Ok so we've seen how Harv deals with insecure s/o, but what about reverse? When Harv is feeling not up to sex due to trauma or just insecurity. Like he's fully baring him to just get on with it but s/o is like 'nope your not into it, come on we are watching a film instead.'
Harvey Dent/Two-Face x Reader
MDNI --- Two-Face x Gender-Neutral Reader --- Established Relationship/Angst/Comfort --- 700 Words
“We’re not doing this,” you say, voice cold, swinging a leg off of Harvey.
He remains there, in the barely creased sheets of the bed, and his pupils are hardly visible through the glaze of his eyes. He’d been dissociating, and as silent as a graveyard. How tragic, because by God, he did look gorgeous there, the way he lay, his large body on display like an art exhibit, and just like such an exhibit, he’d been still eerily still.
“Just do it,” Harvey groans, and he props himself up on one elbow, though that far-off look doesn’t leave his face. It’s like he’s miles away from you.
“No.”
You pull on your underwear, lips pressed together in an unimpressed line. You’d manage to get on top of him, his cock inside you, but when you started riding you knew something was immediately wrong. He’d gone limp, and a pang of disgust had hit your stomach, and the thoughts came rushing.
Had you said something? Done something? Had you both taken drugs? Drank? Pressured him into it? Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he speaking? Why wasn’t he touching you back? Why wasn’t he happy?
“Why not?” Harvey asks, though there is no genuine interest in his voice. It’s low, mumbling, as if he was a child who’d been scolded.
You spin around. “Because you scared me. You looked like you were drugged. And you weren’t responding to your name.”
Harvey pauses, emotionless, and it’s clear he’s constructing a lie. Normally he was a fantastic liar. But not when he was like this, and you’d learned that quickly.
“Just tired,” comes the lie. “Just tired, sweetheart.”
His voice is rotted with something else. Guilt, shame, embarrassment. Something like that. It was more than exhaustion. There was something behind the wall of words, an entire world you couldn’t see. What had happened to him? What had brought this on?
“I don’t believe that,” you make sure to say. “But I know you. I know neither of you will tell me the truth, so I’m not even gonna pry.” Waste of time. “We’re gonna relax, I’m gonna make some tea, and we’re going to watch a film.”
Harvey’s lips curve to the side, and he shakes his head. “No, no, come on. Get back in bed. Look, we’re still hard, come on, doll-”
“Except you’re not. You went flaccid inside me before I got off, I don’t want to hear it, Harv. I wish you’d tell me, but I know you won’t.”
And he doesn’t. You make tea, you flick on the TV, and you return to bed, just not with the same objective in mind as he. You hand him his cup – a Live, Laugh, Lawsuit one – and snuggle in beside him, tossing the blankets over both of your lower bodies.
“You can pick,” you say, handing him the remote.
You’re given nothing but a grunt, and he starts to mindlessly flick through channels. It was satellite TV; he despised streaming services. So, he does it for a while, and many faces flash by. News channels, TV shopping ads, a jungle, a few gunfights, a cheap B-flick with a horrible monster costume, reruns of old sitcoms, and they all keep going by. His mind clearly wasn’t here.
“I wish you’d tell me,” you say, though your voice is lax now, barely a whisper. “I wish you’d talk about what hurts you.”
You run your hand over his chest, raking the hair of his pecs, before bestowing soft, circular massages near his heart, as if it could make it all better. Still, he is silent for a while, and he does not look at you as he flicks and flicks. His body is tight, like a fortress holding on for death against an attack. But you weren’t attacking, were you?
You kiss his neck. “I love you. Both of you.” It’s all you can say now.
The flicking stops. Looks like you’re watching some Judge Judy on extremely low volume. An arm comes around you, and your head is pushed into his large chest, your pillow for the night.
“Just bad things,” Harvey hushes. “Just bad things. So let us focus on a good thing right now, yeah?”
Sherlock figures out who the father is and the cat has the reader’s tongue. Or, the reader reads auras and Sherlock realizes that maybe The Woman has nothing on the one he already has. Thanks for reading!
Sherlock Holmes/Reader
You hadn’t seen Sherlock in over a week.
It had all happened so fast you could barely keep up. One moment you’re out on a case with John and the next Sherlock is heavily involved with a woman who you only knew as beautiful, powerful, and way smarter than you.
It was too much to be around him and his constant texts with his very specific ringtone so you had decided in order to save your friendship, you’d mourn your imaginary relationship in peace. He hadn’t called or texted, but since technically this was a case you didn’t expect him to. Usually, you were working the case right alongside him. You honestly hadn’t thought he noticed you were gone.
You were cocooned under the blankets watching old recorded episodes of Maury when your phone went off.
Can I come over? SH
And then, right after:
I’m coming over. John told me it was polite to ask but I know your work schedule and I know you’re home. SH
Your lips gave way to an involuntary smile at that. It shouldn’t surprise you as much as it did that Sherlock knew so much about you because you have spent most of your days together as of late, but it still made you feel special even if it was a little odd. Sherlock Holmes coming to your flat was the last thing you expected tonight and you were nowhere near prepared. Sherlock had never shown any interest in seeing where you lived before and it wasn’t that shocking seeing as you spent more nights on his sofa than you did in your bed. You got up and tried your best to tidy up, put on some better looking pajamas and unlocked the door for him.
The door’s unlocked. Y/I
You got back under the blankets and made sure to leave room for Sherlock to sit, too. It wasn’t long after you sent the text that you heard steps coming towards your bedroom door. You hardly expected him to show up in his pajamas and horrible-- but so cute, you thought-- bedhead but there he was in all of his glory. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and you weren’t sure you wanted to know what (or who) kept him up all night. His lips were fixed in what you could only describe as a pout and he looked like he was on a mission to decipher you as soon as his knees bumped the bottom of your bed.
Shades of blue and purple complimented his complexion tonight. You tilted your head back to see the colors better and tried to find where the light was stemming from. Before you could even say hello or finish your analysis, Sherlock was on your bed and pulling away at your blanket cocoon to invite himself underneath. You let him, of course, and realized this is the closest you had ever been to him. It felt like it could be a normal night routine and your heart ached.
It was then that it fully hit you how much you missed him. You had hoped that the way he was acting now was a reflection of how much he missed you, too, but getting your hopes up never did bode well for you. Remembering the reason you hadn’t been around all that much hit you like a freight train and you wondered if he saw right through you.
He got settled and you both sat together in silence watching as the program played. You couldn’t imagine that he came all this way just to watch telly with you and your curiosity got the better of you. “Sherlock,” you started, turning your head to face his profile, “why’d you come over here?”
“Do I ask you that when you’re at my house?” He shot back quickly, his eyes never leaving the TV. While that would sound rude to anyone else, you knew that tone. He was anxious.
“You always invite me over. You don’t have to ask.” You countered.
