#sherlock request

“Guys, I swear on my life,” you chuckled as your finger crossed over your heart, “I’m taken.”

Your friends rolled their eyes at your declaration. 

“What?” 

“Babes,” Lucy said. “You keep telling us about this guy, yet….” She looked around the bar that your friend group was drinking at. “I don’t see him.”

“He’s just…” You began. 

“Married to his work. We know.” Miri said. She took a big swallow of her martini. “Well, I’m off to get another round.”

She quickly excused herself from the table and walked over to the bar. 

You sighed. It wasn’t your’s or Sherlock’s fault that there was a new serial killer in town. This one seemed to evade your boyfriend’s and John’s attempts of catching him at every turn. You your friends. knew what stakes his job had, including late nights and missed opportunities to introduce him to 

Lucy called your name. “You don’t have to keep lying just because all of us are taken. I promise, as your friends, we won’t judge you.”

To this, you rolled your eyes. When were your friends going to understand you were taken? 

“Plus,” Lucy continued. “I’ve heard that Garreth has an eye for you.”

You snickered. “Garreth, the heartthrob of our year. I call bullshit.”

Lucy nudged you on the shoulder. “Is it bullshit that he’s been staring at you this entire time we’ve been here?” Lucy’s grey eyes peered behind your shoulder. 

Quickly, you turned around and saw him: Garreth. His bright green eyes lit up the moment you saw him. You had to admit, he was attractive. He was tall, with curly red hair, and freckles all over his face. Not to mention, he was quite smart in all of his subjects. He flashed you a smile, one which you returned. It would have been rude not to, you thought. 

“See!” Lucy exclaimed. 

“See what?” Miri asked. Her hands were full as she juggled the new round of drinks. 

“Garreth’s been checking out, our friend here,” Lucy explained. 

“Again? He does that all the time. I swear to god that the man is in love with you,” Miri said in a teasing manner. 

“Guys,” You said sternly. “I’m taken which means I have eyes for only one person.”

“Sure,” Lucy and Miri responded at the same time. 

You took a shot. The fiery liquid traveled down your throat and spread warmth to your body. 

“Look,” Miri said. She herself took a shot of alcohol. “If we haven’t met this…”

“Genius, tall, beautiful man of a boyfriend,” Lucy finished. 

“Yeah that. If we haven’t met him by the end of the month. I’m setting you up on a date with Garreth,” Miri said sternly. 

You groaned. Your finger pinched the bridge of your nose tightly. This was going to be a long night. 

_________

It was a quarter after midnight when you walked into the doors of 221B. A bright light shone from on top of the stairs. The warm golden light could only mean one thing: Sherlock was awake. 

You smiled softly at the thought of your boyfriend, as your feet sluggish in movement carried you up the stairs. Sherlock appeared in the doorway watching your climb. It was as if he knew you were coming from a block away. He probably did. Sherlock had a way with those types of things. 

The first thing you did was envelope your boyfriend in a warm embrace. Something he gladly returned. The comfort you felt in his arms was unmatched: his heart beating underneath your ears as you rested your head against his chest, his soft hands cradling your lower back and hips pulling you taut to him, and how his head dipped to kiss the crown of your head. If you died right now, you were sure that heaven would be in Sherlock’s arms. 

The two of you stood at the top of the stairs holding each other. Your bodies swayed back and forth in a slow dance. It had been a rough day, it seemed, for the both of you. 

“Any luck with the case?” You inquired, pulling away from the hug. 

Sherlock shook his head. “Not as much as I would have liked. We’ve narrowed down the possible location of the next murder, but that’s all. He seems to have avoided our every plot to catch him.”

“You’ll solve the case and catch him. I believe in you,” you comforted. 

Sherlock smiled and whispered your name. “If only the world revolved around your belief in me, I’d have solved the case by now.” 

Then Sherlock brought his lips to yours in a gentle manner. He was savoring the kiss. It was one of the only things he cherished. Your lips could bring him out of the grey haze he often found his mind in. He loved the feeling of you flushed against him. He loved you. 

“Now,” he said with a hand on your lower back leading you into his flat, “mind telling me what’s on your mind.”

