𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Sherlock plans a picnic in the park. With nothing else to do, he and Y/N marvel at the sky. 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟
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Y/N watched as Sherlock struggled to balance a wicker basket, blanket, and champagne bottle in his arms. "Do you need help?" she asked.
He blew a lock of hair from his eyes. "No, no. I can manage."
Y/N clicked her tongue, no stranger to Sherlock’s pride. "If you say so." Leaving him to carry the burden, she kissed his cheek and flounced ahead. Earlier that morning, Sherlock had suggested a picnic in the park. Now, he and Y/N strode along a garden path, searching for a spot to settle down.
Sherlock observed quietly as Y/N darted ahead. She teetered along the paths, and he knew that just like himself, she took pleasure in the sunlight and company.
"Beautiful," he whispered to himself.
Y/N twirled to face him. "Did you say something?"
He smiled. "Yes.This is as good a spot as any, don't you think?" They had reached a small clearing beyond the central gardens. A willow tree draped curtains that hid their secret camp. Sherlock spread their blanket over the soft grass and arranged the basket by its frayed edge. He was quick to lie down and prop his head over his hands, elbows jutted out. He closed his eyes and breathed out deeply.
“You look peaceful,” Y/N remarked. She knelt down and began unpacking their food.
“Nevermind that,” Sherlock tutted. He waved off her efforts and reached for her hand. “We’ll eat later. Join me.”
Y/N smiled, delighted by his invitation and settled down beside him. She lay on her back and listened to the sounds of their landscape. As soon as Sherlock felt her near, he propped himself up on his side and leaned over her. His eyes caught the sunlight and he squinted despite his best efforts.
Y/N moved a hand up to his cheek. His shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled halfway. His collar drew up, askew. Sherlock studied Y/N with the same wonder she granted him. He leaned forwards, close enough that Y/N thought he would kiss her. At the last moment however, he veered and fetched a dandelion growing at the edge of their blanket instead.
“You seem expectant,” he teased. “Were you anticipating something?
Y/N scrunched her nose but couldn’t suppress a giggle.
Sherlock grinned. He then tucked the dandelion in Y/N’s hair. His touch was tender as he fitted the stem between strands of hair. Y/N watched enthralled as he repeated the motion. He chose the dandelions with care, checking for any damage or fault before adding to his coronet.
“There once was a princess long ago, she wanted a flower crown. A gallant knight, with sword in hand, he cut the flowers down…” Sherlock muttered the nursery rhyme under his breath, tense with focus until his craft was finished.
Y/N raised a hand to touch her dandelion circlet. “I can’t see it, but I imagine it’s perfect.” She reached her hand out to the grass, her gaze never straying from Sherlock’s. Her fingers wrapped around a twig. She brought it up and tucked it behind his ear.
“What the devil?” Sherlock cringed at the scratch of wood and stared at the gift, amused. “I make you a crown and you hand me a stick? That’s hardly fair,” he chuckled.
Y/N laughed. She reached for the front of his shirt and tugged him down to lay beside her again. The pair stared up at the sky.
“Have you ever been cloud spotting before?” Sherlock asked. His hand searched for Y/N’s until he felt the tendril of her touch.
She sighed pleasantly. “Not until today.”
"It's a simple pleasure." Sherlock focused on the clouds above. He searched for shapes that might please Y/N. Moments passed but the billows remained formless. “Oh, look at that,” he said suddenly. “It’s a… dog?”
Y/N scoffed. “Are you asking or telling me?”
“I’m telling you of course.” There was a lilt to his tone as even he struggled to believe the lie.
“I see it!” Y/N exclaimed, playing along. “It’s right across from the cat.”
She giggled and Sherlock closed his eyes, endeared by the sound. “I see happiness,” he breathed.
Y/N quirked a brow. “Happiness? What would that even look like?”
Sherlock smiled. “She has your face.”
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Take a seat, have a cup of tea, and maybe read Bedside Manners?