“Hardly my fault you don’t invite me over. That says more about you than it does me.” Sherlock finally turned to face you and you thought he looked like ethereal with the TV light cast on his face. How you loved him so.
You could tell he was avoiding whatever it was that was bothering him and figured if he came here to sit in silence with you, you could do that for him. Turning back to the TV, you brought the blankets up even further around you two.
“He’s the father,” Sherlock said minutes before the talk show host announced it, “and you’ve been... avoiding me.” So he did notice. Just as you were about to deny it, he added, “do not lie to me. We know each other far too well for that.”
You sighed. You really didn’t want to have this conversation with him now, or ever, but here Sherlock was snuggled up in your bed with you secretly worried that you haven’t been around. If you’ve read all the signs up until this point wrong, well, you get an A for trying.
You could feel blue eyes boring into you and he was surely expecting an explanation. “I don’t know. This case has just been a lot on me.”
You didn’t know what else to say. Everything involving Irene Adler was too much for you and you thought if you pretended it wasn’t going on, you’d be able to forget about it and move past it. Of course the “it” you were trying to move past was laying in your bed with you.
You didn’t have to further elaborate because just as Sherlock was about to speak, his phone moaned. Figures.
You couldn’t hide it if you tried. She was texting him late at night and he didn’t even seemed surprised so that meant she had been texting him late at night. Your body slumped immediately and you cursed yourself because you knew Sherlock was watching. You didn’t want him to see you so weak.
“Irene Adler.” He murmured, talking more to himself than you. “You’ve been avoiding me because of Irene Adler. I don’t understand.”
He truly was lost at this point. How Sherlock could be so brilliant but so blind was an anomaly you’d never understand. You looked at him as he tried processing this new piece of information and you could see that it wasn’t adding up for him. He couldn’t possibly understand how hearing the love of your life’s ringtone for another woman being a moan would ruin someone’s mood. It was too far beyond him.
“Sherlock, it’s fine-- it’s not her. It’s not you. I’ve just been tired. It’s me.” You try reasoning with him but it’s no use, he already off on his mental tangent. He sat up farther in bed and brushed his fingers against his lips. Something suddenly dawned on him and he was shoving his phone in your hands.
“Our texts, read them. She keeps asking me to have a night with her and I never reply. I don’t want to. Look.” He’s urging you to look at this point, and you’re unsure of what he’s trying to prove that for. You didn’t think he knew that you’d be jealous, and frankly, you didn’t think he’d care. But it was unlike you to keep him waiting, so you started to read their message thread and he was right. He had literally never responded and at this revelation you looked up at him.
Sherlock was watching for your reaction, that much was clear. Still sat up, he looked down on you as you read and met your eyes with an emotion you couldn’t discern.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sherlock. You’re a grown man, and you’re allowed to do, and see, whoever you want.” You watched as his aura got stronger as you spoke and you wondered what he was feeling. It looked like it was coming in waves.
“Not at the cost of our relationship. She is not worth a damn to me, especially if it means losing you.” Sherlock was serious now, and that took you by surprise. You had never expected him to say anything like that about you, much less in this context. You started to wonder if all of your hopeless unrequited feelings weren’t so unrequited after all.
Now you were sitting up, and you were sitting knee to knee next to each other. “You won’t lose me. You will never lose me, Sherlock, I need you to understand that.” You matched his tone, speaking in earnest.
“Besides, if I ever did get lost, you would come find me. You wouldn’t be able to resist the game.” You offered him a smile to try and lighten your heavy confession, and when he took it, yours turned into a grin.
You really didn’t know how you got lucky enough to love someone as beautiful as Sherlock. It takes everything in you not to lean over and kiss him stupid.
You don’t push him any farther tonight than what he’s already offered you because it’s more than enough. Instead, you lay back down and pat his pillow for him to lay next to you and start another episode of Maury. He lays back down and he’s the calmest you’ve seen him all night.
“If you guess the outcome of the episode correctly within the first three minutes, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.” You challenged, looking over at him like he put the stars in the sky himself. And in your world, he did.
I have had an evil thought... Cockwarming Harvey/Twoface whilst he conducts a very important meeting with his men.
Harvey Dent/Two-Face x Reader
MDNI --- Two-Face x Gender-Neutral Reader --- Cockwarming/Toxic Dynamic/Public Kink --- 1.5K Words
“Just stay under the fuckin’ table,” Harvey snapped.
Well, it was less Harvey, and more Two-Face. Harvey seemed to be dormant tonight, and you wished he wasn't. The coin had come up ‘bad’, and his foul mood had been like a storm choking up the office.
"Move and we'll fuckin'-"
He didn't finish. His voice sounded like it had been dragged along glass and cigarettes for miles, and the vibration of it snapped your body into stillness as you knelt like a good partner does under the leg space of his desk. His strong thighs wall either side of you, his fly undone, and saliva dribbled past your lips like some dog.
And like a dog, you had a bone in your mouth: his girthy cock rested snugly upon your tongue.
You had been commanded not to move. Not to suck. Not to lick, hum, taste or swallow his pre. Harvey had scolded you before for being too restless, for moving too fast during sex, for being a “desperate slut”, and he’d smacked your ass on the way to his office to warm you up for the challenge. That's what this was, a challenge, and losing it might have meant something worse than death.
Speaking of, he was quite the dribbler, and the salt of his cum coated your tongue. You hoped this meeting was over as quickly as one of Harv’s coinflips. Sitting here was hell. But, who were you kidding? This man was a lawyer, the best, wasn’t their thing talking until they had won?
The creak of a door sounded, and your heart stopped. They were here. Footsteps approached, and all you could do was focus on Harvey’s scent that wafted from his expensive suit. Anything, anything other than the fact that strange men were now just several feet away. Yes, Harvey’s scent… That faint tobacco, a spritz of expensive cologne, something leathery…
“Sorry for the late one, boss, but we-”
You zoned them out. You needed to, or else you might have made a mistake. Your eyes wandered over Harvey’s thighs, and you weakened as they tensed. Was your mouth that good? Was it making him all tautened? His suits were fitted superbly, and you swore you saw the fabric move from the side of your eye.
They still spoke. Slow breaths exhaled from your nose as you gazed up at him. He did not look down, it was like you weren’t there at all, but the tendons of his neck twisted, and his breath was uneasy. He may have been pretending you weren’t there, but he sure as hell was very aware of the sensation of your tongue bedding his cock.
Surely a little tease wouldn’t have hurt…?
Your tongue gave a light flick over the slit of his tip, rewarding you with a bead of pre. Harvey’s plush lips – what was left of them on that side at least – twitched. A wooden drumming thundered from above: he was throttling his fingers against the desk, no doubt.
“- yeah, boss, and that fuckin’ Cobblepot bastard, he-”
You inhaled Harvey’s scent again, that earthy mix of smoke and cologne, and his cock twitched in your mouth. You look like an open-mouthed sex doll below him, your lips parted wide to take in his length, your eyes like lakes as you slowed your breathing.
