To Y/N's delight, Sherlock was still in her bed when she awoke the next morning. Although, him not having sneaked off as soon as he'd got his way with her didn't actually mean anything, she reminded herself. For all she knew, someone to hold him while he sleeps might be part of 'his way'. Her lips curved into a smile; if a cuddle was 'his way' Sherlock was more than getting it. Y/N was laying on her back, Sherlock's curly head nestled under her chin, rising and falling on her bare chest. She could track the whole of his long, lithe body against the side of her own. She remembered, then, with a blush and a slight thrill of excited satisfaction, that they were still unclothed. One of his legs resting on top of both of hers as if he's subconsciously trying to tangle them as tightly as possible. 'Sort of like how one holds a rag doll,' Y/N mused, enjoying the lazy grip of his hand at her side, the weight of his arm across her body. 'Or a dragon clutches its treasure.'
The sun was already high in the sky, its impressive light leaking through the hotel's gauzy white cotton curtains, and a small tilt of Y/N's head allowed her to catch a glimpse at the digital clock sitting on her bedside table. Eleven in the morning had passed several minutes ago. Her smile broadened at the memory of why she'd been so tired, why she'd been able to sleep all through the night and late into the next day.
Absently, she stroked a hand over Sherlock's back; and he shifted against her, his lungs filling with air then deflating in a long, contented sigh. Y/N hadn't meant to wake him. Waking him meant talking, and talking meant facing the meaning behind what they'd done together hours before. Talking meant discussing what it had meant when Sherlock had kissed her on the dance floor. Talking meant picking apart why Y/N had let him. It meant dissecting the future implications of Sherlock having moaned Y/N's name loud enough to wake the whole hotel.
"Comfy?" Y/N asked, deciding to hide her insecurity below a thick coat of light-hearted humour, not that it was difficult. If Sherlock didn't look so vulnerable right now, and maybe if they were dating, Y/N would have lovingly made fun of his surprising affinity for being cuddled.
Her other hand was at his side, her arm looped under and around him, and she ran a finger over his shoulder blade. She didn't know why. It was just nice having him there.
Sherlock gripped her tighter, pulling her entire body further into the lanky curve of his own. "Yes. Very."
Y/N would be lying if she said she didn't feel elated at the fact that he still hadn't got out of bed and started getting dressed. She'd also be lying if she said she hadn't played his voice over again several times in her head, analysing it for any shred of emotion, a hint of what he might be thinking. 'He can leave if he wants,' Y/N scolded herself, 'Of course he can leave. We didn't specify that there would be strings attached, so I shouldn't be surprised if he acts like there aren't.'
But she couldn't help hoping. Of course, she couldn't help wishing, dreaming, that him not having ditched her as soon as she fell asleep meant that it had meant something to him, just a little bit. Hell, she wanted it to mean a lot. She wanted it to be the start of something, something that involved them, and candle-lit dinners, and taking showers together, and waking up like this every day. 'No,' her conscience said, cutting off her fantasy with the simple, harsh negative. 'I should be grateful that I got to spend the night with him at all; most people don't ever get to do that with their crush. I don't care if he sees this as a meaningless fling or not.'
Obviously, that last bit was a lie.
"Are you?"
Y/N wrenched her mind back to the present moment, deciding to enjoy it while it lasts. Because it might be the last time she gets to. "Am I what?"
"Comfortable. I can move up if you want---" Sherlock had started to pull away, lifting himself off her but she tugged him gently back down again, settling his head back on her chest. His muscles slackened again as he melted into Y/N's embrace, her skin prickling as his once again made contact with hers.
It made her grin. "No, you can stay." She moved one hand up to immerse itself in his tousled hair and felt him hum appreciatively, the vibration of it reverberating through her body.
"Thank you."
They lay in silence but Y/N couldn't tell what kind. She gave up trying after a few minutes, realising she was doing it again; trying to figure out what last night meant; trying to find evidence that it had meant more than it had. Didn't Sherlock always say you shouldn't do that? Try to find evidence to fit a theory rather than the other way around?
Y/N tried to focus on something else instead. Contemplating the past and the fact that it was over made her melancholy, wondering about the future made her anxious, so she decided to turn her attention to the present moment...
The feeling of Sherlock's strong form encompassing her own. The heat coming off his body, soaking into hers. His heart beating where their bodies were pressed together. The sound of that person knocking on their door.
What?
"Shouldn't that be addressed?" Sherlock's voice, still thickened from sleep, mumbled as if he wondered why she hadn't reacted to it yet.
Y/N didn't want to address it. She didn't want to address anything. "You get it, I'm warm."
The curl of amusement in Sherlock's tone as he said: "I can't get it; this is your room." made a crystal clear image of his current expression appear in Y/N's mind. He'd be smirking, and still have his eyes closed. Y/N knows what he's thinking. He's thinking that he can't answer the door, because then the person knocking would know they'd spend the night together. And he's thinking she's silly for forgetting that that mustn't happen.
