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You shoved a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into your mouth happily, content watching daytime television from John’s chair with your feet pulled up and your tub of ice cream. That is until your boyfriend, Sherlock, emerged from his room and plucked it from your hands, causing you to immediately protest, “Sherlock, give it back!”

“You’ve already eaten half the tub, love. It’s bad for you.”

You let out a pathetic whine, “Johhnn.”

Your brother didn’t even look up from his computer, “Give her back the ice cream, Sherlock.”

“You know as well as I do that that much sugar is not good for a person’s system, she-“

He cut Sherlock off, looking up with an entirely unamused expression, “Just give it back.”

“No.”

John opened his mouth to respond but caught a glimpse of you and let out a heavy sigh, shooting Sherlock a glare as he moved to crouch in front of you. You’d started to cry, likely over the loss of your ice cream, and now he was going to have to deal with it. Sherlock viewed the whole situation confusedly, unable to understand why you were crying, especially over something as trivial as ice cream, but still feeling somewhat guilty.

John reached forward to brush the tears from your face, “Hey Squeak… It’s ok. He’ll give it back.”

You pulled him up on the chair with you so you could sob into his shoulder, “All I wanted was my ice cream, John. Why does everything have to be so hard? Why does he hate me when I love him? He’s so mean to me all the time and I just… I just…”

You dissolved into tears and John just rubbed your back with a sigh, “Sherlock would you please give her the bloody ice cream back?”

Still confused, he handed the tub to John, who pulled away from you just enough to offer it to you, “See look. It’s ok.”

You took it from him slowly, your sobs turning to sniffles, and he exhaled in relief, letting you go back to eating it as he brushed your hair behind your ears. You kept a firm grip on him for a bit, needing his attention, and then let go as you mumbled, “Sorry Johnny… I just get a bit a emotional when-“

“I know Squeak. It’s ok. Do you want me to heat up your pillow again?”

You nodded childishly and handed him your heart shaped rice pillow, which he took, pressing a kiss to the top of you head as he went to heat it up for you. Sherlock securitized you for a few minutes, trying to figure out what was wrong, when you suddenly cringed, pulling your knees tightly to your chest as you whimpered. He went wide-eyed, spinning to find John just as he came out of the kitchen, “She’s in pain John… what’s wrong with her? Tell me!”

John opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by your spoon hitting Sherlock smack in the forehead before clattering to the ground as you angrily snapped, “God you are such an ignorant twat. It’s a wonder someone hasn’t killed you yet. John, don’t you dare tell him. Let him suffer until he deduces it as punishment for being a self absorbed idiot.”

Sherlock looked to John for help but, not daring to defy you when you were in this state, he just held up his hands, giving you your heated pillow before returning to his laptop. Your boyfriend plopped down in his chair across from you to observe as he tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with you since no one was willing to tell him.

You pressed the blissfully warm heart to your abdomen and let out a relieved sigh, curling back up tightly as you waited for the pain to pass. Looking down at the tub of ice cream you’d just involuntarily cried over, you sighed realizing that you didn’t even want it any more, not to mention you’d just used your spoon as a projectile. You stuck out your lip in a pout and slowly unfolded yourself to go put it away before the whole thing melted, standing only to double over in pain. You groaned in annoyance before plopping back down in your chair and curling back up in a ball as John, having noticed your predicament, came to take the ice cream. He was met with a growl, as you unfolded yourself again, “No, I can do it. I’m not helpless.”

You got up successfully this time, trudging to the kitchen to put the ice cream away as Sherlock started to put together the pieces. When you came back, opting to flop on the couch so you could curl up in a ball facing it’s back, he confidently announced, “This is the week of your menstrual flow.”

“I hope you weren’t expecting a gold star and a pat on the back for that deduction,” you growled.

He got up to sit next your feet, resting a hand on your thigh as he asked, “Is it really that bad?”

You changed positions to plop your head in his lap and he ran his fingers through your hair as you offered, “It like my body hates me. I can’t decide whether I’m happy or sad and I feel like my insides are being torn out.”

Sherlock frowned, lifting you and pulling his feet up before tugging you against his chest as he leaned back against the armrest. You gladly snuggled into him as you grumbled, “I'm sorry for throwing a spoon at you.”

He opened his mouth to say it was all right when you curled tightly into yourself and whimpered, fisting your hand into his shirt. He tightened his grip around you, tilting his head back to look at John, “She’s in pain. Isn’t there something we can do, John?”

John raised his head to look at the two of you, going back to his work with a small smile, “Looks like you’ve already done it.”

Sherlock looked back to you and found you’d fallen asleep, your nose tucked into his chest, and he rubbed his thumb down your arm as he leaned back to think, letting you get some rest on top of him as it seemed to be the only help he could offer.