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Though he's known as a man of reason and cold logic, Sherlock secretly covets a life of art and romance. When a bookworm moves next door, he finds himself bewitched, both body and soul. 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟
𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @asherloki
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Y/N sat cross-legged on the doorstep of 221B. She bit her thumbnail and smiled down at her copy of Pride and Prejudice.
Her eyes darted across the pages as she muttered along with the story's script. Her favourite character, the proud Mr Darcy, was about to enter the scene, and though she already knew what would happen next, the anticipation of his arrival had her buzzing.
Though she would never admit it, Y/N's fondness for the regency hero stemmed from her love for someone all too real; her next door neighbour, Sherlock Holmes.
Just last month, she had snagged a flat on Baker Street. As the new tenant of 221D, she found herself living across the hall from London's rising celebrity. It hadn't taken her more than a first meeting to fall hard for him.
He reminded her of the heroes she read about in her books. Sherlock was very galant, what with his timeless grace and subtle kindness. Even his movements appeared calculated, each motion as deliberate as the printed words in her stories.
As an avid reader of classic literature, Y/N often let passion guide her life. Practicality wasn't her style so much as star-gazing was. Though Sherlock indulged in a hyper-rational philosophy, Y/N liked to think that a bit of discourse added great fun to any lovers' tale.
She flipped a page and leaned back against the door. It wasn't until a black sedan parked by the pavement that she finally looked up.
From her seat on the front steps, Y/N watched with interest as two men stepped out from the car. She recognized Sherlock, but the other was a stranger to her. From the sound of their bickering though, it seemed that both were agitated.
"Dinner was a mistake, Mycroft. The next time you need to consult me, just text."
"Believe me Sherlock, I'm all for skipping the brotherly bonding, but Mother insisted. She's been pestering me all week with late night calls!"
"Don't pick up."
"I can't just ignore her!"
"Why not? I do it all the time."
The men stepped up to the door, too engrossed in their quarrel to notice Y/N.
"Will you be staying long?" Sherlock asked. He reached out to pull the door handle, but it didn't budge.
"Only as long as I need to. I'll give you the case details, then I'll be off. You know how I feel about your... home."
Mycroft stood impatiently while Sherlock fetched a pair of keys from his coat pocket. He glanced at his watch. "At your leisure, brother mine."
"A bit of patience," Sherlock muttered. He tried twisting the keys through the lock, but they jammed midway.
"That's curious," Sherlock said. "It seems we've been barred out. John must have caught wind of your visit."
"You can't be serious."
"Quite."
At that moment, Mycroft looked down and noticed Y/N. "Good grief," he chuffed. "Are you meant to be the porter?"
Y/N felt her cheeks warm. She hadn't meant to stay quiet so long, but wasn't sure at which point to enter the conversation. She stood up quickly. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to linger."
"Don't mind him," Sherlock sighed. "He simply enjoys rattling off. This is my brother, by the way, Mycroft Holmes. And Mycroft, this is my neighbour, Y/N. She lives just across the hall." Sherlock smiled kindly at her, but quickly turned away.
Mycroft curled his lips reproachfully. "Charmed," he said.
Y/N clutched her book against her chest. "I'm not sure if you recall, Sherlock, but Mrs Hudon said that she was having the locks changed today.
"Annual maintenance?"
"Something like that."
He clicked his tongue. "An advanced warning would have been nice."
"She's been mentioning it all week," Y/N responded lightly.
Sherlock winked. "I can hardly be blamed for blocking out her ramblings." He tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the door. "Light reading?" he asked, nodding towards Y/N's book.
She glanced down at it and grinned. "It's Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Have you read it?"
"It's a waste of time," Mycroft interrupted. He picked at a loose thread on his jacket. "An atypical romance for its time transformed into an odious cliché. It's been written upon a value system where reason is exchanged for ill-spent devotion." He raised a brow at Y/N, his expression condescending. "My brother and I haven't the time to dawdle over banal narratives. I doubt we even spared the brain cells to remember most of the plot, so if you don't mind, this social call is over. Sherlock, could we please talk elsewhere? This case is of national importance!"