'Oh. So he really does see last night as a one night stand.'
"Oh, yeah, right. I'll get it." Trying to hide that she'd just suffered a pang of disappointment, Y/N distanced herself from Sherlock's limbs. If she'd been paying more attention she would have noticed that he was reluctant to let her go. And that he'd watched her, blushing, as the duvet fell from her shoulders.
...
Y/N wouldn't have minded the person knocking knowing that she'd spent the night with Sherlock Holmes. In fact, she wanted them to know, despite her actually having no idea who it even was that was behind the door. She had just slept with the man she loves for the first time, and was---despite her sorrow at everything else---in that mindset where one wants to should their good fortune from the rooftops.
However, Sherlock clearly wasn't and didn't want anyone to know, or he would have answered the incessant knocking, shamelessly, himself. So, after tugging on some pyjamas from her suitcase, Y/N opened the door a mere crack, blocking her room from view by wedging her body between the door and its jamb.
The person who had knocked was John, and his shoulders slumped in relief at the sight of her. "Oh, thank God you're here. We thought you'd been kidnapped. The guys cleaning up after the party brought us these; you and Sherlock left your phones and stuff at your table last night." He handed their belongings over and Y/N took them, making sure to replace her hand that had been holding the door half-closed with one of her feet.
John didn't seem to have seen Y/N and Sherlock kissing, Y/N noted, because he probably would have mentioned it by now. And he definitely doesn't know that they'd left together. Y/N wondered if Sherlock would tell John later---mates gossiping over chicks they'd scored---then laughed at herself. Of course he wouldn't. For some reason Y/N knew that---despite being hazy about everything else---she and Sherlock had an unspoken, mutual understanding. What they'd shared may well have been a fling, or however he saw it, but it had definitely not been a fling fling. It hadn't bean cheap, it had meant something to him, his shyness had shown her that. He wouldn't tarnish the memory of his first time by recounting it to friends for street cred. He's not like that, even if he has turned out to be the kind of person that is okay with no-strings arrangments.
"Thank you," she said in confusion more than anything else. She'd left her things in a room crowded with people she didn't know? Now that John had mentioned it, Y/N realised she hadn't given her phone a passing thought since she last used it. Sherlock has a way of doing that; wiping all that is normal and mundane about life from your brain. At least, he does to her. "I'll see that Sherlock gets his."
John still looked concerned. "I actually went to his room first, but he didn't answer. Have you seen him?"
Y/N had to stop her lips curling into a smug smile at how much she'd seen him. "Yeah, he said he was going to go for a walk." She didn't like lying, especially not to a man who is so clearly worried about his friend, but Y/N knew Sherlock probably wouldn't want her to tell the truth either. And she couldn't very well pretend she didn't know where he was; John would send out a search party, no doubt. It wasn't worth it.
Relaxing fully, now: "Ah, so he's okay, then?"
"He's fine, don't worry. We left the party last night to get some air, then realised we were tired so went to our rooms." Y/N heard fabric rustling behind her and felt herself tense, hoping John hadn't heard it too. She was eager, by now, to wrap up this conversation and close the door, to seal herself and Sherlock back off from the world and encapsulate them in their own for a little longer. Had Sherlock gotten out of bed, was that the noise she'd heard? Unless he was just getting more comfortable. Would he stay if she got back under the covers with him? Would he cuddle back up against her as if they hadn't been interrupted? Trying to hide the antsiness in her voice, Y/N gave John a smile. "I've only just woken up, to be honest, so I'm not really awake yet. I think I'll have a shower then get some breakfast. Thank you for bringing us our things."
John let her go understandingly, allowing Y/N to close the door, finally.
Turning back to face her room, she bumped straight into Sherlock's chest; he was wearing his shirt from yesterday and was now shrugging on the matching jacket.
"You're leaving?" Y/N asked stupidly. She found it interesting how watching him put on his clothes made her feel completely opposite to how she'd done when she'd watched him remove them. Maybe because it was a symbol, a sign, that what they'd shared last night was truly over.
Sherlock must have slipped into the ensuite bathroom when Y/N had been talking to John because he'd already tamed his hair, and put his tie on straight. "Yes. Don't worry; most of the guests here were at the party so they'll be late up just as we were. I probably won't be seen. Not by anyone that matters."
Y/N wanted to say that she hadn't been worried, it was him that was worried, but held her tongue.
"I'm really hungry, for some reason, so I'm going to grab something to eat when I'm changed, then shall we go home?" He finished buttoning his jacket and opened the door, sidestepping around Y/N who was still just kind of staring at him. " I'll call a cab to come get us at half twelve, okay?"
'Despite him never having had a one night stand before, he really does know how to handle the morning after with clipped efficiency,' Y/N mentally muttered to herself. "Okay."
She faced her now empty room. 'At least he made the bed.'