Please, you beg to yourself, please get the fuck out. Please.
Harvey’s eyes fluttered down towards you, only for a second, probably less, and it seemed he had gathered all the information he needed. He shuffled in his seat, and his arm reached for something on the desk. You flicked your tongue again, and this time his teeth gritted.
“- anyway, the shipment, boss. It’ll be here, promise, but we’re gonna need-”
Suddenly, his arm came down, and he hovered a piece of paper in your face that was plastered in scrawling, angry handwriting.
Get my cock out of your whore mouth and get on all fours and put it inside you. And no fucking moving.
Your heart sank. He’d fucked you before, and each time your body embarrassingly lets itself go, like your strings of purity had been snapped. His size and ferocity always hit the right places with ease, and he’d always taunt and laugh at how you rolled your eyes, how you screamed his name, how you were nothing but a cocksleeve for one of the biggest scumbags in Gotham.
Of course you were, and you did what you were told, always. Slowly, you slid his length out of your throat, and you almost choked. Finally, air. It took everything in your power to not gasp as he left you, your hand clawing at your neck as if that would somehow make you quieter. With slow breaths as the thugs jabbered on, you squeezed yourself around in the tight space and slipped your underwear off.
You looked like an idiot down there, on all fours, ass exposed, and you’re reversing into Two-Face’s cock while his men are none the wiser. Because you’re a whore, Harv would say, we fucked you once and that was enough to get you hooked. Knew it when we saw you. And then you came to us for the second time… and you know us, doll. Twice seals the deal.
And here you were, for what, the tenth time? Twentieth? You had lost count.
Harvey’s head stretched you open, and you clamped on your tongue like a vice to stop the pained squeal as you slid along him. Suddenly, his hand returns again, but not to weave a command, rather to squeeze your ass. He wasn't gentle about it, and he kept it there as you strained through sweat and trapped whimpers until a wet click signalled that you had taken all of him.
Harvey shuffled in his seat again, and his cock swerved inside of you, brandishing against your walls, dipping further along your insides. It forced you to arch, to push your face into the carpet and muffle a yelp. He was bigger than average, and he knew it.
The thugs had not left yet. They kept talking, and talking, and Harvey talked too, elaborating, scheming, and every now and then he jerked his seat forward as if he were repositioning himself, but he wasn’t – you knew he wasn’t. It was like your stomach was being jabbed. Each movement made a soft, wet sludge, only for his ears to indulge in.
Your knees began to ache, so you moved a smidge – just a smidge – and, suddenly, his nails dug into your skin through that tight grip of your ass. Any wrong move at all and… well, you didn’t know what he would actually do. It may not have been wise to test the waters. Two-Face did not boast the fairness of Harvey, and he could be particularly violent. Violent in the bruising kind of way.
“- anyway, yeah, is that it, boss?”
Lightning in your veins. It was finally ending, and your chest flushed with heat as Harvey’s fingers found your arousal, spidering down your ass, gently fingering and playing with it as his erection laid inside you like a brick. Instinctively, you started to push back, to rock against him, to finally be rewarded with his rough fucking, but you’re pierced: his nails deepen into your skin as a warning, and you-
“Ow!”
You cried out, it was sudden, damn it, too sudden, but you clamped your lips as soon as the noise passed. But…
Silence from above.
It was too late, and your stomach hollowed. It was over, and Harvey cleared his throat.
“Apologies, boys, we bought a whore for the night and they ain’t doin’ a good job of bein’ quiet.”
His foot stomped beside you as he rasped out his demeaning lie, and the silence from his men was so thick that one could have been drowned in it. You waited for footsteps. You wanted them to leave. They needed to leave. Please don’t fuck me in front of them, please-
“Anyway, go and do your jobs. We’ve been disappointed twice tonight, and we need to make amends for at least one of ‘em.”
More silence, and finally, the cautious footsteps of his men made their way out. Once that office door clicked shut, your pupils dilated, and Harvey’s desk is kicked forward, papers flying, ashtray thudding off the carpet, pens clacking across the wooden floor bordering it. All to reveal you. In the next moment, a weight pinned you to the floor, and a hot breath licked your neck.
“You couldn’t even stay still for a few fuckin’ minutes, let’s see how long you last takin’ us for the next hour.”
Been feeling a bit self conscious of old scars and body image (I'm a curvy girlie) so how would Harv/Scarv try and cheer up an S/o going through this? Asking on the nsfw blog because I know their are nsfw ways of this but it doesn't necessarily have to be nsfw
Love the work!
Harvey Dent/Two-Face x Reader
MDNI --- Two-Face x Female/Plus-Size/Curvy Reader --- Insecurity/Established Relationship/Fingering --- 800 Words
Harvey’s arms come around you from behind. It had been a long day of avoiding the mirrors in the staff bathrooms and the reflections of windows on the way home from work. And now, you sulk in the dim lights of Harvey's office, where you feel most comfortable. He always kept the lights low here, for himself more than others, but it seemed to carve you just how you liked. Shadows hid things. Made things smaller, or accentuated the right places. A natural potterer.
“We know what it’s like,” Harvey says softly, his lips ghosting your ear.
“You don’t,” you reply, a bit harshly. “It’s not the same. You’re talking about… you know.” That angry mark on his face, those hellish details that forever scar him. “I’m talking about… you know.” Your body.
Your head nods downwards to gesture at yourself, at it. Harvey was normally magnificent with this 'issue' of yours. You were too fat? He handled your flesh like he would have with any other, the way you have seen other people do. Your stomach too pudgy? He’d violently kiss you to shut you up, and suddenly it didn't seem to matter. You were too big? He’d pin his weight on you and quickly replace what the meaning of ‘big’ meant.
The best part, however, was that he never made any remark on it all. There was no “I prefer bigger and curvier women” or “I don’t mind that you’re a bigger girl” or any of the sort. You were not your body to him. You were you.
Yes, he was very good, but it was not a cure. There probably wouldn’t ever be one. Harvey, as handsome and elegant and divine as you thought he was, would never get over his ‘issue’ either. Compliments could waterfall out of your mouth, soaking him, and he’d still reject.
You were the same. Always a little shadow of doubt in your mind. Today that shadow had casted itself upon you, but Harvey’s arms seemed to make it smaller. He swathes himself around you, lips now teasing your neck as he looms.
“We know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles. “Mm, we could go and smash a few mirrors if you like.”
“No,” you sigh. “I’m not angry. I just... I'm not sure what I want right now.”
Suddenly, you’re in the air, in his arms, and he’s holding you like a bride to be. “Very well. Then we suppose it will be the usual.”