You sighed and shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you, darling.” 

An electric wave shot down your spine. Even after months together, you still weren’t used to that nickname. The things you would do to have him whispering it in your ear like a prayer. 

“You were supposed to meet my friends tonight, Sherlock.” You said. 

“I know, but Lestrade found another body and…”

“The case is important and I understand, it’s just my friends don’t believe me.”

“Believe you?” Sherlock asked. His brow raised. 

“They don’t think you’re…” Your voice grew quiet. “...real. They think I’m making you up.”

Sherlock reached out and laid his hands on your forearms, running them up and down in a comforting manner. He stepped closer. His piercing blue eyes are on you. You had his full attention. 

“They gave me a vendetta. If they haven’t met you by the end of the month, they're going to set me up with Garreth.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “Garreth? Who’s…”

You cut him off before he could finish. “Just a guy in my year. Apparently, he’s in love with me or something.” Your eyes lowered as you muttered those last words. 

Sherlock’s hands stopped tracing your arms. You could hear Sherlock’s entire body grow tense and his breath becomes slow and calculated. 

“They just need to meet me?”

You nodded, too embarrassed to say anything. 

“I’ll meet your friends. Now tell me about Garreth, it seems I need to have a word with him.” Sherlock began. 

You chuckled and pulled him down for a kiss to silence him. 

Sherlock’s mind was made up as you kissed him. He’d let Garreth know you were his. He’d make your friends into believers. If there was any truth in this corrupted world, it would be that Sherlock loved you and that he was yours and you were his. 

________

“Next class, I would have liked you all to have read chapters sixteen and seventeen,” your professor announced to the class. “These chapters are crucial for the discussion, so please come prepared. Class dismissed.”

It was as if a wave of vitality drowned the class. Students, who were moments before drooling onto the desks and their eyes closed, now shot to life. They stuffed their computers and textbooks into their backpacks. 

As you gathered your things at your desk, you noticed a shadow fall over your figure. You peered up to glance at the person. It was Sherlock. 

You looked around confused. “Why are you…” 

“Thought I’d come to visit my girlfriend and take her out to lunch. Seemed to have a break from the case for a moment,” Sherlock replied. The corner of his eyes crinkled as a grin flashed across his face.

You couldn’t help but match his smile. It really was contagious. “Perfect. I know just the place to eat,” you said. “And it just so happens my friends are working there.”

There was a sparkle in Sherlock’s eye. “Perfect indeed.” He extended his elbow out to you. You linked your arm with his and led him to the cafe for lunch.

________

“Miri, the girl’s got three more days in the month,” Lucy said. “You can’t set her up on a date with Garreth.”

“Oh, and how much do you want to bet that her boyfriend will magically turn up in those three days,” Miri shot back. Lucy sighed in defeat. “That’s what I thought…I just worry about her. She needs to go and find her person. I care about her too much. Plus, Garreth is a big sweetheart and everything she’d ever want in a man.”

“I care about her to Miri, but…” 

A bell rang from above the door. The sight left both Miri and Lucy’s eyes to bulge out of their heads. The two of them had to do a double take. Once they certified with their brains that what was in front of them was real, they couldn’t help but squeal. 

There stood their best friend, you. What the real sight was the man linked to your arm. They ran through the description you had given them of the mysterious man. 

He was tall, check.

He had a head of gorgeous dark curls, check. 

Cheekbones that could cut, check. 

Entrancing ocean blue eyes, check. 

A smile that puts the greatest celebrities to shame, check.

A gentleman, check, 

Absolutely and irrevocably in love with you, check, check, CHECK. 

“It’s him!” Lucy and Miri whispered to each other. 

“Hi, Luc and Miri,” you chirped. You lifted a hand and pointed to Sherlock. “This is my boyfriend, Sherlock.” The two women eyed you and Sherlock. They were doing a horrible job of hiding their excitement. “Sherlock, these are my best friends, Lucy and Miri.” 

Immediately the two stuck out their hands to shake Sherlock’s. 

“Damn, you have nice hands. Nice fingers as well,” Miri blurted. She sent you a wink to which your face flushed with embarrassment. 

