Summary: You return to 221b one night to find Sherlock doing something unexpected.
Word Count: 1,194
A/N: another purely self indulgent fic. I know this won’t be for everyone but I haven’t seen a lot of gender exploration in the Sherlock fandom so I felt I had to add some. Enjoy! :)
Masterlist
It was a dreary London night when you slowly made your way back to 221b Baker Street. You had a long day at work and wanted nothing more than to go home and relax with your long term boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. You made your way through the streets, your feet starting to drag. Up ahead you could see the faint lights of your bedroom window. Of course he was still up, did that man ever sleep?
You finally made it to the door as you quietly made your way inside. Even through your exhaustion, you made sure to avoid the creaky fourth stair. Once on the landing, you made your way into the sitting room and shed your coat. Sherlock was nowhere in sight, so you decided to check your shared bedroom.
As you made your way down the hall to the bedroom you noticed something odd, the bedroom door was closed. Immediately your mind started racing towards a million worst case scenarios. What if he has relapsed or what if he is cheating? He also could just be changing, you tell yourself. You steel yourself and open the door.
Sitting there at your vanity is Sherlock. He is clumsily attempting to put on eyeliner and has appeared to have also been experimenting with other makeup products.
“Sherlock?” You say, cautiously.
Sherlock startles slightly and quickly sets down the eyeliner. He discretely tries to hide his face from your view. “You’re home” he says plainly.
“Yeah, I’m home.” You say as you try to move closer to him
“I-It’s not what it looks like.” He says, still hiding his face.
You slowly walk up to the vanity and crouch beside him, laying your hand palm up on the surface in invitation. He looks over at your hand and warily takes it, threading his fingers through yours.
“Hey look at me, love.” You say gently, trying to reassure him.
His head slowly turns toward you as you see the full extent of the makeup he has applied. There is a light gold dusting on his eyelids along with a rose colored blush on his cheeks. Light brown lipstick smudges his lips and you can just see the faintest trace of eyeliner where he had been attempting to apply it.
“Do you want to tell me what this is about?” You say just as softly, no hint of judgment to be found. His eyes dart away from you for the briefest of moments before returning. He takes a long, deep breath.
“I was trying something.” He whispered, his voice sounding not so sure.
“Come over to the bed, love. Why don’t we talk about it?” You try to reassure him. Taking his hand, you stand up and gently guide him to the bed. He sits down beside you, looking like he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
You sit beside him in silence for a moment. The soft patter of rain against the window being the only sound filling the room. Sherlock stares down at his hands, a smudge of lipstick on his knuckles.
“You don’t have to hide from me, you know?” You break the silence, rubbing soothing circles against the back of his hand.
“It’s illogical, I just wanted to know…” He trails off, refusing to meet your gaze as he keeps his eyes locked on your joined hands.
“What it would feel like?” You finish, voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes flash with something similar to surprise. “The world expects me to be cold, rational…heartless. I just wondered what it might be like to see myself differently”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” You say, squeezing his hand. You bring your other hand up to his chin, gently tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “You look beautiful, you know.”
Your thumb wipes away a smear of lipstick by his mouth. “But next time” you say softly. “Let me help you with the eyeliner”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you might offer”
You lean in close, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, smudging the last traces of lipstick between you. “Of course I would.” You whisper. “Anything for you.”
He studies your face, expecting mockery or pity, but finds none. Only the warmth of your smile. “All right then.” He says, a small surrender.
He watches as you walk over to the vanity, collecting a few of the scattered brushes and pallets he had just been experimenting with. You softly pad back over, settling back down beside him on the foot of the bed.
“Close your eyes for me.” You say gently.
He hesitates, but obeys. You can see the visible tension in his shoulders, a man waiting for judgment. But you only meet him with kindness. The soft touch of your fingertips lightly tracing his brow, blending out the gold shimmer that is already there.
“There, that's better.” You say, studying his face. “You didn't do too bad for your first time, just a bit heavy handed.”
“Coordination has never been an issue.” A small huff escapes his lips. “Patience, perhaps.”
You let out a small chuckle. “Sherlock Holmes, the man responsible for solving the most complex crimes, now worries about blending eyeshadow.” You pick up a small eyeliner pencil, gently tracing his eyelids.
You pull back for just a moment as his eyes flicker open. For a moment you can tell just how disarmed he is at this moment. “It’s strange. I’ve always known the world in detail. Every flaw, every angle. But I’ve never looked at my reflection and thought it could be…kind”
You cup the side of his face, your thumb brushing over the light dusting of blush on his cheek. “Well maybe that’s what tonight is about, seeing yourself with kindness.”
He doesn’t respond, only leans lightly into your touch, as though testing if the world will still allow him to. Your hand reaches for the tube of mascara.
“Look up for me.” You murmur, steadying his chin. He obeys, blinking slowly as you apply the product to his lashes. The quiet intimacy of it all fills the room.
“There.” You say, pulling back to admire your work. You hand him a small mirror. “Subtle and elegant, just like you.”
He gazes into his reflection and for once, instead of tearing himself apart with deduction, he just looks. His reflection stares back with soft gold lids, a faint blush, and the faintest, perfect line of black framing his grey eyes.
“You think it suits me?” He asks, his eyes locked on the mirror.
“I do. I think it suits who you are when you’re not trying to be what everyone expects.” You whisper, your hand finding his where it rests on his lap.
His gaze falls on you, a rare, quiet gratitude behind his eyes. “You always see me”
“Always” you say, flipping his hand over to interlace your fingers. And for the first time in a long time, Sherlock smiles. Not the calculated twitch of his lip, but a genuine curve of his lips that feels like sunlight after the rain.
Pro tip: don’t write fanfiction if you’re not prepared for the consequences. I didn’t even publish a fic, I just posted about being in the process of writing one and now I have been in the ER twice tonight with a severe UTI.
I might be working on an incredibly niche self indulgent BBC!Sherlock Holmes x reader fic after taking an extended break from writing because of school. Very excited about it!
I'm so sorry for only reblogging and posting Sherlock Holmes and it's adaptions related stuff rn but something (*cough* Sherlock & Co. *cough*) has awoken my special interest from its slumber and now there's no holding back.
i love reading fics where john gets injured because sherlock is always going through some mental anguish over the very real possibility that his only friend could be taken from him at any moment meanwhile john “passively suicidal” watson is updating the fans like
