking up to an empty bed- which is why you were surprised to open your eyes this morning and find your husband, sound asleep, using you as a body pillow.
Reaching your arm out tentatively, you grab your mobile off the nightstand and awkwardly crick your neck to read the screen. The white letters flash 1145- Sherlock? Sleeping in?. The thought of him being ill briefly crosses your mind and you lightly rest the back of your hand on his forehead, but there is no fever and his breathing is even, so that possibility is quickly discarded.
You’re split in between starting your tasks for the day and staying in bed with him. On the one hand, you could straighten out the flat, get a light breakfast together, and ready yourself for whenever he wakes. On the other, moments like this are increasingly rare, and you find yourself wanting to savour his presence.
In the end, he makes the decision for you. While you’d initially resolved on being productive, the second you started moving, his decievingly strong arms tighten around your waist and drag you right back into him. A few, ineffective attempts at escape later, you resign yourself to your position and attempt to return to sleep, breathing slowly becoming in tune with Sherlock’s.
You hadn’t realised how much you’d missed the feeling of his arms wrapped firmly around you. Absentmindedly, you thread your fingers through his thick, curly hair, gently massaging his scalp, and you can’t help but think about how different things are from when you first met. You’ve been married just over a year now, and with John now recently gone with his own spouse, the relationship between Sherlock and you has deepened and matured in ways you hadn’t expected.
The rumble of a familiar baritone interrupts your train of thought. While you’re not sure, you think the slurred words are “Morning, love.”
“What time did you go to sleep?”
An ineffectual attempt at hiding a yawn is made. You give him a mock- stern look, which almost immediately dissolves into laughter. Despite himself, he smiles, and leans in to kiss you.
When you pull away, that steely gaze everyone associates with him is replaced by a soft, warm look that sends a familiar feeling through your chest.
“I love you.”
In response, the hand you’d left cupping his jaw is kissed, his stubble lightly tickling your palm. You laugh again. “Go take a shower before you morph into a hedgehog. I’ll get a pot of tea going for us.”
By the time you get out of bed, into the kitchen, fill the kettle, and switch it on, your overly efficient husband comes striding into the room, still towelling his mop of curls. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him rummage through the pockets of his dressing gown before he pulls out a small package and flicks it across the table.
“Saw this while I was out last night. Thought you might like it.”
Knowing him, this could either be anything from a bone fragment to a piece of jewellery, so you approach cautiously. Gingerly unwrapping the paper and lifting the cover reveals a pair of tickets to the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra- dated tonight- and you remember briefly mentioning to Sherlock a few days prior that you wanted to see them play.
He’s got a self satisfied smile on his face, and in that moment, morning light catching his features, dressing gown half open at the chest and his frame lazily draped over the armchair, you swear you’ve never loved him more.
“There’s a dress for you in the wardrobe. A car will pick us up in a few hours- I suggest you start getting ready now.”
Somehow you manage to curb your excitement enough to focus on your preparations, and soon enough, Sherlock is knocking on the bathroom door to warn you of time’s passing.
When you open the door, you’re greeted by the vision of your husband in an immaculate tuxedo, perfectly fitted to his form. It is evident that he is just as entranced by you as you are by him, and he pulls you in for a gentle but passionate kiss, strong hands tightening their grip on your waist.
“My beautiful wife” he murmurs into your ear. “I don’t believe in luck, but for you to exist and be mine provides some room for disputing my own beliefs.”
You roll your eyes despite your smile. “Ever the romantic, my love.”
His assuredly witty retort gets cut short by a knock downstairs, and he produces a coat out of nowhere and drapes it over your shoulders before ushering you downstairs.
Arriving at the opera house, the elites of London’s society that Mycroft has introduced to you perform their polite greetings before Sherlock whisks you off to claim your seats. The lights dim, soft strains of music float out into the auditorium, and the evening fades into a that only dispells once you’re standing at the doorway of 221B.
Breathing in the frigid night air, you lean into your husband. “That was truly incredible, my love. Thank you- for everything.”
From above you, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You are worth it all, y/n” he murmurs into your hair.
Once in your flat, he moves quickly towards the kitchen while you remove your wraps. It doesn’t take him long to reappear by your side and hand you a glass of wine, and even though you were certain you ran out a few days ago, it is your favourite kind.
Firelight dances over the floor where you two sit now, reminiscing about the evening and enjoying each other’s company. At some point, Sherlock begins trying to recreate the pieces he heard on his own violin, and you move to the kitchen to refill your wine glass, humming to yourself and allowing the sounds of your husband’s melodic playing to relax you even further.
You’re so relaxed that you don’t even notice when the playing stops and when he comes up behind you. He pulls you in closer by your hips, rests his chin on your shoulder, swaying with you to unheard music.
It’s impossible to not pull back slightly, just enough to lean in and kiss him; lips soft, taste of wine lingering on them. In years to come you will revisit this night as one of the best times of your life, and it is hard to not wonder if your husband was aware of just how crucial that moment would be to surviving the stress of what was to come. But, for now, you are simply two people in love dancing in the living room, and there is no place you would rather be.
