Steps Behind

He's tired and exhausted, and it's like he's only realised it once she finally got him to rest for a while and take a break from the case. They're lying in bed, simply lying next to each other and she's playing with his fingers again, as she often does. He's long ago concluded that that is something she does when she's bored or simply relaxed, and he has accepted it to the point that now he doesn't even notice her doing it. It's like it's something natural to him - that light tug and grasp that holds his long fingers. Sometimes, when she's travelling and he hasn't seen her in a while, he finds himself missing the weight of her hand on his and he's lost; but only for a moment, because then he shuts the longing to the back of his mind palace, right with the memories of her, which he visits when he's alone or lonely (because the two are not the same thing) so that he can feel whole again.

At times, she goes further up his hand - fingers tapping a slow beat, sometimes like a heartbeat and sometimes like she's playing a Bach piece on the piano - and her fingers gently caress the light scars left from the nights he took a bit too many shots of heroin directly into his veins because he was bored and heroin was exciting and heroin challenged him; but never once does Clara ask him about them.

She never asks questions, but simply accepts.

And Clara challenges him. Clara makes him think, and makes him try to understand her, to read her - to decipher her. He feels like she will forever be a mystery to him, because she has lived so much, some lives that she can't even remember. She's impossible, and unbelievable. And when she first told him about the Doctor and his blue box, he almost laughed.

Her fingers soon find their way back to his own and, lightly, she moves from one finger to the other, bringing them together and then apart and then repeats it again and again. It's like they're doing a dance of sorts, except he's not the one leading.

And, he realises, they're not just dancing with fingers; they're waltzing through life. The way she goes away (one, two, three) and then comes back (two, two, three), and when she does she turns his life upside down with stories of lost civilisations and saved planets and the way she's filled with emotions he doesn't quite understand (three, two, three), and maybe - just maybe - he's used to the idea of having her in his life. He's used to the emotions she represents and the emotions she makes him feel; because that's exactly what she does. She makes him feel human, makes him feel loved and that he can love, she makes him feel like he belongs and that he is not alone or lonely.

But, for the life of him, Sherlock doesn't know for sure if Clara doesn't find earth too confiding and 221B to be a cage, because whenever the Doctor comes it's like she gets these wings and is ready to fly away into the never-ending blue sky that is filled with adventures to be lived and stories to be told (four, two, three).

"Do you ever regret?", he asks her. He doesn't know quite why, but he does and he finds himself eagerly awaiting her response. She looks up at him.

"Regret what?", her voice is sleepy, and he knows she is close to falling asleep but prefers his presence and reality rather than an adventure in a dream that is pure imagination, not a living tale she could tell with a sparkle in her eye and a fast tongue as her hands move around to emphasise her words.

"Staying."

She shakes her head at his reply. "Never.", she answers honestly. She never regrets staying with him. "I miss it, sometimes. A new adventure every week.", she says. "But I don't regret my decisions."

Sherlock furrows his eyebrows. "Why?", he asks. Why doesn't she regret? Why does she give up on all the adventures just to stay with him? Why stay when she could be travelling the universe, any time, any place?

"Because I love you.", she answers simply and squeezes his hand tighter. "And every day here, with you, is an adventure on its own.", she smiles.

This time, he takes her hand and lifts it up, taking their palms and putting them together; his longs, slim fingers play with hers and he relaxes.

She loves him.

"I still believe love to be a disadvantage.", he says and turns his head to look at her. There's light pain in her eyes, hidden deep as if she's already accepted the fact that he probably won't ever love her, and yet she still loves him so. "But for you,", he continues and the pain in her features disappears, replaced with a feeling he can't quite place, but he considers it hope and she can feel her heart stop beating for the slightest of moments. "I am willing to be a step behind."

She widens her smile at him and she's probably the happiest he's ever seen her be and he smiles back.

She kisses him. "I love you, Sherlock. I do.", she says and pulls in closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder and tangling their arms together again as he puts his chin on her temple. She closes her eyes, simply listening to the sound of his breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat, and the two combine with her own to make a better musical piece than any of the ones he plays to her at nights.

He closes his eyes at her words and sighs, smiling lightly. "I love you, Clara.", as he finally says it, he lets the words slip out of his mouth like drops of rain slip out of the clouds.

She begins playing with his fingers once again.

A.N.: A big thank you to xGirlBehindTheMask for the prompt ("I still believe love to be a disadvantage, but for you I am willing to be a step behind."). I hope you like this, sweetie!