Heat bursts in your chest. Already? “Oh, no, Harvey, please-”
He’s already walking to his bedroom. “Oh, yes, sweetheart.” His arm that secures your legs slides upwards, his hand curved around the flesh of your thigh, his fingertips teasing its inners, slowly inching upwards. “You already have us hard just touching you.”
You frown. “That’s a lie.”
He halts. He stares at you, blank, before a smirk twitches the inner of his lip. Then, he’s rammed you against the nearest wall, his body sandwiching you against it, his eager hands roaming along each curve and crevice as if you were the first woman he'd ever gotten to touch.
“Then we must prove it to you,” he says matter-of-factly, though his voice begins to trail into an excited rumble. “It’s what a good lawyer would do. And you certainly do encompass a gorgeous… body of evidence, sweetheart.”
You shudder as he dips his hands down your clothes, past your underwear, two fingers coming to part your folds. His stupid fucking lawyer puns… so silly, yet they work. Or was it the fact that his middle finger was caressing your clit, here, against the wall, not even in the bedroom yet?
“D-Do we have to do it here, Harv?” you manage to get out.
His finger drags itself along your cunt, gathering whatever arousal was there, and he cranes his neck so that his head presses into your cheek. Cologne wafts up your nose, and the heat of his skin seems to melt the chill of yours that had come with you from walking the streets of Gotham not long before.
“Yes,” he says, as if it were bad news. “You filthy little Goddess. You’re a bit too powerful for our tastes, you know.”
He pushes against you harder, so hard that you’re squished against the wall, your cheek pushing across your mouth, and from your eye’s corner you spot the glint of his coin. “H-Harvey?”
He’s silent. A pause. Then, without a flip, he sheathes the coin again. “You know what? There is no decision to be made here, doll.” There’s the clink of his belt, and then a smile warms his voice. “Wouldn’t flip for anyone else, why would I flip and miss out the chance of fucking someone as gorgeous as you?”
Poor reader thought it would end up being a normal Sunday but that must’ve been the mix of bleach and Pinesol fumes getting to their head. Or, the one where reader finds out they have more in common with the other woman in Sherlock’s life than they thought and Sherlock has an aneurysm at the revelation. Thanks for reading!
Sherlock Holmes/Reader
You were just waking up when Sherlock was moving around the bedroom trying to pack his overnight bag. You groaned at the noise of drawers being opened and hangers jostled and rolled over onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Sherlock? You’re leaving?”
He stopped in his tracks back towards the closet and moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to you. He looked down at you with fondness that so many people thought he was incapable of feeling and as always, it made your heart swell. Brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, you relished in his undivided attention.
“A case was brought to my attention. I won’t be gone for long, it’s a few towns over.” He insists, trying to ease your worries before they arise.
Although you’d miss him, it never did anyone any good when Sherlock was bored. He needed something to keep him occupied and you needed time to clean up the drywall shrapnel that constantly covered the couch due to the boredness. It would give you the opportunity to deep clean the flat and the idea wasn’t so bad.
“Is John going too?” Sherlock nodded. You don’t know why you asked, they always worked together.
You turned your head to kiss his palm and sat up to get out of bed. “Okay. I’ll make you breakfast before you guys leave. Nobody likes train food anyway.”
Sherlock moved to help you stand, one of the smiles he reserved just for you gracing his lips. “You take excellent care of me. But you should know, you don’t have to be useful for this to mean something to me.”
He caught you off guard, but he usually did when he read you like a book. Your whole life you’d made yourself useful and you weren’t sure if people liked you for you or for the fact that there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them. You would do anything and everything for Sherlock and it didn’t have anything to do with being useful, honestly. You loved him dearly and you couldn’t imagine treating him like you felt anything less than that. You couldn’t help but kiss him.
“Omelettes or pancakes?”
—
Your shirt was soaked from washing the dishes and you smelled like a mixture of bleach and formaldehyde from scrubbing the fridge clean and removing the severed head that took up the space where your coffee creamer should be. You had done more loads of laundry than you could count, bleached the bloodstained tub from Sherlock’s latest pig quest, the entire flat smelled like Bahama breeze and you couldn’t be more content. The boys weren’t due back for a day or two so you figured you’d spend some time with Mrs. Hudson when you were done and see if you could meet up with Bucky and Greg for lunch. When you passed the kitchen on your way to your bedroom to change, you decided that this may be the only chance you ever get to clear off the dining room table. Sherlock’s science equipment had overrun it and you figured it wouldn’t hurt if you straightened it up just a bit.
You were in the midst of cleaning out Sherlock’s beakers when you heard the knock on the door. Figuring that John would have posted on his blog that they weren’t currently taking clients because they were on a case, you expected to see Mrs. Hudson and the mop she was letting you borrow. You cracked the door just enough to see who was on the other side and was surprised to see an older woman holding a plate of baked goods who wasn’t Mrs. Hudson.
“Hi... how can I help you?”
The woman in question’s eyes lit up at the sight of you and you weren’t sure why. She smiled and gestured to the platter in her hands. “Is Sherlock Holmes here?”
She must be a client, you thought. Shaking your head, you responded, “No, sorry! The boys off on a case. I’m a friend of theirs. Is there something I can help you with?”
She was looking past you into the flat and you weren’t sure what she was looking for. “Do you mind if I come in? I could really use a cup of tea. And I wanted to drop these cookies I made for Sherlock off.”
You looked at what she was holding and decided it wouldn’t really hurt to let her in, and the cookies looked amazing. Sherlock must have helped her in some way.
“Sure, come on in. Sorry about my clothes... I’ve been doing some spring cleaning.” You stepped aside and let her in. “So, are you a client of his?”
She went to place the platter on the table and you were excited that it was already worth cleaning off the table. “Not quite. I’ve known him his whole life and have loved him even longer.” She turned and smiled at you, seeing through you in a way that seemed eerily close to Sherlock.
You hummed, taking in her answer. Sherlock didn’t talk much about his friends, so you weren’t surprised that you never heard of her.
“Just a minute, I’m gonna change.”
You excused yourself to the bedroom where your phone was charging on the bed. After sending Sherlock a quick text that someone who wasn’t a client was here for him, you dug around in the closet for something clean and more appropriate.
The lady didn’t really seem like a threat and you were sure if it came down to it, you’d be able to protect yourself. You could chuck the skull on the mantle if need be, it was a hard hitter.
When you returned, she was wandering around the flat and looking at all of the pictures of you, Sherlock, and John that you’d recently framed and put out.
“You and Sherlock, you’re close, yes? Tell me about him. It’s been so long.” She was holding a picture that you took of you two in the back of a taxi. Sherlock was on his phone but you thought his hair looked extra good and the golden hour light made him look like an angel so you had to take the picture.
“Yeah, I mean. He’s a seriously great person. A brilliant detective, he’s so smart. He helps all these people for free, and he never complains if they don’t offer him anything. He hates when I tell him he’s a godsend but who else would do that? Um... he’s really funny, probably one of the funniest people I know. You just have to keep up with his humor. It can be kind of dry, but it’s there. He’s one of the most loyal people there is and he’d do anything for the people he cares about.”