Mycroft turned on his heel and stalked away, expecting his brother to follow.
Y/N stood frozen, embarrassed by the outburst. She avoided Sherlock's eyes and wondered if he also had a bad impression of her. Perhaps like his brother, he believed her to be a silly reader with too much time on her hands.
She put on a smile before addressing him. "I'm sure you're busy, Mr Holmes. It was very nice seeing you."
She waited for him to leave, but he stalled for a moment. He seemed conflicted, as though he had something to say, but didn't know how to go about doing it.
Finally, he spoke. "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you..."
Y/N lifted her brows, taken aback by his words. Sherlock cleared his throat, flustered. "I didn't mean-" he coughed. "I believe that's Mr Darcy's line in the book, yes?"
Y/N nodded.
Sherlock adjusted his coat collar before proceeding. "I know that I have a reputation for being disassociated from the more mundane things like art and literature, and I suppose to some extent, it's true." He licked his lips. "But my good sense shouldn't discredit my appreciation for the humanities."
He leaned in close and smiled. "Or my appreciation of you, for that matter."
Y/N looked up at him. "Sherlock," she breathed. "Would you like to borrow my book?" She held it out between them, her only defense for being stunned, and not knowing what to say. She felt light headed in the best way, overwhelmed by the turn of their conversation.
Sherlock's lip twitched upwards. "That's very kind of you," he said. He reached forwards and grasped the book from her hold. His fingers grazed her hand, and sent sparks shooting through her arm.
He pulled back and examined the front cover. "I'll be off then," he said. He glanced at Y/N, a gleam in his eye. "I wouldn't want to keep your book for long. I'm sure I'll be done reading by Friday at any rate. Would you be able to pick it up then? Say, 8:00 at the café next-door? If that doesn't work for you, we could always try for a late dinner."
Y/N laughed, not able to keep the smile off her face. "That works just fine," she said. "A late dinner it is."
Sherlock pushed back on his heel, and tucked the book under his arm. He tried to appear casual, but was just as excited as Y/N at the prospect of their date. He glanced at the pavement where Mycroft waited, but not even his brother's sour expression could dampen his spirits.
"Have a wonderful day, Y/N," he called out, grinning.
Y/N watched as he walked off, looking over his shoulder every few steps. She could still feel his touch, however brief, upon her skin.
She gazed at him until he finally met his brother and trailed off across the street. Sherlock spared one last look behind him, and flexed the hand that had touched Y/N's.
She smiled.
"A lady's imagination is very rapid," she whispered to herself. "It jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment..."
Y/N ran a hand through her hair, pleased. It seemed that she and Sherlock had the potential for a classic romance after all.
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Give Thursday Thrill a shot!
@asherloki I hope the wait wasn't too much of an issue! I'm sure you've had plenty else to read until now! ♡
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Oh no, reader! Are you feeling unwell?? Sherlock has the hot soup and blankets ready. Just one problem... he's not used the whole "taking-care-of-people" thing. This might be a problem. 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟
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Sherlock paced the length of the flat, dialling John's number as he went. Only the rings of a busy line sounded. "Come on," he muttered. "In this lifetime, dear friend."
"Hello?"
Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.
"John, Baker Street. Come at once."
From the other end of the line, John sighed. "Here we go again."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your calls only ever come with strings attached. You can't expect me to come running each time!"
Sherlock stopped pacing. "Isn't that the point of our friendship? I summon you, you move to my beck and call? It's harmonious."
"Listen mate, we'll have to run through your mobile etiquette later on, yeah? Mary and I have dinner reservations. I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but figure it out!"
"Tell your wife that dinner's off," Sherlock pressed. "We need our doctor on Baker Street." He scratched the back of his neck impatiently. "Y/N is ill. I wouldn't have called otherwise."
