Pairings; Baron Helmut Zemo (FatWS) x Civilian!Reader [gender neutral as always]
I’ve been rewatching FatWS and have been reminded of my love for Zemo, and I’m a huge fan of the villain x civilian trope soooo…. Zemo x Civilian!Reader. Not that I don’t love reading or writing a badass reader, but I really like the idea of Zemo looking after someone who can’t protect themselves during a fight.
My “Sokovian” pet names (because I couldn’t resist) are German; Schatz (treasure, gender neutral) and Schatzi (little treasure, also gender neutral). I went down a little linguistics rabbit hole and found out that Schazi is like a playful version of Schatz, so hopefully I used it right here.
This one was really fun to write, hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
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You dropped to the ground with a gasp, hands covering your head, as a series of bullets flew past you. The crack of the gun was deafening. Hidden amidst the maze of shipping containers which littered Madripoor’s docks, you couldn’t see where the shooter was. You scrambled backwards on the asphalt until your shoulders hit something solid, your ears ringing mercilessly. Heart pounding, you tried to control your breathing and focus. You had to leave, but you couldn’t go anywhere until you knew which way was safe.
Or safer. You pressed your lips together, your jaw tight. How the hell you’d gotten separated from Sam, Bucky and Zemo, you didn’t know. You were trying desperately to think like any one of the three of them, how they would work out an escape route or even just stay calm enough to focus.
A scream tore itself from your throat as something exploded to your left. You squeezed your eyes shut in time to feel the blaze of heat on your skin, the tremor of the ground beneath you. You didn’t remember covering your head with your arms. Then, there was another round of gunshots. It was clearly an automatic weapon this time, the sound ricocheting in your head long after it stopped.
You’d only gotten wrapped up in this mess because you’d had the misfortune to be seen with the trio by a member of the Flagsmashers. They had incorrectly assumed you were working with Sam and the others and decided the best course of action was simply to kill your fairly defenceless self. In the heat of the moment, the only certain way to keep yourself safe had been to actually go with them. And since no one knew who could be trusted, you had travelled from Germany to Madripoor, a city you hadn’t even known existed, on a Baron’s private jet, which was an experience you never would have believed you would have. Your count of being shot at had gone from zero to lost-count in a matter of days, and now you were trapped in the middle of a shootout with no training and no idea of how to ensure your survival.
A plume of acrid smoke billowed towards you, stinging your eyes and burning your throat. You coughed without meaning to, rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to see through the tears clouding your vision. The sound of gunfire was getting closer. Your breathing grew heavy, chest starting to heave as a weight seemed to press down on your ribs with the realisation that you might actually not make it out of this situation at all.
Someone cried out, visceral and raw, and the sound cut off abruptly in the space of the next gunshot. Your breath caught in your throat. That was an entire life, ended in a split second just yards away from you. One of many. One of a list you were probably going to join because if you tried to make a run for it, someone was going to shoot you. If you stayed put, someone would eventually find you and most likely shoot you. The only people who could possibly help you were simply gone, if they had even survived this long, and –
“Schatz, we need to leave. Now.”
You gasped and flew backwards, whacking your wrist and the back of your hand against the container you were hiding behind through your flailing. Zemo never hesitated. He followed your backward trajectory as you blindly tried to get away from him, not yet recognising who was in front of you. You only registered it was him once he was crouched over you, grasping your shoulders to pull you up to standing.
You blinked and your hands were on his chest, fingers curled into the fur collar of his coat as you tried to steady yourself. You couldn’t focus properly on what was happening around you. Somehow, in spite of everything, what you noticed was the way the sunlight changed the Baron’s appearance. It caught his eyes and revealed they were actually hazel, not a dark brown, and highlighted streaks of his hair to give them an almost auburn glow. The deafening sounds of violence faded to nothing for a moment as his arm wrapped tight around your waist to keep you close to his side. He immediately broke into a run without giving you time to recover.
“Come, quickly,” Zemo muttered, but his gaze wasn’t on you.
He didn’t raise his voice; he never had in your presence. But his rough tone belied urgency. He was looking around all the time, searching out potential threats and avenues of escape with impeccable accuracy. The Baron moved through the chaos with the rhythm of a man who knew this world like the back of his hand. He set a quick pace, completely steady, utterly in his element. There was too much going on for you to realise that the quiet which had come over your frantic mind was a feeling of safety, or to analyse how it was Zemo of all people who was making you feel safe. To understand that you trusted him implicitly, absolutely, to get you out alive and unharmed.
The two of you had no sooner rounded the corner of the next container when someone bolted out with a gun raised, aiming to kill. The Baron’s reaction was instantaneous. The arm that had been at your waist locked in a bar over your stomach, shoving you back and behind him before you could blink. He followed, the force of his movement enough to drive the air from your lungs when your back collided with the wall of yet another container. He raised his free arm and killed your attacker with a single shot from a weapon you hadn’t even known he was carrying, his precision impeccable. It struck you that the gun was as natural in his hand as a delicate cup of tea.
“Come,” he told you simply, his arm returning to your waist to direct you where he chose.
You went without question, watching him over anything else. He stopped again just a moment later, slipping through a set of open double doors with you. A gleaming Pontiac Firebird waited in the dark on the other side. Zemo manoeuvred you into the passenger seat of the car easily before taking his own place behind the wheel. The engine purred to life and you pressed yourself back as soon as you realised what he was going to do, your hand flying to his wrist where his own held the gear shift.
The Baron tilted his head towards you in question, his expression neutral. You swallowed hard. You were suddenly afraid of sounding silly in front of him.
“It’s a convertible,” you mumbled, not brave enough to meet Zemo’s gaze but equally unwilling to release his wrist. “What if they’re still shooting?”
He shook his head minutely, offering you a small smile. His manner was light enough to convince you to look up at him.
“Sam, James and Sharon will have taken care of the rest by now. It will be alright.”
After a moment of hesitation, you nodded. You didn’t want to contradict him, because this was so clearly his element and he sounded so confident. But your heart was in your throat. As he pulled out onto the dock, Zemo turned his palm upwards and slowly curled his fingers over yours, his knuckles now resting on the gear shift. He didn’t acknowledge the movement, the offer of reassurance, but it was more than enough to make you look down at your hands. And to realise how badly yours was shaking in his steady hold.
It was only when Zemo pulled up in front of the others that you could begin to trust that the fighting was really over, like he had said. He explained away the very nice car with a smirk and a comment about it being supercharged, and ignored the rather pointed looks he received from both Bucky and Sam. You knew the silent commentary was about you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry. You were putting all of your efforts into focusing on how Zemo was half-holding your hand, lest your mind ran straight back to how close to death you had just come.
The Baron, possibly the most talented reader of people you had ever met, no doubt knew this. And he allowed it anyway.
You stayed silent on the drive to the airport, only moving at all once you arrived because Zemo lightly tapped your hand to draw your attention to him.
“It is time to leave,” he told you quietly, again ignoring both Sam and Bucky’s silent disapproval as he encouraged you out of the car and onto his private jet. You took your seat onboard without any problems, but that changed as soon as you were in the air. Finally safe for the first time in days, everything that had happened during that time crashed down on you with an almost disorienting weight. You really had almost died. Sam, Bucky and Zemo had each had more close calls than you wanted to count. Other people had died, often at the hands of those who you were relying on to protect you.
You couldn’t say you were afraid of Bucky, but the man in Selby’s bar hadn’t been him. The Winter Soldier had still been just a ghost story to you, something which had been mentioned once or twice on the news a few years back. To see him up close, every bit the cold, emotionless killer he’d been described as, had been terrifying. You still hadn’t recovered from being forced to watch the injuries he had dealt out in the process of playing the role. Then Selby had been shot by a sniper, right in front of you, and the spray of blood which caught your arm had still been warm.
You had been at the wrong end of every single gun in the bar before you even met her, barely escaped with your life in the manhunt for you which had followed, and then that final fight on the docks –
Sam and Bucky continued their heated debate on the other side of the plane, turned away from you lest you were to overhear something sensitive. They hadn’t yet noticed how your vision was tunnelling, or the way your chest heaved under an imaginary pressure which you couldn’t breathe through. When their hissed words faded into white noise, neither one looked up long enough to see the silent tears tracking down your face.
But Zemo clocked and catalogued your every single unspoken cue, seeing the oncoming panic attack before it really even started. He finished his whiskey at the plane’s minibar and casually stepped over to you from where he had been preparing to pour himself a second glass. You hadn’t noticed how violently your hands were shaking or how your nails were digging into the expensive leather arms of your seat, but it became apparent as soon as Zemo gently slid his hands around yours. You looked up sharply, surprised, but stood without question when he indicated that was what he wanted you to do. Your hearing cut back in, sudden enough that your own breaths sounded like thunder.
The Baron was full of an easy, relaxed confidence, watching you steadily and catching you up in his gaze without effort. You stammered, your lips moving even as you failed to produce a single word. Zemo’s hands were warm where he had only recently taken off his gloves, but he didn’t seem to mind that yours were cold and clammy. You again found yourself staring at his eyes. They were dark now, in the relatively low interior lighting of the plane. You couldn’t pick out the golden highlights in his hair either. He lightly smoothed his thumbs over your knuckles, never once glancing away from you. The coat he had yet to remove blocked your view of Sam and Bucky, and you were grateful that you didn’t have to worry about them for a moment.
The longer he just stood quietly with you, patient and understanding without you needing to say a word, the more your thoughts turned to Zemo himself. To how unafraid he was to be seen comforting you, even with Sam and Bucky right behind him. How he hadn’t hesitated to find you at the docks and get you out safely. How he’d used his own body to shield you when the shooter had come out from nowhere.
