Sherlock x reader where the reader had a homophobic family, and the reader is scared to come out as bi.
Ship: Sherlock Holmes X Reader
Word count: 1.5K
Warnings: Uuuuuhh?? I don’t normally do these, I doubt they’ll stick, but… homophobia? Maybe swearing ig
A/N: Thank you SO much for the requests, these are so much fun to do. I hope this one met your expectations! Enjoy
“I don’t think I can do this, Sherlock,” you whispered, clutching your boyfriend’s hand. He wasn’t exactly a fan of PDA but your anxiety was practically dripping off you and had been for days now. You had set up a dinner with your parents under the guise of them meeting your boyfriend, but it had another purpose. You were coming out to them as bisexual. You had decided on a date and time about a week prior and now you were sitting on a train with your boyfriend, heading towards their house to take them out for dinner. Sherlock wasn’t exactly a fan of dinner either. Sitting down, small talk, interacting with other human beings… not really his strong side. It had taken several promises from you to coerce him into even coming along. You were not to voice your “pointless and extremely irritating concern” (a direct quote from him) for his health. And, for three cases, you would get the milk and you’d pick him up body parts from the morgue when needed. You didn’t really care what his requests were, you would’ve agreed. You needed him for emotional support. Because he was so emotional. And so supportive.
“You do it and then your silly stressing will go away,” he replied, smooth as always. You loved him, of course, but he really was an emotionless prick a lot of the time.
You fell silent, staring instead at your hands, your hand looking small in his. His hand, as pale as the rest of him, was almost motionless besides an occasional shift caused by the rocking of the train. Yours was trembling and whenever it got too bad Sherlock would cover it, wait for the trembling to calm and then move his hand back. He stared into space as he always did and you fidgeted around on your phone, glancing over the many open tabs on how to come out and what precautions to take, which did absolutely nothing to improve your worries.
You put your phone in your bag, which held your outfit for tonight—you absolutely refused to wear your nice clothes on the train, to Sherlock’s annoyance. He was always impeccably dressed, so he had nothing to worry about– Placing your head hesitantly on Sherlock’s shoulder, you bit your lip. At the added contact, you felt Sherlock’s body tense as he returned from his toughs and slowly turned his head to look at you.
“This is stupid, Sherlock. We should go home,” you mumbled, your cheek squished against his shoulder, making your words slightly slurred. “That is idiotic, [Your name],” he hummed in response. “I am positive this night will end up perfectly fine regardless of your parents’ response.”
“Sherlock, they’re my parents. Their opinion matters to me and if they can’t accept me I don’t know what I’ll do-” Your voice broke and you shut up to avoid crying. This was stupid, you should just get off the train. Sherlock stared at you for a moment, formulating a response.
“It’s…such a little thing, it didn’t matter to me or John or Mrs. Hudson or Molly-”
“Just…stop talking now, dear,” You mumbled, pulling away from him and removing your hand from his. You lent your head against the wall behind you, and shut your eyes for the rest of your trip.
It was already nightfall by the time you arrived, the air damp from a soft spray of rain as you walked towards your parents’ house. A few years after you moved out, they had sold the place you knew as a home and you had been upset beyond words. So many childhood memories had been sold away for someone else to claim as their own. You and your parents had never seen eye-to-eye, one of the reasons you moved out as soon as you could.
The new house your parents were in was quite simple. Despite being no more than two stories, it felt towering and imposing. And once you had knocked and the door was opened, you realized that even after all these years, your parents still felt towering and imposing as well.
After forced introductions, you excused yourself to the bathroom and changed into your nicer clothes and fixed up your hair as best you could. With a painted-on smile, you stepped back outside and found your parents. You grabbed Sherlock’s hand and intertwined your fingers. It was partly to seem like a normal, loving, functional relationship to outside eyes, but it felt reassuring as well, even though Sherlock seemed very quizzical about it. The conversation was very short on the way to the restaurant you had picked, partly on account of both your father’s and your boyfriend’s curt answers and a lack of anything to talk about.
The restaurant was fancy. Incredibly fancy. It had been easy enough for Sherlock to persuade Mycroft into pulling a couple strings and secure a reservation and you had never been so grateful to the Holmes brothers.
Once you were all sat down with a glass of wine and food ordered, some small talk—mostly between you and your mother— ensued. You dodged every question about your job, knowing your parents wouldn’t exactly approve of you working as a detective. Occasionally, you’d feel Sherlock shift next to you. He was across from your father, while you were looking at your mother. After giving a particularly awkward reply to one of your mom’s questions, you took a sip of wine, but were quick to put the glass down once you realized how much your hand shook. You stuck it under the table and forced on a smile as your mother started talking about London and how expensive your apartment must be. You thought you were gonna faint from anxiety when you felt Sherlock’s hand slip into your own. He wasn’t even looking at you, keeping full eye contact with your father as he talked about god knows what.
The food arrived. You wanted nothing less than to eat, and it seemed that the same was true about your father. He was deep in conversation and Sherlock actually seemed to be… conversing. You picked gently at your food, wondering when you should tell them when, to your surprise, your father actually addressed you. “[Your name], it’s like I said all along, I knew that whole…gay thing of yours was just a phase.”
Oh well, now’s as good a time as ever.
“About that,” You began, “I actually wanted to talk to you about more than just…us,” you said, motioning to you and then your boyfriend. “Uh-” Sherlock’s finger was gently tracing your palm, his eyes, along with your parents’, on you.
And your ability to speak English was suddenly gone.
You felt all their gazes on you, inquisitive, expecting. Your hands were shaking again. “I’m bisexual.”
Silence.
Regret had already begun to pool in your stomach, you felt tears prick at your eyes. Your hands were still shaking. There was relief, despite everything. You got it over with. Sherlock’s was still tracing your palm, his face devoid of any emotion as he waited for your parents to react.
“So, my daughter is not only gay, but a slut too. We really got the full package, didn’t we dear?” Your father spoke, turning to your mother, who was gathering up her things. Your father followed suit and they left without another word.
You didn’t speak. Sherlock led you out of the restaurant and you took a cab back to Baker Street. You stared down, never speaking, constantly blinking back a fresh wave of tears. He didn’t force you to speak. You didn’t want to. At home, Sherlock led you to his chair, gave you a fresh change of clothes and texted someone. He told you Molly would come over in a couple of hours.
The tears dried up, you wrapped yourself up in a blanket and slowly got your voice back, though you didn’t use it. Sherlock moved from John’s chair to the kitchen, from the sofa to just awkwardly standing next to you. Despite his emotionless mask, you could easily tell he had absolutely no idea what to do.
“Sherlock?” You asked, muffled underneath your blankets. His eyes found yours and he gave a hum, acknowledging that he was listening.
“You were right. Like always.”
“How so?”
“It is a little thing. Doesn’t exactly feel like something small right now but… It’ll be okay.”
Your heart was aching, but your tears had stopped and you knew that it would eventually be alright.
Hesitantly, you spread open your arms and stared at Sherlock with your best pitiful look. With a roll of his eyes, he bent down and pulled you into his arms. Your face was smushed lightly against his chest, but you didn’t mind.
“It really is a silly little thing, [Your Name].” When he spoke, his chest vibrated calmly and you believed him. You nodded, pulling away a centimeter or two so you could speak without muffling your words.
“Did you ask Molly to bring ice cream?“
“Do you really think I’d make the mistake of forgetting again?”