It was so easy for you to speak so highly of him. It was like second nature.
“He can be stubborn sometimes, and he can be a little more blunt than he needs to be but... he’s amazing. There’s no other way to explain him, really. He’s got a light that comes from him that rivals the sun and I don’t think it could ever be dimmed.”
She turned back to you and slowly broke out into one of the biggest grins you’d ever seen someone wear. “You really love my son.”
“Your son?” You blinked, unsure of what was going on. You really started to look at the woman in front of you and you realized Sherlock had her eyes. A complete copy and paste. “Oh my God, you’re Sherlock’s mom. I never even introduced myself. I’m Y/N, a friend of-”
“You’re not his friend, dear, and I’m not blind. Old age takes a lot from you, but I could never miss the way my son shines. And you... you see it too.” She walked up to you, still holding the picture frame in her hands. “You love my son in a way that no one else has. Let me tell you all about him.”
—
You couldn’t stop laughing.
Sherlock’s mom had brought over tons of scrapbooks and old pictures that she had acquired over the years, and you had a feeling she knew you were here alone before she even knocked on the door. Mycroft, probably. You spent the whole day getting to know each other and taking a stroll down memory lane with her telling you all about Sherlock as a kid and how it was growing up with two geniuses as sons. She even gave you a copy of one of Sherlock’s high school pictures that you were going to cherish forever. She seemed so happy to have someone to talk to and assured you that spending time with you was the closest she had felt to Sherlock in a long time.
You insisted that she stay and let you make dinner, but she was as equally stubborn as Sherlock and ordered you takeaway as her treat. You tried to argue but she was having none of it. “My God, you scrubbed this whole flat clean. I’m not going to let you dirty your dishes. How does Chinese sound?”
—
Sherlock barreled up the steps with all the force he could muster in his legs and rushed in to see you, perfectly fine and all in one piece, having dinner with his mother.
“Sherlock!” You both exclaimed, his mother full of excitement and you full of worry.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, standing up from your end of the couch. “I thought you were on a case? Is everything okay?”
“I’ve been texting and calling you all day! You’re that daft that you couldn’t text back once all this time?” He’s still out of breath and he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. His tone is exasperated and you could hear the mix of anxiety and relief in his voice as he’d yet to acknowledge his mother. She seemed perfectly content to sit back and watch the situation unfold, amusement at her son’s unusual outburst gracing her features.
“My phone was dead! And then I put it on the charger and I forgot about it once your mom came, by the way!” You went to the bedroom and retrieved your phone to find a dozen missed texts and calls.
Probably just a client. SH
11:07 AM
Are you sure it’s not a client? SH
11:43 AM
Are they still there? SH
1:00 PM
Missed Call
1:17 PM
Missed Call
2:03 PM
Call me back. SH
3:26 PM
Y/N, I’m on a case. Call me back. SH
3:44 PM
Missed Call
4:13 PM
Is everything alright? SH
4:52 PM
Missed Call
5:08 PM
Missed Call
5:10 PM
Missed Call
5:12 PM
I’m boarding the train now and I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry. SH
5:21 PM
Sherlock followed after you, still without ever acknowledging his mother, and shut the door after himself. With his palms braced against the wooden door, he tried to ease the tension out of his bones through a deep breath as he watched you check your phone. He wasn’t worried about the case at all. It was mostly solved and what little was left John could do with ease. He felt the weight of the missed calls in his stomach like lead and the three hour train ride that he couldn’t curse to defy time any quicker. He had plenty of enemies and you had virtually none, so there would be no reason to think you’d hesitate to assist anyone who came to his door, especially if it was in the name of helping him. He thought he’d walk into a crime scene and he couldn’t shake those images out of his head.
You got up from the bed and walked over to him, reaching to wrap one arm around his neck and to take his hand in yours in the other. You pressed a kiss to his jaw, and then to his chin, over his eyelids, his nose, and then lastly you met his lips, murmuring “I’m sorry” in between every kiss. He didn’t usually voice it, but you had known him long enough to know when he was upset. He relaxed into your touch as he always did and you pulled away from him long enough to pull on the ends of his scarf. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Let me help. We got takeaway for your mom and I but we can share mine. I got what you like anyway.”
He let you pull his scarf and jacket off and you were delighted to see he wasn’t really mad with you. You hang his jacket on the closet door and by the time you turn back to face him, he’s already making his way back out to the living room. Following after him, you see his mother gesturing him to come over.
“What are you doing here? I thought I told Mycroft to tell you I was away on business.” He was messing with the cuffs on his sleeves but his question was directed at his mother with unmistakable intent. She tsked at him, and you began to see even more similarities in their mannerisms.
“That’s no way to talk to your mother, William. I was spending some time with your darling partner here and I don’t even get a kiss or a hug?” She began gathering her belongings and threw her purse over her shoulder. You weren’t happy to see her go.
You did peak up at the name. “William? Your name is William?”
Sherlock groaned, ignoring you completely. You swore you could see a blush dusting his cheeks. In no time he was at the door, holding it open for his mother. “It’s getting rather late, don’t you agree? Father must be wondering where you are. Be sure to pay Mycroft a visit the next time you’re in town. I assure you, he always has time for family.”
She turned to you and blew you a kiss. “I had a great time with you today, I hope you’ll manage to bring Sherlock home more.”
Walking over to Sherlock, she paused to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, “I know you know what you could lose here. So be sure you don’t, Sherlock.”
Before she totally stepped out of the flat, she turned around one last time. “Promise me you’ll come home soon. Your father and I miss you dearly.”
“I heard you the first ten times. Goodnight and safe travels, mother.” Sherlock shut the door before his mother could get another word and your shoulders slumped.
“Hey, that was your mom! She’s really nice. We had a good day.” You started to clean up the coffee table and take the dishes into the kitchen. You couldn’t understand Sherlock’s relationship with his family but you were sure there was a lot of things you didn’t know. Still, it was nice to have a chance to bond with your (maybe one day) future family. It was then that you realized that Sherlock never said anything when his mother mentioned you being his partner. You two never really officially defined what you were, so to see him not object to an actual title made you feel all warm inside.
“No, you had a good day. I was trying to work a case and clear a man’s name while trying to figure out if I’d come home to you kidnapped or dead.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, watching you from the doorway. You looked back at him as you dropped the dishes into the sink and let out a sigh. You hated the fact that you let him down.
“I have to go back tomorrow to tie some loose ends with John. If you come with me, I have a feeling I’ll get over it a lot quicker.” His voice was quiet but full of mirth. He won’t hold this over your head, and you both know this, but if it makes him feel better you’ll follow him. You’d follow him to the ends of the Earth and off the edge if he lead you.