John clicked his tongue. "Is she really?"
Sherlock grinned at John's softened tone. He was depending on his friend's sympathy. Y/N had caught cold earlier that day and Sherlock desperately needed help in caring for her. He had promised to join Lestrade on-site for a triple homicide case, and refused to miss it on account of his partner's sore throat.
"Yes, she's terribly sick," he explained, carefully. "I can hardly get a word from her. Chills, fatigue, aches and pains. The poor girl needs you." Sherlock checked his watch, pleased with his performance. If John arrived within the next half hour, there would still be enough time to catch Lestrade at the crime scene.
John was quiet for a moment as he deliberatated. "Send Y/N mine and Mary's love," he decided. "I'll be over in the morning to check on her. In the meantime, you'll have to play nurse. Best of luck!"
The call ended.
Sherlock frowned. "John?" he called. "John, are you there? Hello?"
A fit of coughing sounded across the flat. Sherlock glanced in its direction before tossing the mobile to the sofa. He crinkled his nose with displeasure.
"Sherlock," a voice croaked from the bedroom. "Could you get me a glass of water, please?"
Sherlock kicked at the rug. "Wondeful," he muttered. "I'm grounded." In a louder voice he called, "I'll be with you in a moment!"
Sherlock shrugged off his coat and settled in for a night at home. Rolling up his sleeves, he set out for the kitchen.
***
Y/N lay worn on the bed. Her head ached, her throat burned, and her nose was irritated from the sting of tissue.
It was late in the evening, but she couldn't sleep. She tried closing her eyes and snuggled closer to Sherlock's side of the bed. She had nearly dozed off when the room's lights were switched on.
"Drink?"
Y/N sat upright, her eyes bleary with sleep. "Sherlock?" she groaned. She turned away and sneezed into the crook of her arm.
Sherlock swatted at the air, brusquely. "Let's keep the contagion on that side of the room, yes?"
Y/N rolled her eyes. "Water?"
"Certainly." Sherlock approached the bed, holding the glass at arm's length. He assesed Y/N as she sipped, taking note of the shadows benath her eyes. As much as he cared for her, he felt awkward playing watcher for the night.
As soon as the glass emptied, Sherlock clapped his hands together. "Very good," he announced. "If that's all, I'll take my leave. Rest."
He made to leave but Y/N was quick to stop him. "Stay? Just sit with me for a while. I can't sleep."
Sherlock sighed, but turned back and perched on the corner of the bed. He didn't know how to make use of himself. "Could I perhaps bring your medication? It might help ease the symptoms." He tried to stand, but Y/N reached for his wrist.
"No, that's fine. My next dose isn't for a few hours."
Sherlock nodded. He glanced at the wall, feeling unsure of himself. It was an odd sensation. "Pilllows then?" he suggested. "Could I fetch you another glass of water?" He tried to think of more excuses to walk out the door, but Y/N just shook her head.
"Sherlock, I don't understand what's making you so uncomfortable. Its just a cold! You're a scientist, I'd think sickness is something you're well aquainted with."
Sherlock straightened, making the bed creak. "In theory, certainly. I'm afraid your situation requires a bit more practical experience. Care has never been my area of expertise."
It suddenly clicked.
"Oh, I see." Y/N smiled and gestured for Sherlock to move closer. Reluctantly, he lay beside her, leaning his head on her shoulder.
"I'm still easing up to the familiarity that comes with domestic life," he admitted. "I don't mean to be cross, I just don't want to disappoint you."
Y/N cleared her throat but her words were still raspy. "You could never disappoint me," she whispered. "You always have my back and I know you always will. Stop overthinking this. I just want you close."
"I can do that." Sherlock let out a breath, glad that Y/N could see past his foolishness and into his heart. Every day, he could feel himself open up a bit more, spurred by her affections. He would care for her tonight and always. He owed her as much.