Then, your tears started falling for a whole different reason. You realised, finally, that he made you feel safe because every time something had happened, he had protected you. Your lip began to tremble to your own horror, and you dropped your head quickly to avoid having to see Zemo’s reaction. Except he wouldn’t allow that.
He slid a finger beneath your chin and rested his thumb against your jaw, gently tilting your head back up until you had to meet his gaze. Your tears continued to well over despite your best efforts, but he wouldn’t let you look away. His expression softened and he tilted his head just a little as he offered you a small smile. The result was something lightly mocking, though he clearly didn’t mean it in any vicious way. He looked like he thought you were cute.
“Schatzi,” he cooed, drawing the pet name out for an unnecessary length of time. “You are safe now, hm? Now is the time to be relieved, not afraid.”
You couldn’t pull yourself together for long enough to even pretend to be insulted, but it didn’t matter because Zemo released you to slide his arms around your shoulders and back, pulling you close to his chest. He was quite content simply to cradle you there, his hand finding its way to the back of your head to stroke over your hair. Your arms curled around his waist in return as you tried to relax into him and let him help you to calm down. Without meaning to, you found yourself focusing on his sharp, expensive cologne.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?”
You flinched violently as Bucky snapped at Zemo, though thankfully you were too hidden in the Baron’s coat for anyone to notice but Zemo himself. He turned you both easily so he could face the supersoldier, keeping your head tucked into his chest.
“They are a civilian James, what did you expect?”
Zemo’s rough voice rumbled pleasantly beneath his ribs when he spoke, and it soothed you more than you would have expected.
There was a pause during which you could practically sense Bucky grinding his teeth. His next words were directed at Sam, accusatory.
“I told you we shouldn’t have brought them-”
“And I told you were couldn’t just leave them to be killed by the Flagsmashers because of us,” Sam interrupted. “I know this isn’t ideal, least of all for them. But we don’t have another choice.”
You personally chose to keep your face hidden against Zemo’s chest when you felt the weight of at least one gaze on the back of your head, possibly two. There was a moment in which nobody spoke. And then –
“Fine. But they stay with us.”
Bucky clearly intended for you to go and sit on what had become his and Sam’s side of the plane. You had no intention of being subjected to their arguing all the way to Latvia, so in an attempt to avoid addressing the situation, you said nothing. You tried to ignore the resulting hot prickle of embarrassment crawling up your back and neck – you were a grown individual after all, and you were standing there hugging a war criminal in favour of having a conversation with a couple of Avengers. But if you spoke to them, you would have to acknowledge that Zemo was in fact doing a very good job of calming you down. And then that you needed both the comfort and reassurance after everything that you had seen.
Sam, being used to counselling people with trauma, might have accepted that and offered you some advice. Bucky, on the other hand… That admittance would just be one more thing he didn’t want to have to deal with. You hadn’t wanted to be involved with this particular illegal mission either, and the last thing you wanted was to make any of their lives more complicated, but here you were.
You became hotter and more uncomfortable as the moment progressed, trying frantically to figure out what you could say to make yourself seem less of a fragile idiot in front of three soldiers. But, once again, Zemo stepped in and saved you from having to say anything at all. His hand was still cradling the back of your head.
“I suppose that answers your question, James.”
It was the same tone of voice he’d used when he’d brought up the notebook he had somehow managed to steal from Bucky, low and soft and meant to provoke. It worked – naturally – and there was a short scuffle during which you inferred that Sam had stepped between Bucky and Zemo (and yourself) before the supersoldier could start anything.
“Bucky, look,” Sam muttered, sounding pained. “If they’d rather be with him, then just let them. We’re on a plane, man, nothing’s gonna happen.”
You considered that with your earlier assessment of Sam – that perhaps he would have simply offered you advice – you had severely underestimated the man. He didn’t want you to seek comfort in Zemo any more than Bucky did, but he was willing to let it slide. You vowed to come up with some sort of reasonable explanation for them when you didn’t feel quite so exhausted.
Having apparently reached some sort of a begrudging understanding, Sam and Bucky started up another quiet argument as Zemo pulled back from you just a little.
“Accompany me to the galley, hm? You can choose your preferred blend of tea.”
You nodded, trying for a smile and pleased that at the very least your tears had stopped.
You were just an ordinairy person, living an ordinairy life. One day, however, you suddenly found yourself in 1940's America. Panicked, you run into a sweet guy called 'Steve Rogers'.
As soon as you stepped inside, you threw your shoes off. Dancing in them had made your feet hurt, as if someone had tried to drill into your heel. Steve closed the door behind you two and took off his jacket.
"I'm so tired," you complained. "I can sleep for three whole days."
"Really? You look like you could go a few more songs." You rolled your eyes at him. "Bad joke; I know." He moved around the kitchen. "You can take my bedroom. My bed isn't very big, but the blankets will keep you warm."
"Steve," you sounded tired, ready to just fall into bed, but you just had to disagree with him. "I can't throw you out of your bed. I'll sleep on the floor if I can have a few of those blankets."
"No, don't worry about it. I'll sleep in mom's old room." He picked up the key from a drawer. "We'll both get to sleep in a bed."
You fiddled with your fingers. "Thank you, Steve, for everything."
"It was the right thing to do." He opened the door and disappeared behind it.
You stepped into Steve's bedroom. It looked exactly the same as when you left it. Carefully, you took off the yellow dress. You were happy it hadn't gotten dirty anywhere, you had been really careful all night. After hanging it up, you let yourself fall unto the bed, pulling the covers over you. Steve had been right; all those blankets really were warm. You twisted and turned underneath them, until you found a comfortable position.
You laid on your side, huddled in blankets. A smell hit you; lavender, with something else underneath, a much more human smell. You dug your nose into the pillow. It was Steve's, there wasn't really any other option. Something about it, just felt right. Extremely right. Was it weird to be sniffing his pillow? Yes, probably, but that didn't stop you from doing it all night, until your eyes grew heavy, and you were lifted off to sleep.
You could feel yourself slowly waking up. You were letting out deep, calm breaths, your eyes only seeing your eyelids. Finally, you said to yourself. I'm waking up. As your senses came to, your nose picked up on a lovely lavender scent, with something more underneath it. Steve, you concluded.
Wait.
Your eyes shot open almost immediately. For just a few seconds, you didn't recognise your surroundings, but then it all came flooding back to you. Tears left your eyes as the memories overwhelmed you. Hesitatingly, you pulled your arm up, your gaze landing on your 'tattoo'. This was real. You really time travelled.
The first day had felt so normal, as if the adrenaline had stopped you from panicking, but that was over now. You cried and bawled, holding Steve's pillow. The tears stained the thing, but you couldn’t get yourself to stop.
--
Steve woke up sweating and with terrible stomach aches. He stammered out of bed, remembering the night before. He had actually danced for once, badly but still, he did it. It was fun, being with you was fun. He held his hand on his stomach; he should probably get some painkillers.
He moved to the locked door on the side, opening it with his key. Before he stepped inside, he knocked on the door. "Hey, are you in here?" When he didn't get an answer, he opened the door. Rummaging through the cabinet, he picked up a bottle of pills. This should do it. He swallowed two. As he put them back, he heard sniffing through the other door.
He called your name, but you didn't answer. Steve bit his lip, contemplating. He opened the door, just setting it ajar. You where on his bed, covered in blankets, crying. He called your name again, stepping into the room. "Are you alright?" You looked up, seeing Steve standing there. You shook your head, not saying a word, only crying. He sat down on the bed next to you. "Hey, tell me. What's wrong?"
You snicked, mustering yourself up to talk. "I- I miss home." Your voice was hoarse. "I just want to go home."
"If you tell me where it is, I'll bring you there." He pulled your greasy hair out of your face. "I'll make sure you get home, okay?"
You shook your head, "No, I can't go home." You leaned into his touch. Steve was so gentle, so sweet. You didn't know what you did to deserve his help, what you did to deserve him. "It's impossible. There is no way I can get home." Admitting this was hard, you felt a lump in your throat. There was no way for you to get home; it was the truth. The heartbreaking truth. The tears came again. You cried harder than before, this time clinging to Steve.
"It's okay." He was padding your head, hoping it would calm you. "You'll be okay, I'll be there for you as long as you need."
It took a while, but finally Steve was able to convince you to get out of bed. The blankets slipped off of you, revealing way more skin than he had expected; you were in only your unmentionables. He quickly covered his eyes. He had accidentally gotten a peek, and the more he tried to forget about it, the more the memory ingrained itself into his head.
After you had made yourself decent, much to his relief, Steve brought you to the kitchen, sitting you down at the dinner table. You were still out of it, very much so, but you weren’t crying anymore, just staring.
"I should get started on breakfast. Is there anything you're craving?" He moved to the counter, still waiting on an answer from you. You shook your head, not saying anything. "Okay, I'll figure something out." He started rummaging through the fridge, setting his liver juice out on the table. With shaking hands, he started setting pans on the stove.
You heard a set of keys turning the lock of the front door. Bucky came in, seeming not at all tired. "Last night was amazing." He made his way to you, oblivious of your state. "I never expected in a million years that somebody could get Steve back on the dance floor. Speaking of him, where is-" He had turned around, shutting his mouth when he saw Steve standing in front of the stove. "Urm, Steve." He quickly made his way to him. "What are you doing?"
"She's feeling homesick, so I thought I could make breakfast for us." He pointed to the carton of eggs.
"Or you should sit with her, and I'll cook." He looked back at you. "You're better at cheering her up, let me handle the stove with fire, and the nicer pans, and the food we would have to eat."
"Are you sure? I can also-"
"No, it's fine. I'll cook." Steve looked like he was about to object again. "I'll cook," Bucky repeated sternly.