Sherlock pushed himself off of the doorway and walked towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.
“So, you’re staying home tonight?” You swung around the kitchen doorway and called out to the hall. You hadn’t even thought about Sherlock having to go back, and you couldn’t help but be excited that he would be there for you to fall asleep next to tonight.
“You didn’t expect me to make the trip back at this hour, did you? Besides, I sleep better with you and it’s obvious that I don’t focus well if you’re not around, Which is why I need you to come with me tomorrow. It seems you owe me, anyway.” Sherlock takes a step back so you can see him in the bedroom doorway, and you can feel your heart in your throat.
He’s so beautiful, you think, all alabaster skin and lean muscle. He’s pulling a t-shirt over his head and you wonder if you could manifest a photographic memory long enough to commit him to memory. Of course he notices you staring, and you almost want to mention all the times you catch him staring at you but he changes the subject and opens the blankets for you and you shut up and follow him. You follow him and you love him and you wake up in the morning at the crack of dawn to run downstairs and order coffee from the shop next door before your train leaves, being sure to get them to write “William” on the cup. Sherlock doesn’t find this funny at all, but he still lets you fall asleep on his arm on the train ride there and doesn’t complain when his arm falls asleep right along with you.
He thinks that if this is the life his mother wished for him as a child, that would be one thing he could take off of his list of things she eventually needs to answer for. Because mothers know best, and when it came to you, she could have never been more right.
The strobe lights won’t stop blinding him and Sherlock can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s missing out, until he realizes he isn’t. Or, the one where the reader reminds him that they’re [Sher]locked for life. Enjoy!
Sherlock Holmes/Reader
Sherlock knew very well what it meant to be lonely.
He spent most of his life alone, physically and mentally. Before John, he had no one and he resigned himself to that fact. He didn’t need anyone else. They were too stupid, too vacant, they could never keep up with him. He would never allow them to.
As Sherlock looked around John and Mary’s reception, he wished he was able to mingle and chat aimlessly with people he didn’t really care about. He was willing to try, but it seemed no one could acknowledged his effort for what it was. He thought about calling for John but he knew he couldn’t monopolize all of the newlyweds’ time. That didn’t stop him from wishing that John would be so bored with everyone else that he’d come and talk with him. Things could go back to how they used to be just for a moment, and he could take the time to adjust.
He watched as everyone migrated to the dance floor and began pairing off, laughing and smiling and enjoying themselves as they should be. People walked around him like he wasn’t there and he wondered if that was how it had always been. Sherlock had always kept his distance from most people, they either could never compare intellectually or they couldn’t take his personality so he was used to being singled out. Most of the time it was by his own doing, but in cases like this all he wanted to do was fit in. He couldn’t recall a time, if there had been any, where someone truly wanted to know him.
And then there you were. He hadn’t a chance in hell when it came to you. You burst into his life and tore everything he had built in your wake. You were everything he wasn’t and still no defense system he had was enough to keep you, and ultimately his feelings for you, at bay. With one last resigning glance around the ballroom, Sherlock decided that he’d just go home. He would be the person to leave the wedding early if that meant he could go home to you, and you’d dance with him and tell him he’s brilliant and he’d get to hold you a little closer to him than necessary.
“The most handsome man in the room and I don’t have to steal you away from anyone on the dance floor? Guess I could’ve left the brass knuckles at home.” You walked up behind him and you don’t know what made you smile more, the way his face lit up when he saw you or how the stress left his body when you reached for his hand. He should have known by now that you would always come for him.
You had been late to the reception from being on-call at the hospital but you were finally off for the night and you came ready to celebrate with the most important people in your world.
He tried to hide the upward twitch of his lips but he couldn’t hide that from you if he tried.
“I didn’t think you would make it.” He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. The strobe lights were shining all over and people were dancing around you but it felt like you two were the only ones in the room. You thought it was selfish to think that at your best friends’ wedding, but the more pressing concern was how sickeningly in love you were with everything Sherlock was at that moment.
“And miss seeing you all dressed up? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You were sure if you waited just another moment he would have asked you to dance, but you didn’t have a moment to spare. You had already missed out on so much. “Dance with me?”
You assumed his answer was yes because as soon as you asked and started to walk away from him and towards an open space, he was hot on your heels. He stops as you turn to face him and he looks like he’s about to speak but he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs your hands and places them where they should be and you two begin to slow dance.
He wants to tell you that he’s spent the whole night trying to connect with people and it failed every time. That he doesn’t understand why people don’t react to him the same way they do you, someone who lights up every room they’re in.
“You’re far away from me, aren’t you?” You asked as you continued to dance, your voice no louder than the music playing but Sherlock had heard you all the same. He nodded as he continued to lead you around the dance floor. To everyone else he seemed as he always did: composed, graceful, arrogant. But you could tell by the way his eyes looked past you and his lack of commentary that he wasn’t really with you. Sherlock was grateful that you knew him so well. He often found answers when he was lost to his thoughts but there were also times where he couldn’t find his way back. He’d get lost in everything he didn’t understand, everything he missed out on, everything he got wrong.
As if you read his mind, you cupped his cheeks between your hands and brought his forehead to yours, dancing an afterthought to you both now. You smile at him and he swears he sees the light. “Sherlock,” you whisper like you’re telling him the secret to everything, “I need to tell you something.”
You move your arms back around his neck and he pulls you closer as you two begin to dance again with the everyone else. The room was glowing with love, and you were so happy to see that so many people showed up to celebrate your closest friends’ day.
“You were the one thing I got right. Seriously, you were the obvious one. I don’t think it could be anyone else if I tried. It’s you. I love you so much.”
It was then that it hit him that you could walk away from him at any moment and take with you the light of the only love he’s ever truly known. He also knew then that you would never hurt him like that because when you told him you loved him he could actually see it. In the way you were looking at him, holding him. In the ways that you always showed up for him. You were never shy with showing it, he just wasn’t observing.
Sherlock looked at you with so much admiration you thought you’d melt on the spot. “You mean that.” It wasn’t a question.
“You know I do.” It was as simple as that. You looked around to see that John and Mary were free and you started to pull Sherlock towards them. You hadn’t seen them all night and you wanted to shotgun champagne and get your family pictures. As you pulled Sherlock through the crowd, people you knew approached you both and for once Sherlock felt a sense of normalcy. He thought he’d hate it, but he found he was a perfect fit at your side as he reveled in that fact that you’d replaced a lot of your “I’s” with “we’s”. You included him as an integral part of your life and he had never thought that anyone would see him as an extension of themselves. He decided to never let you go.
You and Sherlock eventually made it back to Baker street a little more drunk than you meant to be and a lot happier than you thought was possible. As you went to start untying his tie, his hand grabbed your wrist.