"I love you dearly," he said. "You are aware, yes?"
Y/N let out a contented sigh as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. She closed her eyes. "I know you do."
Sherlock raised himself on an elbow and pressed the back of his hand to Y/N's forehead. "You're very warm," he noted. "And I dont think it's my charm that has you feeling that way. Just a moment, love."
Sherlock creeped out of bed and fetched a damp towel from the bathroom. He wrung out the excess water and walked back to the room.
"This should help," he started, careful to catch any falling drops. When he reached the bedside however, Y/N was already snoring, her face hidden behind his pillow.
Sherlock placed the towel aside and perched on the side of the bed. He caressed Y/N's cheek and laid a kiss just above her hairline.
"Sleep now," he whispered. He was just about to leave when he recalled his promise. Y/N had wanted him close.
Sherlock let out a small laugh and turned off the lamplight with a click. Careful not to make a sound, he crept to his side of the bed and settled in for the night. Y/N immediately snuggled close against his chest.
"Goodnight dove," Sherlock breathed. "Sleep well."
He wrapped an arm around Y/N and ignored the worsening itch in his throat. He had the sudden feeling that he'd soon be bedridden with her far longer than expected.
For now though, he held Y/N close and didn't let go.
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Did you wanna give Game of Kings a shot???
I wrote half of this back in the summer. I'm on a quest to finish all my abandoned fics. Wish me luck! 💖
Summary: When Y/N receives an anonymous note under the door to her flat, Sherlock pegs it as a case and insists on following up on it. Though all the clues hint at a secret admirer, Y/N might be surprised to discover who exactly it is...
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“Sherlock, I’ve already told you that you don’t need to join me!”
The consulting detective raised a brow. “And I’ve already told you that I’d like to.”
Sherlock Holmes and Y/N travelled down London’s Notting Hill, walking past a variety of bohemian boutiques and high-end eateries. Earlier that day, Y/N had received an anonymous note inviting her to Osteria Napoletana, a florid Neopolitan restaurant. Sherlock had insisted that she follow up on the invite, and had even tagged along, himself.
“It’s just a silly note. It was probably for you anyway!” Y/N groaned.
Sherlock gave a sharp sigh. “It was left under your door,” he said slowly. “Surely, whoever sent it meant for YOU to receive it.”
“It could have been from one of your little fans. They’re all lining around the block to get a taste of London’s finest detective...” Y/N mumbled with a hint of resentment. Though she knew it was foolish, she often felt jealous of her friend's appeal. Even though their friendship never developed into anything more, Y/N was still possessive of the man that she secretly loved.
“Consulting detective,” he corrected. “And those little fans to which you refer, are only just clients. Too preoccupied with their own dilemmas to ever think of inviting me out to dinner. The note is yours, I’m sure of it.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “If you say so,” she said. “And Sherlock?”
“Yes?”
“Are the outfits absolutely necessary?”
The pair had dressed in their finest clothing, ready for a night on the town. Sherlock wore a navy, two-piece suit and coat, and Y/N had opted for a classic evening dress.
“One would hope to look their best on a date.” Sherlock said, appraising her with a small smile.
Before she could respond, he had taken her by the hand and led her through the entrance of a roman inspired bistro.
“Reservation?” asked a hostess by the door.
“Holmes, party of two,” Sherlock responded coolly.
At that moment, all pretenses had fallen. The reservation was listed under ‘Holmes’, which could only mean...
“You sent me the note!”
Sherlock shrugged off his coat and flashed Y/N a quick smile. “Guilty,” he said daringly. He held out his arm and hooked it with hers. “So, will you join me for dinner?”
She managed a brief nod, still taken by his charade. A warmth grew in her chest and she gripped Sherlock’s arm tightly. The bistro’s muted lights shone down, casting a shadowed glow, but with every step forward, Y/N became more convinced that this was more than just a dream.