"Alright, fine." Steve let go of the pans and made his way back to you. "What's his problem?" He muttered under his breath. He set his hand on the liver juice, already dreading it.
You looked up at him, then to the bottle, and then back at him. "We could mix it into something, if you want?"
"No, it'll only make it worse. Believe me, I tried." He laughed reminiscing.
You smiled back at him, your expression quickly souring again. You were cold, you wanted to warm up. You wanted to feel someone against you, you wanted Steve to hug you again, to say that everything will be okay.
He took a big gulp, his face pulling together at the taste. He had hoped it made you laugh, but you still looked saddened. "Did you still want to go to the theatre?" He tried a different approach. "They got a few new ones this weekend."
"Yeah, sure." You appreciated what he was trying to do, and you wanted it to work, but you couldn't help but still feel sad. "I would like that."
Bucky set down three plates; each filled with eggs and toast. "Here you go, bon appetit." He sat down as well. "So, the movies, heh?" He gave Steve a cheeky side-eye.
"Are you coming too?" You asked, absentmindedly picking at your food. You knew you needed to eat, it would be ungrateful not too. You stabbed the egg quite harshly, accidently scraping against the plate, and ate it. It tasted really good, despite your mood.
"No, I can't, but I don't think you'll miss me doll." He winked at Rogers, just out of your sight. "Steve is good company, especially in a movie theatre. Just the two of you, together." Steve glared at Bucky, silently begging him to stop. "In the dark, where no one would notice."
"You're talking like he's going to kill me." You smiled again, only for a little.
"He might," Bucky teased, earning a deadly glare from his friend. "Did you know he often picks fights in alleyways?"
"Bucky, don't-" Steve tried to stop in, because to be frank, he didn't want you to know how much of a loser he really was, but the other man just talked over him.
"He has new bruises every week." He shook his head, feigning scrutiny. "He really needs someone to rein the monster of a man back in."
"I'll try my best, but I fear no one can stop Steve when it comes down to it. He does what he thinks is right." Your words made Steve blush, making him completely forget he wanted to stop this whole conversation.
After finishing your plates, Bucky left again, claiming he had a date himself with a 'dolly brunette', whatever that was supposed to mean. You felt better after breakfast and decided to clean the dishes. It only felt fair after Bucky had cooked, and Steve had already done so much for you. While you were popping soap bubbles instead of actually doing the work, Steve dug through his mother's closet again, finding another simple, brown skirt and top set for you.
You followed Steve down to the theatre. On your way, you noticed the streets were less busy than usual. There were still a lot of people, but no were near a weekend-day should look like in a big city. After several streets, you decided to ask Steve about it.
"It's Sunday; most places are closed, remember?" Steve muscles strained, nervous about the way you held his arm. It was how women usually held their boyfriend's. You probably didn't know that. Even so, his face heated up.
"Right, but the theatre is open?" You were still looking around.
"Yes, it's a lot more busy there," he noted. "We'll probably have to wait a while before we can get seats."
It didn't take long to get there, and boy was Steve right. The line reached all the way outside the building and around the corner. It must really be the only thing open, you mused. You joined at the back. You didn't really mind waiting; you didn't have anything better to do in this time... No job, no home, no friends, no families. All you could really do right now is wait. Steve was seemingly a lot less patient, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and fiddling with his jacket.
You squeezed his arm. "Steve, we have no where to be. We can wait."
If only he was actually being this way because of impatience. No, Steve was nervous. Really nervous. Bucky had told him what he would get up to with girls in a movie theatre, and with what his friend was hinting at this morning, he couldn't help but be anxious. "Sorry, I'll try to stand still."
Steve and you stood behind a group of young men, around your age. They were messing around, talking loudly and animatedly pushing and pulling each other around. You tried to ignore them, even though they were really annoying.
At some point, one pushed the other a little too hard, making him bump into the older people in front of them. The guy quickly apologised, before turning around and scold his friend. "You almost had me pushing over that old geezer!" His friends only laughed. The guy shook his head and looked up again. That's when he spotted you, hanging off Steve's arm. "Look at what we have here."
His buddies turned around as well, one of them whistled. "What's a broad like you doing with a kid like him? Did you get stuck with babysitting duty?"
You had to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Instead, you put up the most honey sweet smile you could muster. "He did! I would be so lost without him! Truly a kind soul. You have no idea how lucky I am to have him." You looked over at Steve, who was keeping quiet, surprisingly. Good, in your experience, escalating things with these types only ever ends with bruises.
"Why don't you join us? I'm sure we're much better company." The third guy grinned.
"No, I don't think I will." You hugged Steve a little closer. "Thank you for the offer, though."
"Come on doll." One of them stepped forward, reaching his hand out to you, before he could touch you, however, Steve stepped in between you two.
"She said no." He sounded more confident than you ever heard him before, stern and serious. "You should respect that."
"And what if we don't? What are you going to do about it?" The guy laughed. "Going to tell on us to your mommy?"
Steve didn't look away, didn't look ashamed or intimidated, he stood tall, despite his height. "Leave us be, or I'll have to do something about it."
Even though it was incredibly attractive to see him standing up for you like that, you knew he couldn’t take them. It was three against one, all of them at least two heads taller than him. "Come on Steve." You pulled his arm, leaving the line. You grimaced seeing how long it had gotten behind you, and you had almost been at the front... But it wasn't worth the trouble.
"Yeah! Run away to your mommy!" One of them yelled after you.
Steve said your name, as you pulled him away. "We shouldn't just let them get away with this. They were being jerks; they need someone to stand up to them."
"But that doesn't mean it should be you, and not now. You promised we would have a fun day, and I won't let a bunch of assholes ruin it for us." You two reached the end of the line, joining it again. "Let's just forget about them." You moved your hand down, entwining your hand in his. "We'll still have fun, right?"
Steve's ears turned red from the touch. "Yes, of course. We will." He avoided eye contact, not wanting you to notice how flustered he was. "We'll have to wait a while, again."
"That's fine. I don't mind waiting, especially with good company." You nudged him.
You had to wait for another half an hour until you made it all the way to the front. There were a few movies to choose from, but you didn't know any of them, so you let Steve choose. The inside looked so... Vintage. You liked it. Modern movie theatres lost much of their charm, but here, in 1938, they still had it. You shuffled over the red floor, the many flickering lights distracting you. Steve led you in the right direction, until you reached an open door. You walked down the steps to your seats.
More and more people streamed in, filling all the seats. Steve leaned over to you. "i should have probably bought us something. Popcorn or something."
You shook your head. "No. Bucky made a good breakfast. I'm still full and I shouldn't stuff myself."
"Are you sure?" He frowned. "I brought a few extra quarters, and it's only ten cents per bag." "Fine, go, but be fast." Before you even finished your sentence, he stood up. You grabbed his hand, preventing him from running off so fast. "You better be back before it starts."
--
Steve rushed through the hall, quickly finding the snacks booth. There, luckily, wasn't much of a line, most had already gotten their snacks. While the couple in front of him were paying for their popcorn, he fiddled with hi jacket, his eyes shooting around the room. He noticed the door to the men's bathroom open from the inside. Two of the guys from earlier stumbled out. Rogers practically prayed to go unnoticed... It didn't work. Their eyes landed on him, and they came strutting over.
"Look who it is!" One of them laughed loudly and obnoxiously. Steve sighed, trying to hold himself in. You wanted him to be on time for the movie, and he probably wouldn't make it if he had a beat down in the back alley first. "Still think you can take us, huh? Should I give you a knuckle sandwich? Huh?"
"But what about the movie!" The other guy intervened. "We already missed ten minutes."
"Urgh." The first guy kicked the air in frustration. "Fine." He gave in, but not before pointing his finger right in Steve's face. "But you, I'll be behind the theatre waiting for you. I'll show you how a real man fights." The second man started dragging him away, really wanting to go back to the movie. "You better come!" "I will," Steve promised. Then he noticed the clock. Quickly, he bought the popcorn before rushing back.
--
The lights were slowly dimming. You tapped your foot against the floor; Steve still wasn't here, and the movie was about to start. You were about to stand up and drag him back; it didn't matter that you didn't have popcorn, but then you saw his short figure rushing down the stairs, climbing over people already sitting down. You heard him repeatedly apologizing for bumping into people.
You were just an ordinairy person, living an ordinairy life. One day, however, you suddenly found yourself in 1940's America. Panicked, you run into a sweet guy called 'Steve Rogers'.
It didn’t take long for a second woman to appear in the doorway. She wore a blue dress, light like Steve's eyes. It was so close, it felt on purpose. She hurried her way over, heels clacking against the stone. "Bucky, it's good to see you again." She smiled at him. "Now, where is your friend? I'm excited to meet him." She looked right over Steve, as if he wasn’t even there.
"Standing right there." He gestured at Steve, who straightened himself up. She physically deflated when her eyes landed on him.
He held out his hand, the girl hesitatingly took it. "Steven Grant Rogers."
"Shirly Davis." She shook her head. "Sorry, I thought you two were together." She looked over at you.
"No, I'm just a friend who tagged along. I won't get in the way of you two, promise." You awkwardly held onto your dress' skirt. Steve looked at you. You didn't know if his expression was one of 'please don't leave me alone with her' or one of 'I'm sorry, you'll have to be alone'. Either way, this was going to be a miserable night.
The five of you walked to the dance hall. Bucky hand in hand with Marie, their acts of affection bit scandalous if you asked some of the older folks you passed by. Shirly, however, was the exact opposite, completely averse to Steve's attempts of affection; walking with her arms crossed, tucked into herself, and eyes looking everywhere except at him.
You walked behind both couples, giving you a perfect view at the stark difference between them. Every once in a while, Steve or Bucky would glance back at you, one more often than the other, to see if you're still okay. Every time, you gave them a thumbs up, a smile or a wave.