“Is that,” he cleared his throat, his eyes moving around the room nervously before finding yours again, “is that something you want? A wedding, I mean.” Sherlock was fumbling over his words at this point and you couldn’t tell if he was really that nervous or if that final tequila shot was starting to make his brain numb and he couldn’t keep his words straight.
You freed your wrist from his grip and smoothed your hands over his shirt and under his blazer to push it off his shoulders. It was quiet for a few minutes before you finally spoke.
“If we’re being honest, the only person I see myself marrying is you. And weddings aren’t your thing. As handsome as you are dressed for battle, I think we’d probably be better off doing a nice dinner. Maybe at Angelo’s with our friends. We can go to the courthouse and then take our own very special holiday. I’m thinking somewhere warm, Bora Bora?”
“Y/N, I think I’d burn.” Sherlock smirked and all you could do is laugh at your ridiculous man. Your ridiculously lovely, handsome, out of this world man. You thought about coming back with something witty, but the way he was looking at you was screaming, “I think I just told you I wanted to marry you, I love you, please kiss me” so loudly that your ears were ringing and you thought you’d be doing the world a disservice if you didn’t answer to your true calling: loving Sherlock Holmes with every fiber of your being. So of course you kissed him. Again, and again, and again.
Sherlock kept your answer tucked away in his mind and it came to surface everytime you walked Northumberland street. He wasn’t even sure you remembered the conversation but he’d never forget it. He’d talk to Angelo about the dinner and leave it up to Mary to decorate the room and he’d ask you and you’d say yes and then you’d get married by whoever could officiate it the quickest. John would get the chance to be Sherlock’s best man and his mother would probably cry and you’d be looking at him like you love him, because you do. And he’d look like he loves you too, because he does.
Sherlock insists that it would work better with the reader on top and after the night they’ve had, there’s no point in arguing. Or, the one where reader plays superhero for poor Greg and her beloved detective. Thanks for reading!
Sherlock Holmes/Reader
You hadn’t even taken your shoes off when your phone started ringing in your purse. Sighing, you dug around for it with one hand and reached for the lightswitch with the other. Work had been incredibly stressful since you were working short during flu season and everyone in London had been feeling under the weather apparently. You had told your coworkers that if they really needed you that you would come back even though you had put a solid 16 hours in. Sherlock and John had gone out for John’s bachelor party so you didn’t mind working late, and Bucky was visiting his brother in the States so all your time was truly yours. You had thought about soaking in the bath or catching up on that show you always missed, but all of those thoughts were stopped in their tracks when the ringing persisted.
“Hey, what’s up?” You tried not to sound like you’d rather chew on glass than clock one more minute into the hospital but you weren’t sure you were so convincing.
“Come get him. Please, for the love of God, come get him.” At hearing Greg’s voice, you were both relieved yet confused. Sherlock must’ve invited him last minute to celebrate with them, you didn’t remember him saying that he was coming along.
“Oh, I didn’t know you went out with the boys! Where are you guys?” It was nice to know they were all having a good time. You liked Greg and thought he was a really good friend for Sherlock and John. You had plopped down on the couch and had started pulling one of your shoes off when he said, “No, I didn’t go with them. They were brought to me. Someone called the cops on them and now I’ve got tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum arguing about the solar system and taking turns puking in my waste bin. Please, I beg of you, come get him. Matter of fact, I can bring him home. If that makes the process quicker--- I mean easier.” You heard Sherlock trying to take Greg’s phone in the background, asking to talk to you and then quickly after arguing with John once more if it was really that important he knew they orbited the sun. Greg sounded just as exhausted as you felt and you could only imagine how annoyed he was by the drunk detective that he was already annoyed with most of the time sober.
“Yeah, yeah of course I’ll come get him. I’m actually at my flat though, so if you could meet me at his place that would be awesome. I’d just need a few minutes to finish up here...” You mourned the hot bath you were never going to get to take and worked on shoving the shoe you just took off back on, “did you call Mary for John?”
“Yes, she’ll be over soon. As soon as she gets here, I’ll bring Sherlock. You’re doing the Lord’s work, thank you.” With that, he hung up and you went to your room to pack an overnight bag. You were exhausted and if you had to go all the way to Sherlock’s, it would be easier for you to crash on the couch than to try to come back home late.
By the time you got to Sherlock’s, you were dragging your feet up the stairs and you could barely keep your eyes open. You had received a text from Mary when she picked John up saying “good luck” and you wished you knew what you were walking into. You had never seen Sherlock drunk, or heard any stories of him being drunk, but you were sure he was even more eccentric than he was sober. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be jumping with joy at the experience to see Sherlock so out of character.
You went into Sherlock’s room and laid out some pajamas for him and went ahead and put a water bottle and some Advil on his nightstand because you were sure he would need it. After doing that, you changed into something more comfortable too and rummaged through his fridge to see if there was anything to eat. Thumbs, unsalted butter, and milk that shouldn’t look like blue cheese was what was on the menu and you had decided sleep for dinner sounded much more appetizing. You’d go shopping for him tomorrow.
Greg had texted that he was outside but Sherlock didn’t have his key so you made your way down the steps to meet them. Upon opening the door, Sherlock looked up at you like he hasn’t seen you in ages. He stumbled towards you and held you at arms length with a look of wonder on his face. “Finally! Y/N, I was thinking I’d die from being surrounded by total stupidity, and here you are. Ever the shining light and the beacon of hope.”
You felt the heat from his stare and turned to Greg to try and keep your composure under all his attention. “Uh.. I— thank you. For bringing him home.”
Still staring at Sherlock and shocked by his outburst, Greg met your eyes with a knowing smile. “It’s no trouble. He’s your problem now. Good luck, my dear.” He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving you with a very drunk Sherlock Holmes and a dozen steps to climb.
“Okay,” you clapped your hands together, turning towards the door, “do you think you can get up the stairs? Or do you want me to help you?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” he started until his eyes widened like he forgot who he had been talking to. It had only been a second but he saw the look that flashed across your face. You hated when he made you feel dumb because you always tried so hard to keep up with him, and he knew that. You didn’t have a chance to react before he quickly interrupted. His previous statement was immediately followed by, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please help me.”
You just nodded, unsure of what made him have such a quick change of heart but you were happy he did. You hated him thinking you were dumb. In comparison to him, maybe, but you were intelligent in your own right and you did a better job of keeping up with him than most. He threw his arm around your shoulders to steady himself and allowed you to lead him carefully up the stairs. He started telling you about his night and it honestly sounded like he had a great time, and so did John. You were really happy that it all worked out even if they did end up with Greg at the end of it all.
As soon as the back of Sherlock’s legs hit his chair, he was down in a clean swoop and you took the opportunity to start untying his shoes. He seemed like he was lost in thought and was quiet for a few moments but you could tell from the way he was swaying that he was too far gone to sober up before the morning.