Walking steadily, Sherlock led Y/N to a table draped in silken cloth. “After you,” he whispered, pulling out her chair before taking a seat of his own. They sat in silence for a moment, both feigning interest in the menus. Hiding behind her pamphlet, Y/N studied him for a moment, taking in the look of caution in his eyes. There was a vulnerability to him in that moment, though she couldn’t understand why.
“Sherlock,” she began softly. “What are we doing here?”
He took a breath and Y/N could see his jaw twitch as he meditated upon a reply. He finally lowered the menu and spoke. “You see-”
“Hello, what can I get for you, tonight?” a waiter asked suddenly.
Sherlock closed his eyes, irritated by the interruption. “I’ll have the Pasta Con Pomodoro E Basilico, and my companion would like a Classic Pasta Amatriciana paired with balsamic bruschetta, and a glass of Cabernet Franc, lightly chilled if you please,” he ordered, not missing a beat. “Oh yes, and for my companion’s main course, do go lightly on the sauce, she’s not keen on it’s richness.”
“Very well, sir.” As the waiter walked off, Y/N stared at Sherlock in awe. “How did you know that?’ she asked, slowly.
The consulting detective furrowed his brows. “Your order?’ he asked. “You always order some variation of pasta and bread. And I’ve noticed your affinity toward sharp, earthy tastes in alcohol, so the Cabernet Franc was the most logical choice.” He paused before continuing. “I make it my business to know about the people I care for.”
Y/N gripped the edge of the tablecloth. “You care for me?” she asked, just wanting to hear it again.
Sherlock looked towards the cloth bunched in her grasp and put his hand over hers. He felt her hold relax and met her eyes. “Deeply,” he affirmed.
Y/N smiled and shifted slightly to give his hand a gentle squeeze. “I feel the same way,” she whispered.
Just then, the waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses loaded on a silver tray. He poured them both a drink, nodded, and let them be.
Sherlock raised his glass and gestured for Y/N to do the same. “To new beginnings and old friends,” he toasted with a grin. Y/N clinked his cup and smiled back.
“To us.”
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Give Sidewalks Of London a try!!!
@waiting-for-cas-to-save-me - dude, you actually saved me with your idea on how to spice up this fic... THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! Speaking of which, if you guys are interested in SPN, then you should totally check out @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me ‘s Fatherhood For an Angel- It’s a killer series!!!
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: A detective is only as good as his trench coat. When Sherlock rips his, Y/N immediately tries to fix it. Though he denies it, there’s something special about wearing something that Y/N has touched, even if her needlework is terrible...
Attention readers... this is a neighbourly romance :)
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“Your coat!”
“It’s fine, really. You needn’t worry about-“
“How can you say that? I know how much it means to you... pass it here.”
“Y/N, please don’t-“
Sherlock held out his hands in protest, but it was a seemingly moot point. Y/N launched herself at the consulting detective and swiftly removed the trench coat from his frame.
“I told you not to bother.” He sighed.
“Sherlock Holmes. You’re so attached to this old rag that I’m half convinced it’s become a part of you! I’m not about to send you out with a tear in your sleeve!”
“Yes mother...” he muttered.
“What was that?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and adjusted his cuffs. He looked downwards and hid a small smile.
Just an hour prior, Sherlock Holmes had torn the sleeve of his beloved coat on a case in central London. When his neighbour Y/N saw, she had insisted on patching it up despite the consulting detective’s protests. Now, here they stood just outside 221B, bickering over a few torn stitches.
“Trust me Sherlock, I’m great at needlework. By the time I’m done with this, it’ll be as good as new!”
Sherlock watched wistfully as Y/N took his coat to her flat next door, 221D and locked the door behind her. Though he’d never admit it, he found her positively enchanting. It had been a better part of a year since she had moved to Baker Street, and despite himself, Sherlock had been captivated by her presence since the very first day.
“You alright there?”
The consulting detective gave a start and turned around. John was watching him with an upturned brow.