As you got closer to the centre, the music became louder, and louder. Your group came to a stop by a wide building. A line had formed at the door front, all men and women dressed up nicely. You joined at the back. Here, you stood squished between strangers and an uncomfortable couple dancing around the awkwardness. Great.
The line had gotten much longer behind you, you felt lucky you had gotten here early enough. Once the doors finally opened, the line started moving fast, so it didn't take long to get to the front. "Five people." Bucky paid for your tickets, the price way lower than it would have been in your time. You wondered how much inflation had changed the dollar since 1940.
Swing music played loudly throughout the dance hall. Couples were already on the light wooden, dance floor, movements wide and energetic. Bucky immediately grabbed Marie's hand and pulled her with him to dance. From his smooth movements, it was clear he did this often. Steve was more reluctant to dance, still he held his hand out to his date.
Shirly smiled but didn't take it. "I want a glass of water first." They disappeared in the direction of the bar, leaving you alone. You looked over back at the dance floor, only couples were dancing; no one was on their own, and you didn't feel like being the first, so you went to sit down at a table in the corner.
You were swinging your head with the music, watching the people dance, and have fun, with bright smiles on their faces. It made you think back to your home, to all the times you went out with your friends. Your dresses were a lot shorter, and the music a lot louder. You never really danced with strangers, always with your friends, being clumsy as fuck. You had never laughed as loud as the time you all fell down and tripped over each other when you tried to get up again. A singe tear escaped you, rolling down your face and falling down on the back of your hand.
You quickly wiped away the tear, hoping he hadn't seen it. "Uneven number," you explained. "The other are all coupled up."
"Good thing I am here." He held out his hand. "Would you dance with me?"
"Don't know if I should. I've got two left feet, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you."
He sat down next to you, a charming smile on his face. "That's fine but let me at least buy you a drink."
You smiled; it has been a while since someone flirted with you. "Pretty forward, aren't you? Mister?"
"Robert Jones, but you can just call me Rob." He didn't hesitate to kiss your hand, despite the fact they were in public. "And does the beauty have a name as well?" You gave him your name. "Very pretty, and what should I get you?"
"Surprise me."
"Wait here." He stood up. "I'll be right back." We walked off into the direction of the bar. A few minutes after he left, Steve and Shirly appeared. They sat down across from you, water in hand. Steve looked at you, silently asking for help.
Shirly sighed, "where is Marie?" She didn't have any interest in you, not even caring to make small talk with you; wasn't small talk an American thing?
"Dancing with Bucky somewhere." You answered. She just hummed in response. You three sat there in awkward silence. You didn't want to intrude on Steve's date, but neither of them talked to the other either. Slowly, Steve's face soured more and more, and then you knew; he had given up and just wanted this to end.
Right as you started to hatch your little plan, Robert showed back up, setting down two drinks before sitting next to you. Steve's face went from sour to confused, to slightly irritated, especially after he said: "here you go, sweetheart." The mimosa was a deep orange that transitioned into a bright red. It was a very safe choice.
"Thank you." You looked over to Shirly, whose attention had quickly locked on the man. Bingo. "This is Robert." You looked back at him. "And this is Shirly, and Steve. If you still want to dance, I'm sure Shirly has a lot more experience than me."
Rob’s eyes moved between Shirly and Steve, wondering if there was something going in between the two, but you suggested it, so it was probably fine. He stood up, holding out his hand to her. "Would you like to dance?"
"Yes!" She grabbed his hand and brought him to the dance floor with an excitement you had never expected she ever could, especially considering how she acted around Steve. It wasn't about attraction, or lack thereof, at that point; it was just mean.
"Thanks, you're my saviour." Steve finally smiled again, a genuine smile, for the first time in the evening. "I don't know how long I would have lasted on this date."
"You're more resilient than you think. I would have left her as soon as we arrived." You took a sip of your drink; it tasted good. "Want to try?" You offered it to him.
"No, I'm a lightweight." It was just you two, Steve could... His heart started to speed up. "Hey," he got your attention. "Would you wa-"
"I need a break." Bucky pulled the chair next to you back and plopped down next to you. "And something to drink." Steve slid his glass of water to him. "Thank you."
Marie sat down next to him, looking equally tired, face slightly red and out of breath. Her hands were immediately on his arm again. She turned to look at Steve. "Where is Shirl?"
He hesitated, eyes moving between her and Bucky. "She found someone to dance with." You answered for him, earning a scowl from Marie. What was her problem?
"Steve, you didn't take her dancing?" He frowned. "You'll never learn if you won't at least try."
"Bucky, I don't..." Steve stopped. They had this argument so many times, and he didn't want to have it again, especially not in front of you. "Not now," he whispered. Somehow, Bucky still heard him over the music.
"And what about you beautiful?" He turned to you, throwing an arm around your chair. "Haven't you found a dance partner yet?"
"Not one I actually want to dance with, no." You tried your best to ignore the daggers the woman was staring at you now. It would be funny if she wasn't four steps away from you.
"That's no good. How about I take you to the dance floor next round?" He sent a smirk your way.
"I'm no good at dancing, I'll only embarrass you." You did want to dance, but you couldn't help but feel like you were about to be murderer by his actual date. "It'll contradict with your whole cool guy persona."
"Come on. Just one dance," he insisted.
"Bucky." Steve spoke up before you could say anything. "Can we talk for a bit? Away."
"Yes." They both stood up. "We'll be back in a jiffy, ladies." Bucky followed the shorter man though the crowd, until they reached a small space near the restroom. The music could barely be heard from there, and they could easily hear each other over the crowd. "What's wrong? If this is about Shirly, then you should have taken her to the dance floor sooner. You won't get anywhere if you don't even make a move."
"No, it's not about Shirly." Steve's eyes moved back to the table, where you were talking with Marie. "It's... I know how you like going out with girls and you know... But just, not her, okay?" Bucky's eyes followed the direction of his stare. "I know she is pretty and all that, but she is going through enough. Don't give her false hope that you two could... You know."
"That we...? Could be together?" Bucky finished the sentence for him. As he said it, a little lightbulb went on in his head. "I'll back off. Don't worry. Besides, I don't think I am her type."
"Bucky, you're everyone's type." Steve looked at him, unimpressed with his humility.
"I'm not doll dizzy enough to think I have a chance with any dame I talk to, just most." Bucky put his hand on his shoulder. "Her type is more..." He looked the other man in the eye, deciding at the last second to not give it away. To let them go at their own pace. "Less 'me'."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Don’t worry about it." He let go of Steve’s shoulder. "Let’s go back, the girls are waiting."
--
You watched Bucky and Steve walk off into the crowd, leaving you alone with a woman who clearly did not like you. Her smile had completely disappeared from her face, now showing off a deadly scowl.
"So," Marie started, poison laced into her voice. "How long have you been trying to seduce Bucky like a Khaki Wacky?"
"Like a what?" You really needed to read up on the slang around this time, because you were so lost in some of these conversations. When it didn't seem like she was going to explain, you continued. "Look, I'm not interested in Buck, like at all."
"So, you just happened to join our double date? Without a date yourself? You can't fool me." Her voice, somehow, became even sharper. "I see the way you look at him. Your 'banter' is cute, or funny, you're being a homewrecker."
"I don't look at bucky in any certain way." You let out a laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation. "And isn't this your first date? I don't think it constitutes as homewrecking when you are barely together."
Maybe you shouldn't have poked the bear, but you hadn't been able to help yourself. "Listen here, you don't understand how difficult it is to keep Bucky's attention for this long, and I won't let you ruin it."
"Okay, I get it." Maybe one more poke? "I won't get in the way of your dreams of getting married, or whatever else you made up."
"Marie, let's get onto the dance floor again." He winked at Steve, who rolled his eyes.
She went all smiles and laughs again, taking Bucky's hand. "Yes, let's." She glared at you as they left.
You let out a deep breath. "Never leave me alone with her again. I thought I was going to be turned into a cold case for a second."
"Don't worry; I won't." Steve laughed. "This is probably the last time you'll see her. Bucky doesn't stick with one girl for long."
"I figured." You looked back at the dance floor, where the two were. "But I don’t think Marie knows it'll be the same for her."
"Maybe not."
You tapped the tables with you fingers. "Do you want to go dancing? I need to go stretch my legs, anyway."
"Me?" He raised his eyebrows. "I already told you, I'm bad at dancing."
"And I already told you, so am I." You stood up, holding your hand to him. "Let's just have fun."
Steve looked into your eyes. If someone asked him, he would describe them as sparkling, like the evening sun on the ever-moving sea waves. The colour of your eyes seemed brighter to him. His heart was weak against your beautiful eyes; he took your hand. "Fine, but you'll have to take the lead."
"Sure." You pulled him, through the crowd, finding a nice spot for you two, not completely out of the way but not in the middle of the giant spotlight. "Come on."
You grabbed his other hand as well, trying to move your feet with the beat of the music, being off by a mile. Steve was moving less enthusiastic, more nervous. His gaze locked on his own feet, nervously trying to get it right. He still failed, his face pulled into a frown.
Your hand grabbed his chin, making him look at you. His face reddened. "Steve." You smiled at him. "Stop worrying so much. It isn't fun. Just look at me, okay?"
He blushed even more. The thought of looking you in the eye the whole time overwhelming him. He swallowed down the nervousness. "Okay." As you let go of his chin, he kept his gaze on you.
Steve started to actually follow your lead, not caring to focus on his footing. Your hands pulled him in the right direction. You didn't move like the others on the dance floor, gaining a lot of odd looks, but neither of you cared. You swung around, moving in circles, throwing your feet up in the air, not very smooth. As you went on, he gained more confidence, slowly taking over the lead.
