You sat on the couch, bundled up in a fuzzy blanket with your favourite book in hand.
221b Baker Street was quiet, the crackling of fire and drumming rain the only sounds penetrating the peaceful silence.
Taking a sip of your honey sweet tea, you sighed, wondering when Sherlock would return from the morgue.
He spent almost all his time there, conducting experiments and investigating crimes. You could imagine the man now, his head of dark curls bowed over a microscope, brilliant blue eyes searching, always searching for an answer.
You grinned inwardly at the image you had conjured in your head, for you loved Sherlock's mind, and his dedication to his work. Someone like Donovan would say he was a complete freak, but you believed otherwise.
Thoughts about the tall man raced through your mind, but you hurriedly turned your attention back to the chapter, eager to discover what happened to the character next.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Wooooaahhh!" you shouted, your book dropping out of your hands and onto the dusty wooden floor.
You turned, and there stood a sopping wet Sherlock Holmes.
His coat was drenched, hanging limp at his sides. His normally curly hair was plastered against his pale forehead, and his nose was a bright red from the cold autumn rain.
"I got caught in the rain, and it took me forever to find a cab" Sherlock explained in response to my confused expression, removing his outer garments and throwing them across the back of his leather chair.
You smiled, watching him ruffle his hair back into shape. "That's alright, but you should really change into something new, the water's soaked right through".
"No, I'll be fine" he said, grabbing the newspaper and making his way to the couch, plopping down right next to you.
"Well, don't blame me if you wake up with a cold tomorrow morning".
Sherlock just smirked, shaking the paper upright and flipping the thin brown page.
Shaking your head teasingly, you turned back to your own read, burying your nose into the book's musty pages.
The two of you sat there in comfortable silence, submerged in your own little worlds.
-----
About a half hour later, you could spot Sherlock drifting off to sleep over the top of your novel, his head gently resting on your knee.
Your eyes softened, looking down at the sleeping angel. It was another side of him others never had the opportunity to see, the gentle side, the sweet side of Sherlock.
