Something disturbed your peaceful sleep in the early morning and you tried to pinpoint what it was with a bleary groan, more asleep than awake. It took you a moment but you found the source of your annoyance and heavy-handedly patted Sherlock’s head, “Sherly?”
He groaned and nuzzled into your breast as the arm at your waist and the leg he’d thrown over yours at some point in the night tightened around you, pressing his body closer to you in his sleep clinging. You sighed and tried again, refusing to wake up more than you absolutely had to, “Sherlock, love, s’too bright.”
The grown man hugging you like a koala on a tree let out a comically childlike whine but still flopped out of bed to close the blinds against the morning sun, his sleep riddled mind working only enough to finish the task and return to you. He crawled back under the covers, wrapping around you from behind when he found you’d rolled to your side, and buried his nose into your hair with a satisfied sigh.
Both of you slipped back to sleep for a few minutes before your subconscious poked at you and you stirred again, letting out a whimper of complaint as the waking world started to bear down on you. That whimper snapped Sherlock awake since, after the incident on the couch, he had set his brain on high alert for any such noises from you that indicated you might be in pain. He lifted his arm from you, thinking maybe he was pressing against your healing ribs, and you immediately reached out for it to return as you mumbled, “Don’t go.”
He returned his arm quite happily, pulling you back into his chest as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your shoulder, “What’s wrong?”
You sighed unhappily, slurring, “Dunno… brain’s insisting there’s a reason to be awake.”
Sherlock smirked, suggestively nipping the side of your neck as he gave your breast a cheeky squeeze, and you giggled softly, completely aware of what he was implying, “S’not that, Sherlock.”
You could feel his disappointment and lazily added, “I’mma need a shower… Once John’s left for the clinic…”
You trailed off tiredly but Sherlock got the gist, grinning drowsily into your hair- for once he couldn’t wait until John was out of the flat and too busy to pay attention to him. It would be his first shift since you’d been hurt and he would no doubt have his hands full, meaning less time for him to wonder what you and Sherlock were doing at home without him.
With the assurance that he’d get more time to experiment with the varying ways of expressing physical attraction with you, he nuzzled into your hair and tried to help you figure out what your brain wanted so you both could get back to sleep. It took only seconds for him to come up with something, suddenly going rigid behind you as he asked, “What was it that woke you before?”
“The sun. It was too bright,” you responded simply with a soft yawn.
There was a moment of quiet as Sherlock waited for it to click in your head and then you shot up, quickly rubbing your eyes before turning to blink at him. A wide grin spread across your face as you threw your arms around his neck and let out a squeal, “I can see you!”
He patted your back awkwardly until you moved away, grabbed his cheeks to pull him into a kiss, and then rolled out of the bed as he asked, “How well?”
You didn’t pause in your task, which he realized was a quest for clothes when you yanked on his boxers after stepping on them, but still enthusiastically responded, “It’s blurry but I can make out shapes and colors and… what does it matter? I can see!”
You gave a little twirl as you exclaimed the last bit, nearly losing your footing, and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched you pull on his shirt and hurriedly button it incorrectly, making the whole thing lopsided. It wasn’t until you stumbled out the door that his face set in a frown and he called, “Where are you going?”
You popped your head back in, “To tell Johnny, of course. Keep up, Sherlock.”
You bounded lightly up the stairs, throwing open the door to your brother’s room and pouncing on him before he had a chance to figure out what was going on. He blinked up at you confusedly from his position pinned beneath you, eyes still glazed over with sleep, “Squeak? What’s going on?”
You grinned at him, “I can see you.”
His eyes slid closed and he shoved you off so he could roll away from you as he mumbled, “Of course you can, (F/n), go back to bed.”
You quirked an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable, and seconds later he bolted up, “You can see me?!”
“That is what I just said, Johnny,” you teased and he took your face in his hands, “That’s fantastic! How well? Is it clear?”
His eyes dashed between yours as you offered, “It’s a bit blurry but I can make out shapes and colors, kinda like when you get something in your eye and it waters up.”
You smiled when he smiled and he let out a relieved huff, “That’s good, Squeak. Really good.”
You threw yourself at him in a hug, pushing him down on the bed with the force of it, and he chuckled softly, hugging you back as you mumbled into him, “It’s so good to see you, Johnny.”
“I can imagine,” he laughed, petting your hair, and you pulled back to give him a playful slap on the arm. He gave a chuckled groan as he clutched his arm in mock injury and then looked up at you, noticing your choice of attire and narrowing his eyes, “What are you-Is that Sherlock’s shirt?”