Sherlock chuckled unsure of what to say. “Nice to finally meet you two.” He flashed your friends an awkward grin. They couldn’t help but ogle at Sherlock. 

You cleared your throat. “Can we order, or are you just going to stand there and stare at my boyfriend,” you teased. 

Now it was your friend’s turn to be embarrassed. 

“Right,” Lucy cried. “What can I get you two?”

The two of your ordered lunch and then found an open seat in the cafe. Sherlock sat with his back facing your friends, which allowed you the full view of their gawking. Miri kept winking and making sexual references with her fingers. Lucy just flashed you a thumbs-up before preparing your order. 

“Sorry about my friends,” You whispered to Sherlock. The evidence on your cheeks let Sherlock know just how embarrassed you were. 

“It’s alright,” he said in an attempt to soothe your embarrassment. 

Again the bell above the door rang long and clear. In stepped Garreth. He had his backpack swung over his shoulder and a witty smile adorning his face. 

“Afternoon, ladies!” He greeted Lucy and Miri. 

“Hey there Garreth,” Miri replied as she winked at him. 

Sherlock’s ears perked up. He turned to look at you. “Garreth?” 

You looked over to the man who just entered the cafe and then back at Sherlock. Your boyfriend had a look on his face. A wave of butterflies was released into your stomach. Sherlock raised his brow up and had a smirk on his face. 

As Garreth noticed your presence and uttered your name, Sherlock grabbed onto the collar of your shirt and yanked you to him. His lips met yours in a possessive kiss. It was strong and secure and much brasher than you were used to receiving from Sherlock in public. The man tended to stick to more subtle ways of showing others that you were his: a hand around your waist, his figure standing not far from yours, a glare to anyone who dare look your way as if their eyes didn’t deserve to see you in all your glory. 

As Sherlock slipped his tongue into your mouth, dancing alongside yours, Lucy and Miri gasped. You could just imagine the look on their faces. You did tell them he was a good kisser after all and now they just got front-row seats to the show. 

You had to pull back from Sherlock. Your breath was heavy as your lungs remembered what it was like to breathe. From the looks of it, Sherlock would have kept kissing you until he passed out and you’d let him. You let out a giggle seeing your friend’s amazed faces. Sherlock pecked your cheek lightly as a small reminder. 

“Someone’s jealous…,” You giggled. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m just letting the world know what’s mine,” he said in a low voice only you could hear. 

“Well, from what I could tell, you’ve only shown three people. If you want to show the whole world, you’ve got a lot of work to do,” you winked. 

Sherlock smiled. “It’s a good thing I like kissing you among other things.” There was a suggestive look in his eyes. 

You gasped slightly and hit him on the shoulder. “My friends are right behind you Sherlock.”

“I know.” 

You rolled your eyes as Sherlock turned around and asked your friends to take lunch to go. He explained that he needed you for the afternoon. Lucy and Miri played along and quickly finished your order. They shoved in your hands and pushed you out the door whispering words of playful encouragement. 

“You scored the lottery,” Lucy whispered to you. 

You smiled and looked at Sherlock. You really did. Sherlock was everything you could ask for and more. 

Once again, the two of you linked your arms together and scurried back to Baker Street. Your takeout left on the counter was forgotten. Unlike that afternoon, when Sherlock showed the world again and again that he was yours and you were his.

_____

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The next morning, you met up with Torry at a cafe nearby for breakfast. Sherlock asked all the questions he needed and seemed quite pleased with the result. 

"A work friend!" Sherlock grins. "This changes everything!" You chuckle at his excitement and the two of you head off to meet this co-worker of Samantha, hoping to find more clues. 

When the two of you arrived at George's house, you were surprised to see Samantha answer the door. "Oh, hello there," She said, trying to force a smile. She seemed slightly happier, but was obviously still reeling from the events of the past few days. 

"We're here to see George," Sherlock states matter of factly. Samantha suddenly looks terribly frightened so you smile softly at her.

"He's not in trouble, we just want to ask him a couple of questions in case he knows anything that can help." She nods slowly, letting the two of you in. George walks in the room and immediately wraps his arm around Samantha, glaring slightly at you both. 