"Get it Rogers." You whistled. Steve in turn rolled his eyes at you, not being able to hide a small smirk. He swung around with you, being a bit more on beat, but still not right. In a moment of confidence, he tried to twirl you around. It started well, but you lost your footing at the end. You stumbled, falling against his chest. You couldn't help but laugh, loudly. When Steve got over his flusteredness, he laughed as well.
--
Bucky was swinging around with Marie in the middle of the dance floor. His smile big, and his moves confident. Marie looked beautiful, her hair somehow still in shape despite all the dancing. For a moment, his moved away from the woman for just a second, but that was enough to notice it. He stopped, standing completely still. He gaped at you two, the corners of his mouth slowly moving up.
"Bucky?" Marie turned around. "Oh, they're not very good, are they?"
"Steve is actually dancing." Bucky saw you fall into his friend's chest. He smiled at the sight of you two laughing together.
"Buck? Buck?" She poked his arm, but he didn't react. "If you're so interested, we should go over there."
"No, leave them be." He let out a deep breath, one of relieve he realised. He had spend so long trying to find a beautiful woman to dance with Steve, desperately trying to find someone who liked him, failing every time. And somehow, the perfect woman fell from the sky, landing in their lives out of nowhere, achieving what he never could. "I want to get a drink. Should I get you something?" Marie shook his head. He left for the bar with a smile on his face.
--
The night went on. Steve and you kept dancing, song after song, just as bad, and left-footed as before. The dance floor started to empty out, people going home for the night. You two slowly grew tired, deciding it was getting time to leave too.
"We should get Bucky," Steve said, looking around for him. "Where even is he?"
You two moved towards the table, but you quickly froze in your step. "Stop." You grabbed Steve's arm. By the table sat Marie, crying her eyes out and her make-up smeared. Shirly sat next to her, patting her back. You two quickly moved away.
You finally found Bucky by the bar, flirting with a brunette in a green dress. "Buck." Steve walked up to him, not caring to interrupt the two of them. "We're going back. Are you...?"
"I'm sticking around for a while longer, I have this dame to hold me company." He gave a charming smile at the girl. "You two have fun."
The streets of Brooklyn were dark, and kind of scary. You stuck close to Steve, holding tightly onto his arm. Stronger together, you figured. Steve slightly tensed at the close touch, but not put off by it, not at all. It was nice, nicer than he thought he could ever have. He looked up at you, admiring your nose, your slightly rosy cheeks and your soft lips. He wanted to touch them. Steve quickly shook away the thought. It wouldn't be right. You're in need, vulnerable, and are dependant on him.
"It's just around here." He broke the silence.
"Finally," you said when you saw his building. "My feet are starting to hurt."
He fished his keys out and walked up the stairs to the front door. After fiddling with the lock, the door swung open. "Ladies first."
Update Schedule
I missed Peggy so much!!! I am so happy she got her own show!! S1 was so good! The fact she dumped Steve's blood into the river! It really was her saying goodbye 😭😭😭 I swear I cried so much during this show.
Now onto Daredevil. I have no clue what it is about but I'm excited.
...
Okay, note from a little later. I watched a few episodes of Daredevil, and can someone tell me why the fuck there is a place in America called Hell's Kitchen??? Like why??? And then the street names are basically just numbers??? I was expecting for a place called HELL'S KITCHEN to have more inspired street names. Like idk, just call one street Pig's Liver St. while you're at it.
...
I have been staring at Google maps for hours at this point, and I am still baffled.
The Embroiling Case of the Paranormal Girl - ARC 1 - The Baker Street Sanctuary - Part 1
Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x you
Masterlist Chapterlist
Ao3 link Previous Chapter
Summary:
Sherlock did not think anything of her when he first met her. She did not have the same incredible intellect as him, nor the skills of a retired veteran and doctor, but she did have something else; a secret Sherlock felt the need to uncover. Could he grapple the world-changing truth of this woman's nature? Or would he deny it even when it was staring him in the eye?
The story of Sherlock, the Paranormal girl and their blossoming love story.
Chapter summary:
Staying at your Sanctuary wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Mrs. Hudson was more than welcoming, and John was always kind... If only only Sherlock wasn't throwing a tantrum.
(This is not the first chapter, go to chapterlist)
You woke up in a soft and familiar bed, in a nice and familiar apartment. Right, you were back in 221A Baker Street. The curtains weren’t drawn, blocking light from coming in. You pulled the fuzzy blanket, which you borrowed from Mrs. Hudson, off of you. Goosebumps appeared on your arms and legs at the new temperature. Standing up, the events from yesterday started coming back to you, the morning, the station, the two men, Sherlock, your fake argument, and climbing back in through the window. A part of you couldn’t believe you were really doing this. You knew of the danger, the potential of them discovering, and what they would do. You remembered the weird experiments in their kitchen.
“Sherlock…” He would definitely want to figure out how you work.
You set your bag on the table, rummaging through it. You didn’t have any clean clothes left, and this apartment didn’t have a washing machine. You shoved the dirty clothes back in and made your way through the corridor, figuring Mrs. Hudson had one you could use. After you closed the door behind you, you bumped straight into a familiar face.
“John.” He was carrying take-out bags. Take-out? This early?
He looked at you with surprise. “What are you doing?” He whispered, looking around as if some stranger could spy on you in a completely enclosed hallway. “Don’t go out without warning! What if someone else was around?”
“But only you guys and Mrs. Hudson live here.” You reasoned.
“Well, Sherlock often gets visitors-”
“Really?” You interrupted Watson. “He doesn’t look like the type who has very many friends.”
He looked at you with a deadpan expression. “Clients come by throughout the day. Not that he is seeing them right now. He rejected every case from the morning, even the more ‘interesting’ ones.” He sighed. “He’s been sulking since yesterday, playing the violin constantly. I can’t hear anymore Bach pieces, or my ears will start to bleed.”
“So that’s what that was. Tell him it lulled me right to sleep,” you joked. “Anyway, I was hoping to use Mrs. Hudson’s washer. I can’t really go to the laundromat.”
“She’s away right now. Something about a book club in leotards.”
“Well, I will never be able the scrub that image out of my head.”
“Me neither. But you can use ours, and we ca have breakfast in the meantime.” He held up the two plastic bags. “We have enough, and we don’t have any visitors right now.”
You followed the man up the stairs to 221B, the steps creaked under your weight while the railing moved side to side, very unstable. You noted to never ever lean on it, less you want to end up in a hospital. Then you really would be screwed.
“Wait here.” John opened the door. “I’m going to make sure the windows are covered.” The door closed in your face.
Sherlock stood by the window, his eyes on the road, scanning every person. Every single one of them could be one of his brother’s spies. Well, almost every single one. He already crossed off the woman with the red hat, the man by the corner, and the old lady sitting on a bench. The rest of them all had potential. The businessman on the phone looked around a bit too much for Sherlock’s liking. Though, none of Mycroft’s men would be that sloppy; they knew who they were dealing with. Was this one after you? Perhaps. His eyes strayed to the art piece he made on the wall before turning back.
“Peculiar.”
The man had turned around. On the side of his jacket was an insignia embroidered. Quickly, Sherlock reached for the binoculars on the table. With them, he got another good look at it. It consisted of a big ‘L’ surrounded by an atom. But something was off about it. The structure was strange. It could be that the designer didn’t know anything about physics, or this organisation knew of something Sherlock did not. He quickly grabbed a piece of paper and drew it. That’s when the front door opened.
“John, come look at this.” He didn’t have a need to look by, he recognised his roommate by his footsteps. So, he kept on scribbling.
“I need to close the curtains first. Our neighbour is waiting by the door.” John sat the bags down on the table, before going over to the windows.
Sherlock immediately sat up. “Right.” He rushed to put the screen in front of the wall again, hiding your portrait. “And for what reason is she coming up? I can’t imagine she would willingly spend time with…”
“She’s borrowing our washing machine.” Ones all windows were covered, John made his way back to the door, finally letting you in.
“Of course,” Holmes mumbled.
“Morning.” You greeted him, and Sherlock made it a point to ignore you. Deciding it wasn’t worth the fight, you put your bag down and pulled out your laundry. “Where is the-”
“In the bathroom.” John pointed to the right door.
“Thanks.”
Once the door closed behind you, John turned to his friend. “Really? You can’t even say hello? Yesterday morning you were swooning all over her, and then, from one minute to the next, you hate her and pretend she doesn’t exist. What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I am simply putting all my focus on the case… And I wasn’t ‘swooning’,” he added in disgust at the word.
While John was putting down plates, he noticed the drawing. “I don’t think I have to tell you that this isn’t right.” He pointed to the atom. “The electrons and protons are switched.”
“Yes, I am aware. What do you think it means?”
“That this company hired a bad designer.” His friend didn’t laugh.
“One possibility,” Sherlock noted. “It could mean more.”
“Where did you even find this? You haven’t left the apartment.”
“I believe the businessman outside is here for our guest. He wears this logo on his sleeve.” He tapped the paper. “Go ask around different universities today and ask them about this symbol. I’ll search the internet.”
John frowned. “If some secret organisation is hunting her down, I don’t think they would wear their logo willy-nilly.”
“Which is why I don’t believe they are-” The man quickly shut his mouth when he heard the sound of a door opening. Looking back at his friend, he nudged his head towards your approaching figure and mouthed ‘ask her’, then, cool as ever, he slid the stool back and sat down, pointedly not looking at you.
John pulled the stool back for you. “Please, sit down.”
You did, looking over the containers of food. Apparently, Sherlock thought that 10 am was the appropriate time to have an ungodly amount of Mexican food. You decided on chilaquiles, hoping it wouldn’t attack your stomach later. It was quiet, too quiet. You had expected for the detective to have thrown a quip at you, but the man was staring at his own food, not even eating. John wasn’t giving a peep either, even though it looked like he wanted to say something.
