Cold
Molly stirred as the side of her bed dipped. The feeling of something – or rather, someone – warm pressed against her back forced her eyes open.
Slim fingers rested along her hip. The pathologist groaned, trying to disentangle herself from her boyfriend’s – or whatever he liked to call himself – embrace.
“What are you doing?” she croaked, her throat sore from the cold.
“You’re shivering. I’m helping to keep you warm.”
“I’m contagious.”
Sherlock gave a low chuckle, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. “Perfectly sound deduction, although I expected more from you.”
“I’m sick. Give me a break,” Molly sniffed, elbowing him lightly. “You should stay away or you’ll fall ill too.”
“Not a chance.”
“You staying away or catching a cold?”
“Both.”
She shook her head. “You’re an idiot.”
“And still you love me,” he murmured, burying his nose in her hair.
“I guess that makes me an idiot too.”
“A perfect match.”
Molly smiled before giving in to her drooping eyelids, surrounded by Sherlock’s warmth.