“I already put your clothes out for you and I’ll help you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth. You’ll love me for that in the morning.” You smiled at him as you pulled off his loafers and moved to stand up so that you could figure out how you were going to get him out of his chair.
“Will I, though? Will I tomorrow once I’m in my right mind?” He asked, and while he didn’t say it in an ignorant tone, it sounded like Sherlock, and that was close enough.
You looked at him hoping he’d say something else. But he didn’t, and he looked back at you with a look of confusion as if he was really expecting you to answer that. It seemed like just last week he was in your bed trying to convince you that he didn’t have eyes for anyone besides you and now he’s reminding you that he’s not even sure of that. Sherlock could have you at the top of the poll and then have you kissing the ground in the same hour if he tried.
“It’s just a saying. I didn’t really mean...you know, let’s— let’s just get you to bed. It’s late and you have a date with a hangover in the morning.” You could tell he was on the verge of passing out which was good in the way of no more awkward conversations but horrible in that you’d never get him into bed as dead weight. So you pushed things along and eventually got him in bed before he was out like a light.
Draping the blanket over him, you watched as his eyes fluttered behind his lids and how his lips twitched as fell into a deeper sleep and you were sure then that you would never love anyone more. You would never understand how he didn’t realize how beautiful he made the ordinary and how easily he made everything extraordinary. Afraid that you’d turn to stone if you spent any more time staring at him, you turned off his light and made your way to the living room where the the couch had never looked more inviting. It didn’t take you long to get settled in and asleep seeing as the TV in the background ended up being the perfect thing to mask Sherlock’s drunk snores and you had never been more tired in your life.
—
“I thought you were staying over?”
It had only been a few hours since you had put Sherlock to bed when he found himself looking over you on the couch, wrapped up in his bedsheet.
“M’right here.” You murmured into the pillow, body still turned away from Sherlock on the couch. He was probably still drunk and you were hoping if you laid still enough he’d wander back to bed.
He didn’t respond to you, instead he continued to stand and stare with his lips pursed and brows furrowed. You had drifted back off only to be nudged awake once more.
“I won’t fit like that.” He gestured with the hand not holding the sheet to the couch, sounding exasperated like he had been explaining this to you all night. “It’ll only work if you’re on top, so get up so I can lie down first.”
You didn’t process what he said really, you just knew that if he was being persistent and you didn’t do as he asked he’d never let you go back to bed. You squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light and swung your legs off the couch, standing on stiff bones. Sherlock immediately made to get comfortable on the couch while you stood dazed and confused and he cleared his throat expectantly when he had finally got settled. He was on his back with one arm holding the sheet up between himself and the back of the couch allowing room for you to climb over and snuggle right into him.
All you could do was blink and hold his stare as he waited expectantly, still holding the sheet for you. You didn’t think he was asking you to lay with him, especially with how close you’d two be. Sure, you shared your bed before, but there was always enough room for you both to have your own space. You could tell he was getting embarrassed by your reaction, or lack there of.
“I didn’t think this would be rocket science, even for someone like you.” His nervousness was showing as he yanked his arm back down and curled into to himself like a child. You jumped into action so you wouldn’t upset him any more and shook his shoulder as you whined, partially from exhaustion and from missing the chance to sleep next to him.
“I’m tired, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize what you were asking. Come on, open up. Let me in.” You continued to shake at his shoulder until he looked back at you. He looked wrecked from drinking all night and you knew this bout of sobriety wouldn’t be as easy on him in the morning but you were sure he looked holy.
Sherlock reluctantly brought his arm up again and you wasted no time sliding under the sheet and tucking yourself under the crook of his arm. He smelled like beer and mouthwash and Sherlock and you thought you were going to go into cardiac arrest when he brought his arm back down on you, subsequently pinning you down to him. It was definitely a tight fit especially since the couch barely fit Sherlock but you had decided that if you had the opportunity to sleep with him like this every night that you would. Back pain be damned.
The steadiness of his heartbeat was already working you back to sleep. Sighing content, you let your body fully relax and sink further into him.
“You never answered my question.” He shifted next to you and kept you close to him all the same, his head leaning to rest on yours.
“Hmm?” You made an incoherent sound, your breath evening out as you fell asleep.
“My question,” he whispered more so to himself as he worked it out in his head. The feelings he found himself harboring for you were ones he had never felt before. He thought so highly of you in a way he couldn’t understand even if he wasn’t the best at expressing it. You were patient with him when he got on your last nerve and was amazed by him when other people would tell him to piss off. You were always kind and warm and made him feel human even after he spent so long separating himself from his feelings. He couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at anyone else the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.
So yes, he thought. Yes, he would love you in the morning. He’d love you when you’re angry with him for putting himself at risk during a case and he’d love you when you were overly tired and petulant after he made you stay up all night to keep him company in the lab. He loved that you valued him regardless of what he offered you, and that you always showed him that even if he never reciprocated it. You were never embarrassed by him, you always tried to learn about what he was interested in, and you never doubted him even when he was wrong.
Girlfriends weren’t naturally his area... but he didn’t think he would mind if it was you. He liked being close to you and physical touch wasn’t something he had sought out often before. He found that he chased the opportunity to be near you at all times. He thought you looked lovely in scrubs and a lab coat and even lovelier in your everyday wear, even if you considered it plain. He had begun to notice the way other people stared at you when you walked by and it left him with the most unsettling feeling. But then you’d smile at him and despite himself he’d smile right back and he wondered if anything in the world mattered to you besides him. Because in those moments, nothing mattered to him besides you.
Sherlock woke up alone again the next morning with the worst headache he’d ever had. Light was shining through the curtains and he cursed the sun for rising another day as he covered his eyes and groaned. Peaking through his fingers, he saw that the Advil and water had been moved to the coffee table for him and when he reached out for it he noticed the note on the table. He sat up with one hand gingerly holding his head as he read it.
“Got called into work to help the girls. John and Mary are coming over for lunch, so text me what you want me to bring home. We can’t serve our best friends buttered thumbs for lunch. I’ll see you soon!
-Y/N xx”
He held the note in his hand, contemplating what his next move would be. You were interested in him, that he knew for sure. He’d contemplated casually mentioning to everyone that you were dating, but he technically hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend and you two had never talked about any mutual feelings. Maybe he’d kiss you when walking you to your taxi, but he knew he’d make you stay with him instead of letting you go home. Possibly tonight when you were laying in his bed he’d tell you it had to be you, it could only ever be you.
Leaning back against the couch, he rubbed at his eyes and decided he’d call John over early and he’d help him sort it out. John always helped him. Standing up was harder than it looked apparently, as Sherlock wobbled to the side and fought the urge to puke. Perhaps he should shower first, surely you wouldn’t say yes to being his if he didn’t look his best.
He remembered how he looked and acted last night and winced. On second thought, maybe you would. You had already given yourself to him for better or for worse and soon enough, he smiled, he would give you himself in return.