It took a minute, but finally he swallowed down whatever was making him so nervous. “Uhm.. Sher-” The raven-haired kicked him under the table. “Urghuhm.. Sorry. I was wondering if you’ve ever seen this symbol before.” He showed you the sketch.
Your eyes moved over the pencil strokes, a part of you admired whoever had such a steady hand. It was a drawing of an atom with an L in it. You didn’t see anything strange. “No, not really.” You shrugged. “The atom looks a bit messed up, but nothing else. Why?”
It fell quiet for a few seconds, John looking at his roommate, almost looking like he was asking for permission, which, you figured, he must have given, as he turned back to you. “It’s for another case we’re working on.”
“I see. What kind of case?” You asked.
This time Sherlock spoke up, the first thing he had said to you yet. “Nothing that should concern you.” It was almost devoid of emotion, no small smirk, nor playful frown in sight. Just his cold voice. A coldness that told you there was some kind of pain.
Still, his rudeness was uncalled for. “Well, I did solve Payne’s murder, and considerably faster than you might I add. So, maybe it should concern me.”
“Your secretive, and novice experience is not needed, so, if you would, keep your nose out of my cases.” He picked at his food, not really eating, just moving it around his plate. “Even you should follow orders that simple.”
You didn’t answer. He wasn’t being playful. His words were just vindictive. The chilaquiles’ taste had become less vibrant on your tongue, and it felt hard to swallow. The awkwardness in the air hung thick, not even John was making eye contact with anyone. You heard the clock tick by every second, and you couldn’t stand it anymore.
You picked up your plate and stood up. “I’m finishing my plate downstairs. I’ll drop by later for my clothes.” You practically ran back to your apartment. The two men could hear the stairs creaking under your heavy steps.
John dropped his fork, the metal making a sharp ‘clank’ sound as it hit the porcelain. “Happy now?”
“I was simply deflecting her questions.” Sherlock stated, trying his best to look emotionless. “I don’t see how her meltdown is on me.”
“HER meltdown,” John repeated after him. “You are the one with the meltdown! Can’t you even try to be nice?!”
“No, this is simply how I work. You’re aware of that.”
“No, you don’t normally work like this.” John glared at him, seeing clearly through his lie. “Yes, you always carry yourself like you’re the smartest in the room-”
“I am.”
“And you enjoy quipping or insulting people, but not like this. Now, you’re being plain cruel.” John shoved his plate away, put the sketch in his pocket, and put on his jacket. “I’ll go to those universities for you. Don’t call me.” The door slammed behind him.
You moved through your apartment, your eyes moving around looking for something to do. You were grateful to Mrs. Hudson for the free apartment, and the nice bed, but it didn’t chance that the place was pretty bare with nothing much to do. It was the first time in a while you didn’t have anything to do. Being on the run always kept you busy, researching, traveling, and figuring out ways to get money and food. You sat down on a chair, fidgeting with your hands, from cracking your knuckles to drumming with your fingers. Desperately, you tried to keep your mind away from him, but you couldn’t help but replay the scene. You couldn’t figure out where his new attitude towards you came from, you hadn’t done anything, not that you knew of at least, but you also couldn’t shake it off.
You sighed. “Why can’t you just get out of my head?!” You whisper-screamed, not wanting your upstairs neighbours to hear you.
You didn’t even know why you stayed, did you even have a reason to? Not really. There was no guarantee they would actually help protect you, there was no guarantee Sherlock wouldn’t turn on you. He already was in the little ways. Looking over at the small clock hanging on the wall, you figured your wash should be ready by now. You knew you should go up, but you didn’t want to face him right now. Reluctantly, you stood up and made your way to the hallway. This time, peeking out the door, and listening for anyone, before going upstairs again.
John stepped out of the taxi, handing the man at the front a few paper bills. This was the third university he went to visit. The first university, the University of London, he was free to roam around. Being an alumnus, people happily talked to him, catching up with some, introducing himself to others. Nobody found it strange. At the second university, didn’t appreciate him snooping around. He had only been able to ask a few students and a couple of teachers before he was escorted off property. But no matter who he asked, no one had heard of this ‘L’ institution, but every single one of them pointed out the ‘mistake’ of the protons and electrons. Now, was on the Oxford campus. During his ride, he was able to admire the Gothic and Baroque style buildings which loomed over the people. The taxi had dropped him off in the science area close to many colleges. Luckily, many parts of the Oxford campus were open to the public. Unluckily, just as many weren’t, including subject departments and most buildings in the area. So, John decided on one of the libraries as his research ground.
First, he went up to a couple browsing the shelves. “Excuse me, do any of you know this organization?”
The woman looked at it first. “No, never seen it before.” Then her eyes squinted. “But you know the protons and electrons are supposed to be switched.”
“Yes, I know.” John then showed it to the guy. “Recognize it?”
“No, sorry.” The young man shook his head, before putting his attention back on the bookcase.
Then, John decided to bother a group of students working on a project together. “Do you recognize it?” He had asked, but every singe one of them shook their heads, before turning up their nose at the mistake in the atom. “Yes, I know. I didn’t design it. I’m just looking for them.” Again and again, he asked, but no one recognized it. He had been there for over an hour, nothing. He had just finished talking to a lady who worked there. “I swear, if one more goes on about the atom, I’m going to lose it,” he grunted. John made his way to the exit, ready to drop in the towel. He wasn’t paying attention, still thinking about all the time he wasted, when he bumped into someone.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you there,” a soft voice said. In front of John stood a young man, definitely older than twenty-five, but not yet thirty. He had brown hair and square glasses.
“No, it’s my fault.” John straightened his jacket. The young man was about to walk off again. “Hey, can I ask you something?” He stopped and turned back to the older man. “Do you recognize this logo?” John held up the sketch.
The brunette looked at it for a few seconds, processing what he was looking at. Then his eyes physically widened. “No-o, sir. I haven’t.” His voice had a slight tremble in it. Nothing an ordinary person would have noticed, but John had picked up enough hanging around Sherlock.
He tried to walk off, but John stopped him. “Wait, are you sure?”
The young man swallowed. “Yes, I am.” He ran off quickly this time, but John knew he couldn’t just let him get away.
He turned around and went back into the library, keeping himself about twenty steps away from his target. The guy sat down at a table with a few books, frantically turning pages. John held up his phone from around the corner of a bookcase and snapped a picture. Against his better judgement, he immediately sent it to Sherlock, no message attached. It didn’t take long for his roommate to call, but he didn’t pick up. John had calmed down since that morning, but he still didn’t want to hear Sherlock’s annoying voice, especially not if he was going to pretend like nothing happened.
“Hey, Noah!” Another student walked up to the table. “I was wondering if I could borrow your notes from Thompson’s class. He never puts anything online, and my fever was just too heavy.”
John pulled up his phone again, briefly scanning the messages coming in from Sherlock. Question, after question, deduction after deduction. He decided to ignore them. ‘Noah’, was the only thing he send back, nothing else.
“Yeah, sure.” Noah dug through his shoulder bag, before fishing out a notebook. “Here.”
“Thanks, dude. You’re a lifesaver.” He searched for the notes he needed and took a picture with his phone. “What are you studying for?”
“Nothing, it’s a personal project.” Noah closed the books. “I’ll continue it at home.”
“You live off campus, right? Let me drop you off.” The other man fiddled with his car keys.
Noah seemed indecisive until he looked up at his friend, seeing John in the corner of his eye. “Yes. Let me check these out.”
John cussed at himself in his head. He should have kept himself more out of the way. The two made their way out. Noah kept looking back, seeing if he was being followed. Watson couldn’t keep following the two. It was a sure-fire way of getting the cops called on him for stalking, and he didn’t feel like spending a night behind the bars, especially not for Sherlock. The detective could deal with the rest himself. Knowing him, he had probably already deduced everything about the young man.
You knocked on 221B’s front door. The sound echoed through the room behind it, but you received no answer, even after waiting for half a minute. So, you knocked again, a bit harder this time. Still, you didn’t receive an answer.
You sighed to yourself. “Sherlock! I’m coming in, whether the windows are covered or not!” This time, you heard rustling behind the door, as if the screen was being moved. “Three!” The rustling grew more frantic. “Two!” Even more so. “One!” It fell quiet. “I’m coming in!” You opened the door and stepped in.
The room was surprisingly clean, or as clean as 221B could be. Which meant it was still an absolute mess, one you would never live in if you were capable of having your own apartment for that long, but you saw nothing he would have to hide from you, except for the screen Sherlock always put against the wall, hiding the clues of whatever case he was working on. The detective himself was sitting in is leather chair, sipping from an intricate teacup. You wondered who made it considering Mrs. Hudson was out. He probably ordered it. As you walked in, he ignored you. He did that lot today. So, you decided not to acknowledge him either. You moved through the apartment to the bathroom. Opening the washer, you pulled out your clothes. You looked them over to see if everything went right. No discolouring, nor shrinking. So, you lifted them up and put them in the dryer, which stood on the other machine. The clock said thirty minutes. It wasn’t worth going down to C for that time. You moved back into the living room, sitting down by the table and drumming with your fingers on the table.
“Stop that.” Sherlock finally broke the silence after a few minutes. “It’s giving me a headache.” He hadn’t even looked up at you while reprimanding you.
You hated it. Was this who he truly was? Was this how he was going to treat you while you were here? Out of retaliation, you started drumming even harder. Now, he finally looked up at you. His crystal blue eyes glaring at you, and you send a cheeky smirk back.
“I told you to stop that.” He repeated.