"What do you want?" He demands. Sherlock steps forward, ready to fight, but you grab his arm, pulling him back.

"We just have a couple of questions for you, George. Nothing serious but we need to find out if there's anything you know that could help us." He agrees and the four of you sit down in the living room. Thankfully, Sherlock is able to ask all the questions he needs to before abruptly standing up and rushing out the door. 

"Where is he going?" Samantha asks. 

"Home, probably," You chuckle. "I apologize for his behavior, he's brilliant but sometimes misses social cues."

"It's alright," Samantha smiles. "My George can be like that too sometimes." George blushes brightly and shakes his head.

"She's right, unfortunately," He admits. You laugh and smile at the two.

"Well, I'd better catch up with him. Thanks again!"

Hours later, Sherlock is still pacing in the living room of 221b. "Why is this so difficult!" He yells, shooting at the wall.

"Sherlock!" You scream, quickly jumping up and grabbing the gun from him. "I thought I had this hidden from you!" You shake your head and sit down. "Maybe you just don't have the right angle. You're sure it's not George either?" You ask.

"It can't be. He's the right height but doesn't have the right motive." 

"Being in love with the victim's wife isn't the right motive?" You ask incredulously.

"They're not in love," He replies, making an expression as if the very word had given him a bad taste in his mouth. You raise your eyebrows at him, surprised that he didn't even notice the extremely obvious. 

"Did you not see the way they looked at each other?" You ask.

"They looked at each other no differently than you and I do," He says, not looking at you as he looks over the clues again. "He kept his arm around her to comfort her, she stayed close to him for the same reason. She was happier because she was with a friend. Nothing about that means lo-"

"Sherlock," You whisper, eyes welling up with tears, voice cracking. "I'm sorry, I need to go." You hurriedly grab your coat and run out of the apartment. 

Sherlock frowns and your reaction. He goes to text John for help but stops. You could be right. If George loves Samantha, he would have wanted to get her out of that situation. Wanted to protect her. He's the right height and build. Perhaps Samantha had come to work badly injured and he couldn't take it anymore. All in the name of love.

He sits down in his chair, running through the scenario in his mind palace.

Samantha gets up early, long before her husband wakes, to get dressed and leave for work. He doesn't let her have a car so she carpools. However, he doesn't allow her around other men. That's why she's up early. She carpools with her co-worker George. George knows her husband is a jealous man, she's told him that much. But he always worries that it's worse than that. Sometimes she has strange bruises that she can only explain as "being clumsy" even though he's never seen her drop a single thing or trip over nothing. 

"Where's the motive for murder though," Sherlock wonders. "Most would simply call the police because they're too scared to step in. Why did George have the gall to not just defend Samantha but murder the abuser?" He decides to test your theory.

There's a bus station near Samantha's house. She could easily take that to work but the bus passes are expensive and George notices that she never has a lot of spending money at the cafeteria even for lunch. So he offers to pick her up for work even though he lives across town and she leaves very early. He doesn't mind the extra drive even though his shirt is extra wrinkly at the end of the day. He likes Samantha a lot. He thinks she's very attractive but he sees the wedding ring so he doesn't say anything. He doesn't say anything until one day Samantha asks him to drop her off at the corner instead of in front of her house. She tells him that her husband is very jealous and that's why she leaves extra early for work. She doesn't want her husband to see George. He respects that. But then he notices the other signs. One morning she gets into the car, a brand new bruise on her arm. "I wouldn't treat you like that," He says before he can stop himself. Samantha looks at him with an expression he's never seen before on her face. It quickly goes away, replaced by a look of amusement. "I'm just clumsy," She says. George doesn't believe it. Then it finally happens. He's running late. He gets to her house as fast as he can but it's already happened. Samantha is running out to the car, screaming. Her husband chasing her outside. He has something in his hand but George doesn't even notice. His eyes focus on the pure rage displayed on the man's face. Before another second passes he jumps out of the car, grabbing the hunting knife he had from his trip last weekend. He steps between the man and Samantha, pushing him back and stabbing him in the chest. Time seems to stop for a moment, an eerie silence falling as the man falls to the ground. George looks around in case anyone saw but no neighbors are outside. He turns to Samantha and she throws herself into his arms. 

