"Joan!"

She was certain she had heard her name, had been woken by the sound of Sherlock's voice. The floor creaked cold under her feet as she crept through the house in search of him.

She found him half-clothed and sprawled across a bed in one of the myriad guest rooms, fast asleep and certainly incapable of calling out to her. He snorted a bit and she ducked a smile.

With a small sigh she tugged off his one remaining boot and placed it on the floor. It sat vacant next to her foot and the thought crossed her mind that she could fit into it, could fit into any of his clothes, could fall asleep in his t-shirt or wear his jeans to a crime scene, parade around the house in his boxers just to feel his eyes on her. He could be hers, clothes and all.

It scared her, that thought and how much she wanted it, the way her heart leaped when she thought of him calling her name not in the dead of the night but in the heat of climax, the way his voice would sound breathy and wild, the way his chest would feel heaving under her hands, the way she would need him and he her. She took a step back, fighting the urge to wake him now and beg him for just that.

His shirt had rolled up under his armpits and she came close again to pull it back down, smoothing the wrinkles on his back with a shaking hand. He snorted again and she flinched, slipped away with her heart in her throat for fear of being caught at loving him.

Long after she had left he stirred, reaching out in his sleep to clutch like a child at the blankets beneath him. From within whatever dream troubled his legendary mind came a plea whispered into the now-empty darkness.

"Joan."

A/N: Looking for feedback on whether to write a section for Sherlock as well/perhaps even make it a longer collection - let me know in a review!