“Just because you tell me to do something, doesn’t mean I automatically will.” You challenged him again. “You wanted me here. You put me in the apartment without shit to do. Deal with it.”
“You agreed to be here.” He corrected, as if he hadn’t stalked you and argued with you to get you to stay. “You should have foreseen your boredom.”
You rolled your eyes. “I can still leave, you know.”
His expression changed at that, just slightly, but you could have imagined it too. He didn’t say anything again, just went back to sipping his tea and ignoring you again. You had gotten bored of drumming on the table, and you didn’t want to actually give Sherlock a headache, so you entertained yourself by browsing his books. Holmes had an extensive collection of science, philosophy, biology and physics books, but they were all overshadowed by the sheer amount of psychology books. Your eyes landed on The Art of Reasoning by David Kelley. The book was bound in brown leather, you couldn’t decide if it was real or fake, and an attached bookmarker with golden detailing hang on the side.
Your fingers reached for it when Sherlock spoke up again. “Don’t touch that.”
Not again, you grimaced to yourself. “Why? What is it this time? Are you scared I’ll destroy it? I know how to handle a fucking book.”
“I trust you aren’t that stupid, no.” You slowly turned to look at him, flabbergasted by what he just said. “No one should touch anything in my apartment.”
You were ready to blow up at him, ready to completely cuss him out, but then his phone pinged, and in the second his attention was taken off you, you were able to calm yourself, repeating in your head that he wasn’t worth it. Your eyes roamed over the room, finally landing on the screen. You looked back at Sherlock, he seemed to be completely focused on texting whoever was on the other side, probably John. You made your way to the screen, walking on your tippy-toes, and trying to be as unnoticeable as possible. With your index finger, you lightly pulled the screen away from the wall, but, before you could take a peek, a hand pushed it flat against the wall again. You jumped, surprised by the sudden slamming sound.
“I told you not to touch anything.” Sherlock leaned against the screen, preventing you from pulling it back again. “Apparently, you really are that stupid.”
“I’m not stupid. I just choose not to do what you say.” You rolled your eyes at him.
“Stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.” He chased you away from the wall by invading your personal space.
You stumbled away from him, glaring at him as cold as he was glaring at you. “It isn’t a crime to be curious. It’s healthy actually,” you argued.
He was ready to throw you another cold and distant remark, but you were saved only this time by the dryer beeping in the other room. You quickly fled to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You swore, the air in the living room was so thick you could cut it with a breadknife. You opened the dryer with a sigh. Your clothes were warm and smelled great. You wrote down the brand of their laundry detergent in your phone. If you could scrape the money together, you would buy it, or you could ask your friend the next time you drop by, but that wouldn’t be in another year or so. When you went back out, Sherlock was standing by the window. The curtain was closed, but he was staring like he could see everything outside. As the door slammed shut behind you, he turned around.
“Will you finally leave me alone now?” Every moment you spend in his vicinity became more and more unpleasant. “Your presence annoys me.”
Tears started to fill your eyes. You couldn’t believe how awful, and stuck-up he could be. “I can’t fucking believe you! I knew you were egotistical, but this is worse than anything I could have expected!”
“Then your deductive abilities are clearly lacking, just like your below-bar intelligence and your average looks.” He stepped towards you, standing over you intimidatingly. “But isn’t really surprising, considering you spend years running away from your problems and now need my help overcoming them.”
The tears finally escaped your hold, flowing down your cheeks and landing on the clothes in your arms. “I will never be able to understand how John can stand you,” you spat back.
You ran out the door before he could retort and stormed down the stairs to 221C. When you shut the door behind you, you leaned against the wood, and slowly sat down on the floor, hugging your knees. You started crying harder and harder, realising that this was a mistake. It was only a few minutes later, that the gentle strokes of a violin echoed through the building. It didn’t make you feel any better.
As soon as the door shut, Sherlock drew back the curtains. He bit his cheek, looking out over the street. The man in the suit was long gone, and he didn’t notice anyone else wearing that logo, not even a spy who could be looking for you, only Mycroft’s people. Sherlock picked up his Stradivarius, set it down between his shoulder and his chin, before solemnly stroking over the strings with his bow. The notes he played mirrored his feelings. It was the only way he allowed himself to show them. The song felt sad and confused, raged and regretful. He watched the cars go by, deducing where they were headed. There was no way to check but Sherlock was sure of himself. Then, something strange happened. All his arch-nemesis’ men moved out of the way.
Great.
Mycroft was on his way. That was just what he needed. Sherlock could already feel the headache grow. He needed cigarettes, or heavier drugs, but his brother would search his whole room the moment he smelled the faintest trace of anything addicting. And besides, he didn’t have time for that anyway, he needed to Mycroft proof the building. Quickly, he hung random clues for a case he had already finished on the screen, making it look like he was using it for something else than hiding the wall. Then he checked the stairway. Begrudgingly, he cleaned up all the dust in the entrance. It would mean a disadvantage for Sherlock, not knowing if someone had entered without him knowing, but this way he also cleaned all traces of you. He didn’t want Mycroft knowing you were here. When he thought it to be good enough, Sherlock went back upstairs, picked up his violin, and went back to playing, patiently waiting for his visitor.
You had warmed up lasagna Mrs. Hudson had left in your book. It didn’t take you even ten minutes to scarf it all down. After what happened upstairs with Sherlock, you had made up your mind; you were going to leave. But before that, you were going to take full advantage of your situation, eating until you got a stomache ache, and stealing the little shampoo bottles just like you did in hotels. Sherlock was still playing upstairs, and it was really getting on your nerves. You didn’t want to be reminded of the bastard, it just made you more pissed and teary-eyed. You opened the fridge again, he was playing some type of sad tune. There wasn’t much in there you could just take. Maybe the strawberries if you eat them today. Then you checked the cupboards. There were more snacks there, not much considering it was just some stuff Mrs. Hudson brought over, but they wouldn’t expire in a long time.
“Yes!” Your eyes whidened at the jackpot. You favourite snack. Quickly, you stuffed it in your bag.
It took you a bit to notice, but the violin stopped. It was bliss. The headache, which had been torturing you, finally softened. However, it soon strengthened again when heavy steps moved down the corridor stairs. Sherlock was doing something in the hallway, even messing at your door, before rushing back upstairs. That was weird, but also not your problem. You would be gone in ten minutes anyway. Then, it didn’t take long for the violin to start up again.
“Great,” you mumbled.
Being completely done with this bastard, you zipped up your bag and made your way to the door, your hand on the knob. For a moment, you doubted your decision. You could see the look of dissapointment on Mrs. Hudson’s face. You quickly shook the thought away. No, you were leaving. Just as you were about to open the door, you could hear noises behind it. Someone was coming in.
It didn’t matter.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
There was no reason not to be seen at 221 Bakerstreet anymore, and yet you went still like a statue. You heard the man in the corridor clear his throat before moving up the stairs. He walked slowly. Why, you didn’t know. Then, the man reached the first floor. Whomever it was, didn’t bother to knock on your neighbour’s door, just went in. You could hear voices from upstairs, but not clearly, just muffled. Carefully, you opened the door. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you took off your shoes, and tiptoed into the hallway on your fuzzy socks. You sat down on the stairs, where you could hear the two talk.
“Not even cigarette patches?” The man asked. “I know you haven’t taken on a new case yet.”
“Did your spies tell you that?” Sherlock sounded more annoyed than he ever sound with you, but much less cold as well.
It fell silent for a second. If you had to guess, on of the two sent the other a look. “They didn’t need to. The case you have hanging was already in the papers. Though the screen is new.”
“Mrs. Hudson won’t let me put pins in the wall anymore.” Sherlock complained.
“I take it she also cleaned the corridor.” Another silence fell. God, you wished you could spy into the room right now. Unfortunately, you didn’t have that power. “And the downstairs apartment? Was it C?”
“Stop pretending.” Sherlock interrupted him. “You know exactly which apartment that is.”
“Fine, Apartment 221C. No new tennants? It looked… Recently used.” Your heartbeat sped up. “I would love to have a little chat with them.”
“Do you mean you would take them to an abandoned warehouse and have the full British government search for every smidge of information about them?” Sherlock spoke fast but every word was perfectly pronounced.
Falling for Steve Rogers - Chapter 2: Bucky Barnes
Steve Rogers (Captain America) x you
Masterlist Chapterlist
Ao3 Link Previous Chapter
Word count: 3025
Summary:
You were just an ordinairy person, living an ordinairy life. One day, however, you suddenly found yourself in 1940's America. Panicked, you run into a sweet guy called 'Steve Rogers'.
You stood in Steve's small bathroom, staring right at your arm. Every so often, you would look up into the mirror, to see if it's really there; it always was. Seven stripes, blue of colour, had appeared on your left forearm. Each of them had a thin black border around them, and then there was a black rectangle that encompassed them all. Its appearance reminded you of a phone's battery logo.
There was something different, though, about the stripe close to your wrist. Only a part of it was blue, the rest matched your skin again but still encompassed by the border. It was strange. Almost as strange as time-traveling. You touched it, half expecting for something to happen, but it didn’t. Didn’t even feel a static shock or anything. It was just skin, nothing else.
You looked back at the mirror; your gaze not locked on your arm this time. You looked at yourself. The bags under your eyes were a deep purple colour, your cheeks red, despite the cold shower, and your lips chapped.
Steve had left out a simple blouse, a jacket with padded shoulders and a matching, knee-length skirt. They weren't expensive by any means, you wouldn't have expected that from him either, but they helped you blend in. The jacket was only a half-sleeve, showing off your new tattoo to the world. That was going to be a problem.
You didn't know what to do with your hair. Even if you were familiar with 1940's hairstyles, you didn't have the means to replicate any of them. So, you just let your hair loose. The whole get-up wasn't really your style, but you had to admit; you looked good, really good.