Sherlock replays the last part in his mind, checking the angle and force to see if it would match. For a brief moment as he imagines it, he sees your face in place of Samantha's. He feels a flash of rage as he's never felt before. "I'll kill him," He yells angrily, snapping out of it. 

"Kill who?" You ask, having had to come back because you forgot your wallet. Sherlock looks at you, standing in front of him completely healthy if not a little emotionally overwrought. He feels tears spring to his eyes unbidden and he quickly turns away.

"What is happening?" He asks himself, unfamiliar with these emotions. Clearing his throat he speaks up, answering your question. "John, forgot to buy milk."

"Sherlock," You laugh despite yourself. "You're the one who forgets milk! And besides-" Your voice becomes background noise as the realization hits Sherlock. 

It's obvious George loves Samantha. He wouldn't have murdered the man if he didn't love her. 

"I was ready to kill him," Sherlock thinks, looking back at you. You've stopped talking, knowing he wasn't listening, and are now looking for your wallet among his mess on the table. A few stray hairs are falling in front of your face. The ones you always frustratedly push back. Sherlock tells you to leave them down. They frame your face and bring out your features. You're wearing the coat he bought you. You begged him to let you have a coat like his but he insisted you looked better in this one. And your phone. He finds himself smiling a little at the memory. You wanted a pink case. He refused on the grounds of never wanting to see a pink phone case again. So instead you got a purple one. It matches his favorite shirt perfectly. A fact he never forgot, loving when you match him in some small way. All the memories he has of you suddenly have a new light and it hits him. 

"Dear God I love her," He says.

"What?" You exclaim, dropping the glass beaker you were moving. The glass shatters but you pay no mind, only seeing the deep emotion reflected in Sherlock's eyes.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?" He asks, panicking. "Do you feel the same way? Could you? I've never given you any reason to love me. But you're always here for me." He looks at you directly, "Do you love me?" He asks. 

"You're asking?" You reply with a smirk, walking over to him. "The great Sherlock Holmes needs to ask something." Sherlock looks away in embarrassment, unsure of how to handle the emotions he's feeling. "Oh Sherlock," You whisper, grabbing his hand. "You really can't tell, can you?" He opens his mouth but finds he has no answer. He shakes his head, still not looking back to you. "Sherlock, among many other examples I could give as proof," You smile, stepping purposely into his line of sight. "I bought a phone case to match the bloody purple shirt you love so much."

"You did that on purpose?" He asks. You nod, blushing brightly. He reaches up and wraps his finger around that little lock of hair. For the first time since you've known him you see a completely genuine and relaxed smile appear on his face. "You love me," He whispers. Looking back into your eyes, he smiles even wider, finally able to acknowledge what he should have a long time ago. "And I love you."

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No response.

You pause a moment. Then you hear giggling coming from the back of the flat. The closer you get, you realize it’s the bathroom. And there’s more than just Sherlock’s laughs coming, there’s a woman there too.

Your heart’s hammering in your chest while your shaky hand goes for the doorknob. The adrenaline rushing in your ears if deafening you to John’s calls.

“Y/N! Trust me! You don’t want to do that! Please don’t open the door!”

You disobey your older brothers orders as you slowly open the door to the bathroom, eyes already watery.

The scene before you is one of horror. A brunette woman is in the bath with Sherlock, on his lap as he slowly kisses her.

A tear slips out as you whisper, “Sherlock?”

His head snaps to you. “Oh, Y/N! Hi! This is Jeannine,” he introduces you to the woman. “Oh dear, are you alright, love?” He asks.

You numbly turn, leaving the door open as more tears spill from your eyes. How could he?! Were you not enough for him? Why didn’t he tell you?

John places a hand on your back and guides you to the front door, taking you away from the mess.

Right before you’re out the door, you turn and walk to Sherlock’s table beside his chair - slamming down a white and pink piece of plastic with two vertical pink lines on its screen.

You walk back over to John, who’s eyes are full of realization. He wraps his arm around you and walks you out.

