Tea and Unwelcomed Surprises
AN: Okay so I found this on Pinterest (where I get most of my writing inspiration) and all I could think was Sherlock, Sherlock Sherlock, this is definitely meant for Sherlock! I guess it doesn’t help help that I have been rewatching Sherlock lately. Lmao but seriously I hope you guys agree with me and like my 'little' story! Please tell me what you think of the story if you want and if you have a prompt you want me to write or just a request shoot it my way!!! ~H
Words: 2074 (sorry got carried away woops)
Warnings: angst? Mrs. Hudson and John being snoops too I guess, and Mycroft
Summary: Y/N has finally moved on in her life after Sherlock jumped from the roof of Bart’s hospital. After morning for nearly a year and a half she has come to terms with Sherlock’s death, and regrets not telling him her feelings. Her life is much different now that she is back from her haze of morning, though she is still fragile and one small action may tip her back into her depression. She has a set routine she follows everyday. Wake up, skip breakfast, stop for tea, work, skip lunch, get off work, go to cafe and watch people until dinner, eat alone in the flat, go to bed, repeat. What happens when she finds out Sherlock isn’t dead?
Y/N could remember the day like it was yesterday. It’s not like she wanted to remember, oh no, she would give absolutely anything to forget, but every time she closed her eyes there he was, falling, his coat floating behind him almost like a cape, his scarf threatening to come free from where it was tied around his neck, and his obnoxiously perfect curls being pushed from his face from the rush of air around him. She could see it all in horrific detail, but most heartbreakingly she could remember the pain in her chest, it had felt almost as if she had just been pieced by an arrow, right through her chest. She remembers losing all train of thought, she remembers feeling numb as she runs to where he was falling. She remembers just stopping and dropping to the ground when she saw his lifeless body lying on the cold concrete. After the she remembers her numbness growing until all she can feel, see, or hear is just static, with the exception of the faint sounds of John screaming, trying to help Sher…..him, to try and save him.
Ever since everything happened, Y/N couldn’t cope with anything for the longest time. Everything pasted in a blur for the first year. By the time she was able to escape most of the fog that surrounded her heart and head, she found that John was gone, though trying desperately to stay in touch as to help her as much as he possibly could, and she was alone in 221B. For another half of a year she worked on trying to pull herself fully from the fog that still surrounded her every waking moment. She would go into work at Natural History Museum of London, where they completely surprised her and didn’t fire her after her sudden leave of absence for an entire year with no contact. No, in fact they worked with her, though they did hire a part time archivist for her bad days when she couldn’t come in. She later found out that John had contacted them and explained what had happened, though they had already heard most of the story in the media, and for that she was forever grateful for that.
Y/N was able to find that working on a strict schedule of sorts was the best way for her to cope and so she, a year and half later, had a set schedule for everyday of the week. First thing after she wakes up she gets around and ready for work. Then she stops at her favorite cafe grabbing her regular, a green tea chai latte to go. After, she heads to work, finishing her tea in the walk there. Once at her work place, she will work through her shift as an archivist, working through her lunch break. Once off work at 5 o'clock, she goes and sits at her cafe with her favorite tea and watch people walk by in a little table in a secluded area of the café, until she decides walks home and eat whatever she can scrounge up. Afterwards, she would force herself to his bedroom, though it was more hers now, and go into a dreamless sleep most nights. The only exceptions to this schedule were that on Tuesdays John would pick her up on her lunch breaks and take her to lunch, so they could talk about what was going on in each other’s lives, and Thursdays she and Mrs. Hudson would cook a nice meal together and have dinner while watching whatever Mrs. Hudson fancied. Astonishingly enough, Mycroft would send a letter once a month asking her how she was and fussing over her health, and just being overall motherly in a way that always had her smiling, to which she would always write back and always end the note say, “PS Myc I know you have people watching me, you don’t have to write to me. I know you’re busy, and writing me a letter is not so good for your schedule, but thanks.”
Y/N was getting better and everyone could see it, though everyone knew better that to bring him up in her presence, whether it be out of fear she would relapse back into her foggy state or because she would run from the room every time he was even referenced. They knew she still couldn’t bear to think of the happy memories with him or even think of his name. Y/N was far from being herself, but she was making progress, to which everybody was greatly thankful for. That progress continued until she started smiling more and eating regularly. Soon, Y/N found that it had been two years and she felt quite free and almost like herself again.
And so Y/N finds herself, smiling one night around 6:30 pm sitting in the booth, she has all but claimed as her own, next to an empty cup of her favorite drink. It was a good day for her, she a had a good night’s sleep, the day had been sunny instead of the usual rainy dreariness, and at the museum they had just gotten in a priceless artifact that she had suggested would be a perfect addition to their collections. All in all she thought today was the best day she had had since….. well you know, but that didn’t need to be talked about. So she found herself staying in the café longer than usual, but it didn’t really bother her, she was smiling and wasn’t ready for the day to end just yet.