“Yes. Of course I am.” He stammered. “Why do you ask?”
John gave him a funny look and crossed his arms. “Could it be because you’re standing in an empty hall staring at our neighbour’s door?”
Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but became flustered and walked past his flat mate, brusquely. “Shouldn’t you be searching for a case or doing something equally as productive?” He called out from behind his shoulder.
John grinned. “Sherlock, If you need a case to distract you from your little crush, just say the word.”
“Do shut up, Watson!”
“A neighbourly romance.” John laughed. “Who would have thought?”
***
“It’s perfect!”
Sherlock squinted at his reflection in the mirror.
“Yes...” he said slowly. “Perfect.”
Y/N had sewn up Sherlock’s trench coat, and now stood behind him admiring her handiwork. Though the hole was gone, it seems Y/N was only too eager with the thread, because now, the damaged sleeve was shorter than the other, and exposed Sherlock’s wrist.
He turned to Y/N and pulled on his sleeve.
“What do you think?” She asked.
Sherlock looked at his neighbour and studied her hopeful expression. He noticed the shine in her eyes and couldn’t help but smile. I think you’re beautiful... he thought.
Y/N laughed lightly. “What?”
The consulting detective blanched and felt his cheeks warm. Had he just said that out loud?
He raised his brows innocently, though his ears were burning. “What?”
“You said-“
“Yes, I said that it’s beautiful.” He interjected. “The coat. Your stitches... it’s beautiful. Very well done, excellent work.” He coughed.
Y/N shifted awkwardly and focused on her neighbour’s shoes. “Right then...” she said. “I guess I’ll be off now.” She was turning around when she felt a hand touch her shoulder.
“Y/N.” Sherlock said lowly.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
She looked back and flinched as Sherlock stood mere inches away.
“No.” She whispered. “You didn’t.” She could feel his warm breath against her face, and focused on him intently. “Perhaps you should.”
Sherlock’s gaze darkened and he licked his lips nervously. “Perhaps I should.” He replied. Y/N closed her eyes as Sherlock leaned forward. She parted her lips in anticipation, but was surprised when she felt a gentle kiss on her cheek instead.
She opened her eyes.
“Thank you.” He whispered, a smug smile on his face.
Y/N stood stunned for a moment. She bit her lip and nodded. “Any time.” She said, clearing her throat.
“Shall I see you off?” Sherlock asked.
Y/N looked at him and grinned. “I think I’ll manage.” She made her way to the door, and looked back one last time. Sherlock stood watching her, a sly smile on his face. I think I love him... she thought happily before closing the door behind her.
As soon as Sherlock heard the door click shut, he threw his arms up in the air. “Brilliant!” He cried out. Though he had been more than tempted to kiss her just moments ago, he held back because he was determined to make the moment special. She deserved as much. “Dinner...” he said to himself. “That’s what people do, isn’t it? I’ll take her out to dinner.”
John was right. A neighbourly romance. Who would have thought? Sherlock turned to the mirror one last time and studied his shortened sleeve. He shrugged and pulled up his coat collar. Call him sentimental, but this style suited him just fine. After all, what could be better than a few stitches made by her own hand?
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Heyyy! Give Dancing In The Moonlight a shot!
What’s up guys?? It’s been a hot minute since I posted a Sherlock fic sooo hope you liked it. I’m not crazy about how it turned out (I had a different idea in my head), but hey, I guess it worked out.
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!
tagging the *awesome sauce*: @starryeddie @twisted-monster @jaseena @justanotheromen @the-chaotic-cow
Summary: The city of London is alight with fairy lights and holiday decor as Sherlock Holmes and Y/N waltz along the Thames path. Having never been a fan of Christmas before, all this is about to change for the consulting detective when he spends a snowy evening with Y/N...
Jingle all the way, my dudes...
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As Sherlock and Y/N walked down Thames Path on Tower Bridge, a brisk wind guided them along and packed snow crackled under their feet. Delicate flurries fell from the London sky, reflecting the shine of fairy lights which twinkled on every corner of the city.