He takes you to a coffee shoppe down the street and orders your favorite.

“Do you think he’ll care?” You ask. “About the baby,” you clarify.

John raises his eyebrows as he sips his latte. He swallows quick then responds.

“Of course he’ll care!” He reassures.

“It doesn’t feel like he cares now,” you mumble. “What do you think? About this whole situation?”

“Me?” He asks. You nod. “I’m bloody furious. For my best friend to do this! And to my baby sister no less! Sherlock has done some bloody stupid things, but this? It’s the icing on the fucking cake!”

You nod along, feeling validated my John’s rage.

—

Days pass without a word from Sherlock. John was staying with you at your place, wanting to keep you company while you worked through your feelings.

You were sat on the couch with your brother, watching an old movie you’d loved as kids and drinking tea.

You get up to use the bathroom while John makes popcorn. Once he’s got the bag in the microwave, there’s a knock at the door.

He walks over to the door and checks the peephole. “Oh for heaven’s sake,” he mumbles while opening the door.

“What d’you want?” He asks Sherlock angrily.

“You,” Sherlock replies simply.

“Me?!” John says incredulously.

“Yes, a case has just come in and I need your help,” The consulting detective pushes through his friend and into your flat.

“Right,” John says, struggling to remain calm. “I want you,” he points at the door, “out. Now.”

“John, that’s hardly logical. We have a case to solve,” Sherlock leans against your kitchen counter.

“Logi— You think I’m going to help you with a case?! After what you’ve done to my sister?! You use her for your own twisted sexual desires. You deny her an actual relationship with you. Get her pregnant! You cheat on her! Then, you don’t contact her for days on end only to show up almost two weeks later; just to ask me of I’ll help you on a case?!”

“Wait,” Sherlock looks confused. “She’s pregnant?”

“Yes! Sherlock!” John says, exasperated. “What did you think the bloody pregnancy test was on your table for?! The aesthetic?”

“The little pink and white thing?” John nods. “So that’s what that was!” Sherlock concludes.

“You didn’t know what it was?! For one of the smartest people on the earth you are pretty fucking dim!”

“John, in my defense, I’ve never seen a—“

“—This isn’t the point! Why did you cheats on her? Why didn’t you tell her you wanted to call it off?”

“Should I have?” Sherlock asks.

“Should you— alright!” John grabs Sherlock by the collar and shoved him against the wall, using all of his army-man’s strength.

“John what’s all the- oh my god!” You walk out of the bathroom as Sherlock gets slammed to the floor with John’s hands around his neck.

“Jesus, JOHN!” You grab the back of your brother’s shirt. “Get off! Stop fighting in my house!”

John pulls away, leaving Sherlock gasping for air.

“I take it,” Sherlock wheezes. “That I probably... should have,” he’s still fighting for his breath.

“Probably?!” John goes to dive back on his flat mate, but you stop him.

You lean a hand down and help Sherlock up. He dusts his clothes of and looks at you.

“Y/N, love. I had no idea you were pregnant.”

“Really?” You say sarcastically.

“Yes. I didn’t know that that’s what you left on my table. I promise, had I known; I would have been here much sooner.”

His eyes are pleading, and you believe him. Your face softens.

“Why? Why were you with that woman? Why didn’t you tell me? If you’d wanted to call things off, you could’ve told me face to face. Instead of breaking my heart. Was I enough? Is that why you loved on?” You poured out questions as they all came to mind.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” He grabs your shoulders while John sulks in the background. “I needed Magnussen to believe I was in a relationship, and I needed one I could easily fake and then cut off. No strings attached.”

Sherlock rubs your shoulders and continues. “I couldn’t do that with you. Strings would definitely be attached. And I couldn’t stand to hurt you like that. Though now I see I’ve hurt you in nearly the same way. I’m sorry,” he looks down, ashamed of himself.

“And as for you not being enough. How dare you assume so little of yourself! You are so much more than you think you are! You’re brilliant! And I don’t deserve you,” he looks at you with adoration in his eyes. “None of us deserve you, but you, my dear, deserve the world.”

A tear slips out and Sherlock quickly wipes it away for you.