You glanced down, finally realizing that it was probably a mistake to put on Sherlock’s clothes instead of your own, and then sheepishly offered, “No?”
John pursed his lips, “Why are you wearing- wait a minute… are those his pants too?”
Rolling off of him and the bed, you made a beeline for the door as you rushed, “It’s not a big deal, John, I just grabbed the nearest clothes when I got up and they happened to be his. It’s nothing to get upset ov-“
“And just what were you wearing before?” he demanded warily and you floundered as you realized your mistake, unable to come up with an acceptable answer. He gasped, “Bloody… You weren’t wearing anything, were you?!”
All you could do was let out an embarrassed chuckle as you rubbed the back of your neck and John was out of bed in flash, growling, “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to bloody kill him, chop him into little bits, and keep them in the bloody freezer.”
You started in with some protests but it was no use, he was already storming down the stairs bellowing, “SHERLOCK!”
Just as you stumbled into John, who'd stopped in the doorway, Sherlock walked out of the kitchen, groggily nursing a cup of tea in only his trousers from the night before as he responded to the call, “John.”
His completely nonchalant attitude threw your brother for a bit of a loop, making him lose his stride slightly as he demanded, “Why was my sister naked in your bed?”
“We had sex,” Sherlock answered flatly and John turned a shade of red you didn’t know existed while you tried in vain to stop yourself from laughing. You let out a snort and John spun to face you, his blur of a face looking really unamused and entirely livid, but you offered, “Oh come on, Johnny, you walked right into that one.”
“It is not funny, (F/n)! He defiled you!” he snapped and then spun to face Sherlock again, his voice rising to a yell, “You defiled her… my baby sister, and while she was blind and injured no less!”
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, “I would hardly call it defiling, John. If anything she defiled me… her skills in the act suggest-“
Before Sherlock could continue that thought, John’s fist met his nose with a sickening crunch as he shrieked, “Don’t talk about her like that!”
Acting quickly before John managed to land another blow, you stepped between them, putting a firm hand on your brother’s chest as you growled, “Take a step back, John. I’m pretty sure you just broke his nose.”
“He deserves more than that, (F/n). I don’t like this- any of this! He put his hands on you… He’s taking advantage- can’t you see that!” he roared, pushing against your grip to jab his finger at Sherlock, “You’re a dead man.”
Despite the blood gushing from his nose, he opened his mouth to respond but before he could get anything out you cut him off, commanding, “Keep your mouth shut before you make it worse,” and then gripped John’s shoulders tightly. He gave you his attention, angrily fidgeting, and you sharply enunciated, “First off, I am as much responsible for what we did as he is. I am an adult, John- it’s not as though it was my first time riding the roller coaster and I definitely enjoyed this go around.”
Sherlock got a smug look on his face as John squirmed, both furious and aggressively uncomfortable at the same time, but you still continued, “Second, He is not taking advantage of me. We are in a relationship, as odd and undefined as it is, and I think we can all agree that sleeping together is a part of that. You certainly don’t hear me complaining about all the times you didn’t come back to the flat after a date.”
“That’s different!” John seethed and you pursed your lips at him as you demanded in an annoyed tone, “Really? How so?”
He floundered before frustratedly yelling, “Because you’re my baby sister and hurt and they aren’t sociopathic, crime-obsessed machines who behave like arrogant arseholes with... with…”
“Are you quite finished?” you hummed, raising an eyebrow as he got flustered and trailed off, unable to think of a vicious enough insult to finish his rant.
An angry pout settled on his face as he glared at Sherlock over your shoulder but he still nodded and you moved your hands from his shoulders to his cheeks, “I love you, John. You’re my best friend and my big brother- the person I can always count on, but you have to let this go.”
“But-“
“No, John. Sherlock and I are having a go at whatever this is and while he’s a bit of a twat and certainly cheeky for good measure- he does treat me well. Better than most of the other men I’ve been with, in fact. If that ever changes- if he ever hurts me in any way- you can do whatever you’d like but barring that, you are just going to have to live with the fact that he and I are involved. In addition, he is your best friend. Once you calm, you’ll be feeling guilty about all this. I know you.”
He ground his jaw, looking between the two of you, and then gave a defeated sigh and pushed out a reluctant, “Fine,” before adding in a grumble, “But I still want to kill him.”
You sighed, turning him towards his room, “Well you broke his nose, that’s a start… If you wish to continue I suggest you practice your death glare because you will not be doing anything like that again. Now go upstairs and get ready for work while I get him cleaned up.”
John resentfully complied and you turned your attention to the consulting detective, who was still clutching his bleeding nose, as you sarcastically sighed, “Well that went well.”