It was when she was deep in her own thoughts watching the sunset, when she was startled by a cup being sat down next to her by the waiter that was working that evening. She stared at her favorite green tea latte that sat beside her and frowned.
“Hey, I didn’t order this,” she shouted, confused at the waiter that was walking away.
“True, but I did,” the chilling, familiar voice reached her before he sat down in front of her. “Hello again.”
Her eyes widen, and her breathe caught in her throat. Closing her eyes, her breath quickened and she turned her head to look at the seat across from her. She took a deep breath, before slowly opening her right eye and seeing, him. His eyes shined with life, it was his coat and scarf, his hair in its perfect curly wave, and her heartache was definitely real.
“Sh-Sherl……Sherlcok,” she questioned, breathless and voice cracking.
“I assume it’s still your favorite, the drink I mean. Obviously it is seeing as a watched you drink the emp-,“ he was interrupt mid-sentence by Y/N’s eyes widening and her taking off towards the café’s women’s bathroom where she locked the door and slid to the floor.
No no non nonononno! Not this again, her thoughts raced as she went into the first panic attack she had had in a month, why would her brain play such cruel tricks on her on a good day such as this?! She clutched her head to her knees, crying and trying to catch her breathe.
“Y/N, listen to me,” it was just her imagination, there was no way he could be there right now, “you need to breath Y/N. In. Out. In. Out.”
She listened to his voice and he continued talking, and with time she could feel her breaths following the pattern of his words. After what felt like hours, but only had been about thirty minutes, she was calm and she cleaned herself up as much as possible with the bathroom towels and she unlocked the door and hesitantly, and slowly, pulled the door open. The he was, still there and leaning against the doorframe. He reached out and touched her face, she was tense until she felt the warmth of his touch. He really was alive…... thought before looking into his eyes.
“Mycroft said that I had destroyed you,” he whispered, as he wiped away the tears that were still falling, though slower now than earlier, “to be honest I think he might have put it too lightly. I didn’t destroy you Y/N, oh no, Y/N I ruined you, and for that I am deeply sorry.”
“Sh….Sherlock, two years………where, how, why,” Y/N whispers moving her hands to clutch the front of his coat. He moves his hands from her face and from his hand he pushes a to go cup into her own hands. “Come on, I’ll explain once we get to the apartment.”
He gently leads her out of the café and hails a taxi to take them home. The ride seemed so short but almost like the longest ride she had ever taken before. Once they were actually to the apartment, Sherlock lead her upstairs and to the couch where he sat her down and draped a blanket around her. She sat silently holding her tea, while looking straight forward with an absent stare. She heard Sherlock sigh before sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She looked up to meet his eyes, and he gave her a sad smile. That is home they sat until early the next morning while he explained everything to her, every small detail because in his heart he felt she deserved every part of the story.
It was there in that living room, with Sherlock on the floor his head on the side of the couch, hand intertwined with Y/N’s, asleep while Y/N herself was peacefully sleeping on the couch, that Mrs. Hudson and John found the pair the next morning after rushing in look for Y/N after a call from the museum saying she never showed for her shift, and asking if they would check on her. The two quickly left the apartment quietly before waking up the sleeping pair.
When Y/N awoke from her sleep, she found that Sherlock was awake and still holding her hand and watching her face. They stayed quiet and looked and watched each other for a while before Sherlock finally spoke up quietly, his voice gruff and deeper from the early morning.
“Y/N, my biggest, and possibly only, regret this entire time was never telling you that throughout my time with you, you have made feel things others, including myself, thought were not possible for me to actually feel. You made my heart swell whenever I saw you, you made me feel like I need to prove myself to be in your presence and not just show off like I do with everyone one else. Y/N, these two years I have been gone I have regretted most not telling you that you somehow managed to make me, a very high functioning sociopath, fall in love. I understand if you want to never see me after all I have done to hurt you, but I need you to know how much I ached to be near you while I was gone. I want you to know there wasn’t a waking moment that you weren’t in my thoughts, even in my mind palace you were always there, right next to me. Y/N,” he reached toward her face and cupped her cheek, “I love you.”
“Sherlock, the reason I was so broken was because I watched the man I loved jump from a roof,” she said as she pressed her hand into his hand, “so now if that man is stupid enough to believe I’m going to just leave him after all the trouble he put me through, well then I’m going to slap him senseless.”
Smirking, Sherlock stood up and pulled her up to stand in front of him, “So this means you’ll stay.”
“Of course you oxymoron,” she said and looked up at him before he pulled her into a quick, but passionate kiss that was interrupted by a happy shout from Mrs. Hudson and John trying to quiet her. Which causes Y/N to shove her face in Sherlock’s chest and mumble, “How long have they been there?”
“Since they came barging in here this morning, so yes they saw and heard everything,” Sherlock says cheekily while John and Mrs. Hudson finally walk into the room.
“It’s about time you two got together, but Sherlock you hurt her like that again and I will kill you personally, to which I’m sure Mycroft will most likely help with,” John threatened as Sherlock’s phone dinged.
John is right, brother mine. - MH