“Promise me - when you do have this child - you don’t name them Sherlock Junior,” John begs from the corner.

You all laugh as the tension breaks and move on to discussing baby names. You hug Sherlock and John tight and kiss their heads.

“I love my boys,” you say happily.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Thank you so much for reading! And also for requesting! Sorry again that it took so long for this to get here! I had a whole longs ass story planned out and decided if I was ever going to get this out, it’d have to be a lot shorter.

Who knows, maybe one day I’ll post that as well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Sherlock raised his shoulders.

‘I was thinking.’

He was annoyed. He wanted to be left alone, why did she always have to be there? But simultaneously, her presence felt reassuring, and he felt less lonelier. 

‘I was going to make chamomile; do you want some?’ she asked gently. 

He nodded and she disappeared. Her kindness often surprised him. 

He was losing himself in his thoughts, he didn’t even know why he was not able to sleep anymore. Was it because since she had come into his life, he felt like he wasn’t himself? Or was it because of that case he couldn’t resolve? Was it Mycroft that kept pressuring him to close that case and move on? He let out a long sigh, trying to reason himself. Y/N reappeared later, with two fuming cups in her hands. She placed one in front of him. 

‘So, what is going on?’ she asked, taking a seat in front of him. 

Sherlock shook his head. 

‘I always had trouble to sleep in this house,’ she admitted, blowing on the hot liquid. 

‘You know blowing on your tea doesn’t make it cooler?’ the detective remarked. 

She smiled faintly. 

‘Is it about the case?’ she enquired, staring into his eyes. 

‘It’s always about the case. I can’t seem to find the pattern. There must be one, but I can’t get it out of my mind,’ Sherlock grinned, looking away. 

Y/N scowled and stood up abruptly. She walked towards the decanter that laid on the table near one of the big windows. 

‘What are you doing?’ asked the detective. 

She started to pour the golden liquid from the decanter into two crystal glasses. 

‘It’s not a kind-of-chamomile insomnia you have there, Mr. Holmes.’

She walked back to him and handed Sherlock a whiskey glass.

‘It’s rather a kind-of-whiskey type of insomnia,’ she added.

‘Yours is almost empty,’ he observed. She had only poured a finger in hers.

‘Yeah, but I don’t need it.’

‘And you think I do?’

She raised her shoulders and sat back in front of him.

‘You hate being stuck in this house with me,’ she declared, taking a big gulp from her glass.

Sherlock imitated her.

‘Ever since we’ve met, you tried to kill me not once, but twice, you kidnapped John’s daughter and you killed two innocent people, why would I be comfortable around you?’

Y/N laughed lightly.

‘But I didn’t kill you, did I?’

Sherlock grinned.

‘And they were not innocent,’ she carried on, unconsciously biting her lower lip. 

The detective chuckled, supporting her mischievous gaze. It was as he could read her, but didn’t know how. 

‘So,’ she said, placing her empty glass in front of her. ‘What do people do when they can’t sleep?’

Sherlock frowned. At this time, he could say that he was used to her innuendos, but they always took him by surprise.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he replied, finishing his beverage. ‘Board games, perhaps? Are you familiar with Cluedo?’

She snorted and shook her head. 

‘Let’s play deductions,’ she suggested.

He raised his eyebrows.

‘Deduce what I am thinking right now, and I swear I will tell you who I work for.’

He laughed nervously. 

‘Is that all? You’ve been hiding your employer’s identity even since the day we met.’

‘Go on, then,’ she insisted. ‘Do your thing! Tell me what am I thinking about right now.’ She gave him her mocking smile, defying him like a child. 

The detective sighed and held her gaze. They both stared at each other for a while. Sherlock could hear the wind outside, brushing the leaves. The night was still very young. 

‘There are some of that make-up left on your eyelids, you never planned to sleep tonight.’

‘Perhaps I just forgot to take it off,’ she replied indifferently. 

‘I’d be surprised. You have a fairly good complexion, you obviously take care of your skin. It’s a ritual for you.’

She smiled. He was right, he knew it. 

‘And we didn’t come here just because it was suiting, somehow the answers I’m looking for are in this house. You can’t tell me yourself, but you want to make sure I will find those on my own.’