“It’s Christmas.” Y/N said happily, a tendril of smoke wafting up from the cold.
“To be precise, it’s the fourteenth of December. Christmas isn’t for another week.”
Y/N squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “Don’t spoil my fun.” She chided. “I know you aren’t one for the holidays, but I happen to enjoy the festivities.”
The consulting detective turned to his partner and kissed her cheek. “I’m well aware.” He said. “Hence this ghastly walk I’ve invited you on. We could have very well taken a cab to Greenwich!”
“And miss all of this?” Y/N asked incredulously, gesturing to the scenic beauty just beyond the bridge. Below them, the River Thames flowed, icy and smoking from the winter chill, and in the distance, central London was alight with luminescent décor for the holidays.
“Yes.” Sherlock hummed. “I suppose you might have a point. It is rather lovely, isn’t it?”
Y/N turned to Sherlock once more and saw that he was looking at her instead of the city view. “Oh, stop that.” She laughed.
As the pair walked on, the snowfall became heavier and Sherlock became irate. The consulting detective frowned as he began dusting snowflakes off his coat.
Y/N watched amusedly for a moment, before finally giving a deep sigh. “What exactly are you doing?”
Sherlock froze and looked at her sheepishly. “It’s the snow...” he said as ways of explanation.
“Yes Sherlock, it’s just snow. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of it.” She laughed
“Are you suggesting I am chionophobic?”
Y/N quirked a brow. “I’m only suggesting that you’re being odd. You do like the snow, don’t you?”
Sherlock snorted. “Your beloved snow is nothing more than a collection of over glorified, crystallized water molecules, popularized yearly by cheap corporate agendas. Like it? I think not.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Mycroft, his cynicism is showing. Sherlock, don’t cheapen the sight of snow by challenging its capital-oriented implications... which I don’t believe by the way.” She stopped walking and took his hands in hers. “Stop being logical for a moment and just look.”
Sherlock looked above and smiled as the flurries fell down, around him. He lowered his gaze and cupped Y/N’s cheek with a gloved hand. “I’m only teasing.” He whispered. “Darling, I’ve never seen so clearly. It’s only that in my philosophy; what’s a flake of snow to me when I have you by my side?”
The consulting detective leaned forwards and touched his lips against Y/N’s. He pulled her close and wrapped his open coat around her, sharing his warmth against the winter chill.
When they pulled apart, Sherlock raised Y/N’s hand to his lips and kissed her. “Off we pop then? Greenwich is waiting, and we still have six miles of snowfall to enjoy.”
Y/N laughed and hooked her arm onto Sherlock’s. “Lead the way.”
They had only walked for a few steps when Sherlock stopped once more. “Oh yes.” He began, digging into his pocket. “Before I forget, I have something for you.”
Y/N watched as he pulled out a small velvet box. “I hope it’s to your liking.” She took the box and felt her heart melt at Sherlock’s shy smile.
Inside the box was a delicate chain adorned with a small gemstone pendant.
“It’s your birthstone.” He explained nervously. “I was going to save it for Christmas, but now seemed as good a time as any... I hope you don’t mind.”
Y/N looked up from the gift, her eyes shining. Sherlock studied her expectantly, and adjusted his scarf.
She smiled at him and reached up to dust away a stray snowflake from his eyebrow. “I love it.” She whispered.
With a smile of his own, Sherlock kissed the tip of her nose and took her hand once more. “Off we go, then. And Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“Merry Christmas.”
Delicate flurries continued to dust the whole of London as the consulting detective and his love enjoyed the city’s holiday wonders.
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Yoohoo! Try reading Stitches!
Happy Holidays you guys, I hope this is festive enough for you! Fun fact... apparently chionophobia is a fear of snow! I’d never heard of that before, but OF COURSE Sherlock already knew that lol!
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson...)
