A few weeks passed since Moriarty's threat, I spent a lot of time speaking with my therapist on how to deal with my anxiety at home. Sherlock had been urging me to move into 221B with him for the past few days, saying it would be safer for me.
"Y/N, please, I know this'll be a good idea." John was sitting at my table, he was also trying to convince me.
"This is the first time I've ever had my own flat!" I argued, it really was, I had lived with my mom for most of my life until this year.
"If you don't move in with us, you might die." Sherlock glanced at me. I felt a shiver crawl down my spine. I sighed and nodded.
"Fine. Fine." I finally caved in, I had felt they were right since they first started asking, so I had packed up my room just in case.
"Good!" Sherlock leaped from his seat, running to my room and grabbing the boxes.
"How did you know my room was packed!?" I called after him.
"The state of your knees, there's wood shavings on them and since you recently bought a newly cut dresser, I made a simple assumption." Sherlock shrugged, carrying my box to the door. John followed, carrying another box. I sighed and joined them. One box at the time we brought up everything, moving me into my new room. It wasn't as big as my master bedroom in my flat, but the smaller room felt cozy in a way. (It looks like the picture at the beginning) I looked over and my mattress was carried into the room, along with the other heavy furniture. Sherlock had called Lestrade and Molly for help, who happily obliged.
"Thank you so much." I smiled at them, they smiled back and moved my dresser into the new room.
"Of course, Y/N, anything to help." Lestrade nodded to me.
Hours later, once everything was moved in, I collapsed onto my bed and yawned. It was only 6pm but I was exhausted, my mind was whirring with thoughts of if Moriarty would show up here and come after me, or if he'd hurt Sherlock. A knock sounded on my door. Speak of the devil I thought, looking away from the ceiling.
"You'll be safer here, Y/N." He walked over and sat at the edge of my bed.
"Thank you." I smiled at him.
"Of course, I couldn't just let you die." He shrugged, looking me in the eye.
"I guess that's fair." I nodded, moving a tiny bit closer. We sat there together, discussing the new room, and even a bit about our pasts', though Sherlock didn't seem too keen on sharing much about himself.
"Come on, that's a simple scientific fact!" Sherlock exclaimed once I failed to beat his made up quiz for me.
"I'm bad at science." I shot back jokingly, giving him a playful shove. He turned back to me slightly confused, and then did it back, but instead of staying upwards, he fell on top of me. I opened my eyes, staring up at the curly haired man. His hands were on my shoulders, holding me to the bed. I gulped and felt my face turn red. The door opened suddenly.
"So how are you liking your new-" John began. "Nope nothing to see here, nothing at all, I'm going to go now." He turned and left, closing the door behind him. Sherlock and I stared at the door for a long minute, before he quickly backed off, not daring to look at me. I sat up, swinging my legs over the bed.
"I'm sorry about that." Sherlock glanced sheepishly at me. It was a surprise to see the detective nervous, but I didn't mind it.
"It's okay; I would have preferred if John hadn't walked in." I laughed, he smiled at me and nodded. Sherlock stood, walking towards the door.
"W-wait, are you going to bed?" I asked, feeling my fear sink back in.
"Yes?" He turned, peering at me with those mysterious eyes.
"I'm.. I'm afraid to be alone.." I admitted, staring at my feet. Sherlock hesitated, before exiting the room. I sighed and laid back again. I glanced at the clock.
9:30!?
We had been talked for almost 4 hours! I sighed and rubbed my eyes, tomorrow was a full day of work, and I had to get ready for the new day. I pulled the covers over me and turned on my lamp, rolling over to face the wall. The door opened, when I looked up, Sherlock was standing there with plaid pants and a white t-shirt. He climbed under the covers next to me, and faced the opposite direction. I smiled gently, feeling my anxiety drip away like water left over on a tap. I closed my eyes and drifted off.

By the time morning came, Sherlock and I had spent the first night in OUR flat together, he insisted on calling it that.
"Do you want anything?" I asked Sherlock, I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of oatmeal.
"No." Sherlock sipped his coffee, reading a case file that Lestrade had dropped off before we woke up. I nodded and took down another spoonful. My phone buzzed. Just with that, the room fell silent. Sherlock was staring at it intensely. I didn't want to move, I was too afraid.
"Maybe it's just John.." I whispered, reaching for it. I could see that the number was blocked out. Bile rose in my throat as I picked up the phone and read the message.

"I'm here, beautiful ~M"