Y/N got up and slowly walked towards him. 

‘And even if we didn’t play this game,’ he muttered, ‘you were planning on telling me who your employer is anyway.’

‘Is that so?’ she breathed, stepping nearer. 

‘Right now, you just want me to tell you how I know you’re aroused,’ he declared indifferently. 

‘How can you tell?’ 

Sherlock exhaled and got up from his seat. He stared deep into her eyes, his face was centimetres away from hers. She was at his mercy, he knew it. He didn’t know what to do with it. Her lips were so near and he felt this magnetic energy pulling him towards her body. At least, until he felt the sharp tip of a blade pressing on his stomach. She chortled and held it further on his skin. 

‘Never try to play me, Mr Holmes,’ she laughed.

He chuckled too. Well played, thought he. He pressed his lips violently on hers, which took her by surprise, and twisted her wrist so she would drop the pocket knife on the floor. He felt a swift pain on his lower lip and the warm sensation of blood in his mouth. She had bitten him. She tried to pick up the knife from the floor, but Sherlock dragged her body and pinned her on the wall behind them. 

‘Third’s time the charm,’ he grinned while trying to hold her wrists. 

He was right, it was the third time she had tried to harm him now. But instead of fighting back, Y/N pressed her lips on his passionately and he loosened his grip in response. He could feel her hands unbuttoning his shirt in a hurry, her soft fingers searching for his skin underneath, then the fabric getting pulled out from his waistline. She moved her hand to grab his hair while she tried to untie his trousers, and his head was spinning and he couldn’t hear nothing but an incessant buzzing in his ears. His mind was reluctant but he couldn’t help it, his body wasn’t listening to him. He felt her free hand brushing his sex and his head tilted back. His heart was racing at the speed of light as he felt all his blood rushing down there. He tried to come to his senses and tackled aggressively his hand on the wall, making her jump abruptly. 

‘Stop it!’ he growled, out of breath, panting brashly. 

He felt sweat pearling at the birth of his forehead. She was staring deep into his eyes with that malicious gaze again, and this grin, like she knew him, like she knew everything and couldn’t be bothered by anything else in this world, as she was the only one who knew what he really was. She parted her mouth and started massaging his bulk slowly, with care, he almost couldn’t feel it, she was just teasing him, she couldn’t stop herself. He closed his eyes, and rested his head on the wall, feeling his weight dropping on her warm body, feeling the subtle arm move against his stomach, trying to dissociate his mind from his form. She started to lick gently his neck, tracing small movement with the tip of her tongue, and despite everything, he found himself pulling down her shorts, only to feel the birth of her sex under his slender fingers and he couldn’t tell if it was her voice he heard moaning in his ear or if it was just him hallucinating. 

‘I’m not here,’ he whispered in her ear, not even sure what he meant. His fingers adventured further down and he curved his hand so it cupped her sex entirely. He applied pressure and felt her pelvis move intuitively. What the hell was she making him do? He breathed in and placed his free hand around her fragile neck. He looked into her eyes again, what was he doing? Why was he doing it? He pressed his lips against her mouth, curled a finger inside her, and felt her moan into his mouth. His past deduction was accurate, she was deeply aroused indeed. 

‘Let me,’ she sighed, slowly opening her thighs to greet him. 

Sherlock shook his head, no, he didn’t even know what was happening and why did he allow it to go that far already. But he was still holding her with his body and he felt her legs wrapping him. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth while she helped him line up towards her. Without thinking about it, he pushed himself deep into her, groaning instantly and tried to regain his senses by pressing his forehead on the wall next to her head again. He was shaking, he felt like all the bones in his body would give in under pressure, he needed to lie down. As if Y/N had heard his mind, she pushed him out of herself gently and pulled him on the sofa behind them. She sat on him and he felt her pressure around him again, while his hands tightened around her waist. She was riding him slowly, with her head tilted in the back and – 

He heard a noise, like someone knocking gently on the doorframe, and he turned his head quickly. He looked right in front of him.

‘Insomnia?’ said a feminine voice, breaking up his daydream.