You stepped out of the bathroom, which was connected to the bedroom. Steve's bedroom was quite modest as well, except for one section where he did all his painting. He hadn't allowed you to look at any of his work, saying that it wasn't any good. A part of you wanted to take a quick peek, you, however, didn't want to breach his trust like that.
You were about to enter the living room, but a loud sound stopped you. Someone slammed the front door. "Steve?! Why are people saying you brought a prostitute home?!" The voice of an unfamiliar man yelled.
"I-I didn't," Rogers stammered.
"You know you don't need to do that." Whoever this man was, Steve knew him. A friend? Family? "You just haven't found the right dame. I am sure there is someone out there who would spend the night with you."
"I just said that I didn't-"
"We do need some kind of alibi if the NYPD come by. Why did you have to go and do something highly illegal." You heard another bang. Something must have fallen from the table or maybe pushed.
"Bucky!" You heard Steve yelling back. "She isn't a prostitute. She didn't have anywhere to go, no home, so I let her come with me."
"A stranger? Dressed like a prostitute."
"She is homeless, it's not like she has a dresser full of the latest fashion," he joked. "I gave her one of my mom's old sets."
You sighed with relief. Their dispute was over, and no one thinks you're a prostitute. Bucky, at least. Everyone else still might. You opened the door, finding the two men sitting by the kitchen table. Bucky was big and tall. Muscles very refined, you could see that even through the many layers he was wearing. His face was freshly shaven, and his brown hair neatly done.
His eyes landed on you; they roamed all over you. "Woah, are you sure she is not a prostitute?"
"Yes," you answered for Steve, slightly pissed off now. "He is sure."
"Right, I do have to say, you are one cookie." Bucky turned to his friend. "You think so too, right?" This was the first time you looked at Steve since you came in. His mouth hung open, looking at you. His eyes filled with wonder, and a hint of something else. "Steve?"
This shook him out of it. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
"Your friend is harassing me." You stepped forward and sat down next to him. "Tell him to stop."
"Sorry, about him." He apologised for his friend but didn't reprimand him. "Uhm, this is James Buchanan Barnes, but you can just call him Bucky." He then gave Bucky your name.
"That's a very beautiful name." His hand laid on the table, his fingers ticking against the wood. "And where does the pretty girl with a beautiful name come from? It's pretty obvious you aren't American."
"It's... Complicated," you answered, but the boys stayed quiet, waiting for a real answer. You sighed, "Technically, I'm Dutch."
"Technically?" Bucky pried.
But you weren't going to give in. "Yes, technically."
"And technically, I am just muscle with a brain attached to it." He gave a cheeky smile.
You glared at him in turn. "Technically, there can't be much brain-matter in there."
"Well, technically-"
"Bucky, please stop." Steve interrupted.
"Fine, I'll stop." He held up his hands in defeat. "But one last question. What is that thing on your forearm."
You quickly covered your arm up. "It's just... Well, you know."
Steve looked over at you, he could just barely see the stripes on your arm. "A tattoo?" Something must have clicked together for him, only in the completely wrong direction. "Have you been trafficked?"
"What?" If you were drinking something, you would have spit it out right then and there. "No! No, no, no. I wasn't trafficked, don't worry."
"Then, what is your story?"
"I'm going to tell you the same thing, I told Steve." You took a deep breath. "I would tell you, but you wouldn't believe me." Your voice broke slightly as you spoke. "So, I will be keeping this to myself for a while."
"Right, if you ever change your mind, I am a great listener." Bucky stood up from his chair and put the jacket that had been hanging from it on. "I have to go back now, was only allowed a short break. I'll see you tonight."
Exploring Steve's apartment didn't take long. It was small; the kitchen right by the entrance, the dining table right next to it, then there was Steve's bedroom, and the bathroom. There were two other doors, one in the kitchen, and one in the bathroom, both leading to the same area, neither opened. Considering the lay-out, you guessed it led to a living area, but you couldn't be sure.
You didn't want to bother Steve with your query, there was a reason these doors didn't open, and frankly, it was none of your business. So, instead you started fiddling with the radio. It wasn't a grandiose thing, but it picked up the frequences just fine. The first broadcast it picked up was the NBC.
"How does it work?" You asked Steve, who sat two seats next to you, just watching you.
"You turn the left button for a different station, and the right one to change the volume." At his explanation, you eagerly changed the station, only to receive static. "Wait." He reached over. "Let me." He changed the station to WNAC. "Here, like that." You carefully tried to change the station again, this time succeeding. "You didn't have a radio where you came from, right?"
"I mean, sort of." You winced thinking back at home. The thought of never being able to go back made you want to curl in on yourself and cry. "Nothing like this. We have something similar, but it works differently."
"I do have an older model. We can't afford one of the newer models," he explained. "Some people have televisions in their home. They're like at home movie theatres." Of course, you knew what a TV was, but Steve sounded so excited to tell you about them, that you acted intrigued. "Did you have movie theatres where you're from?"
"Yeah, we had those." It wasn't a lie, but it still felt dishonest in a strange way. "I went a few times."
"And here I thought I could take you on a new experience."
"Well, I have never been to a theatre in Brooklyn?" You smiled. "I have actually never been in Brooklyn before. You could show me around all the fun places."
"I would like that." Steve wanted to reach out to you, hold your hand, maybe, but that wasn't what you needed right now. "I can show you around Monday, I have the time. Most things are closed tomorrow but the movie theatre is open, if you still want to go out."
You noticed Steve's breaths slowly getting shorter while he talked, but you didn't think anything of it. He was probably just nervous. "Sounds good." You also noticed his skin getting slightly paler. "Are you alright?"
Steve stood up, his breaths getting even shorter and his skin getting even paler. He quickly grabbed something out of the fridge and drank it down. As he stepped back, his footing uneven, he bumped into you. "Sorry, I'm prone to dizziness."
You held him upright, bringing him to a chair. "Iron deficiency? Anaemic?" You made a guess. One of your friends was anaemic and got dizzy spells just like this. You picked up the glass bottle he had grabbed. It was filled with something dark red, a kind of brown.
"Anaemic, but B12 not iron," he corrected. You opened the bottle, taking a quick whiff. It smelled awful. "And that's liquidised, beef liver. It helps."
"Yumm," you said sarcastically. You closed it again and put it back in the fridge. "How much do you need?"
"Eight ounces," he grimaced. "Every single day."
"And how much is that in litres?"
"I believe around point twenty-three. Every time I have to swallow another gulp, I hope doctors will finally find an alterative." He sighed. His blue eyes looking down, sadly.
"I'm sure they will." You looked out the window. It was slowly getting dark. The clock above the door read five-thirty. "What time did you have plans with Bucky?"
"I don't really have plans with him. He's taking me on a double date." He sighed again. He really wasn't looking forward to it, especially now that he was getting dizzy spells too.
"Oh, I didn't expect that," you admitted. "Can't believe he was so blatantly flirting with me in front of his boyfriend."
"I'm not- He's not." His spoke frantically. "We're not together. He's bringing a dame for me along. I'm not queer, I promise."
"Okay, I get it. It's fine." You gave him a small assuring smile. "No problem if you are, no problem if you aren't."
"I am not," he clarified again. "So, uhm, what about you? Do you, uhm, queer?"
"Do I queer? Sometimes," you admitted. "Men, women, I don't care."
"Right, that's killer diller." You didn't know what he meant, but you were sure it was a positive reaction.
"But you have a date tonight." You decided to save him from an awkward conversation. "That's exciting."
"Not really, women don't really like me, especially when I stand next to Bucky." He gestured to himself, specifically his height. "It doesn't help that we're going to the dance hall, I am dead hoofer on the dancefloor."
"I'm not that good of a dancer, either," you admitted, but Steve gave you a sceptical look. "I'm serious! I'm really bad! But that doesn't stop me. It's still fun! So, what if you embarrass yourself a little? It doesn't matter. Just go have fun."
"Even then, I'll be stuck with a dame who has no interest in me. She's just coming because Bucky asked her to. She'll be all excited until her eyes finally land on me, then she'll just be disappointed." The sadness in his eyes, broke your heart. "Happens every time," his voice broke, but he refused to cry. You opened your mouth, ready to say something, but Steve spoke up first. "Don't say it might be different this time; Bucky already does that, but nothing is ever different."
"We could fake you being sick?" You suggested. "Tell him you haven't had enough liver juice today, and that you can't go."
"No, Bucky won't fall for that. I've tried it before. I even tried to fake my stomach ulcers once, but he even saw through that." He stood up. "I have to change. Bucky will be here soon." He stayed still, staring at you for a few seconds. "Do you want to join us? I'll probably have a better time with a friend there. One who isn't enamoured with a date, I mean."
"If you don't mind me going dressed like this." You gestured at your lend outfit. "I don't know if it's appropriate for dancing."
"I have a few others laying around. They're a bit old fashioned but they should work." He grabbed a key out of a kitchen drawer and went to the locked door. "They were my mom's."
You looked at his saddened face, grief dancing in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry, I can find something else to wear. You don't need to lend me something so personal."
"It's okay. She wouldn't have wanted them to go to waste. Besides, they look good on you, and I don't really have the money for anything new." He opened the door, you couldn't peek inside from your angle, not that you wanted to. It would feel invasive if you did. You heard him moving some stuff, digging through a drawer, before coming back out and locking the door again. "This one should fit you." He held up a simple yellow dress with a white collar and ruffled skirt. "It's from the 1930's."
"It's nice, thank you." He handed you the dress. "I take it that's your mother's room." He took notice of your 'is', not 'was', he liked it more.
"Yes," he answered. "The apartment only has one bedroom, so we made the living room her bedroom. You can go change in the bathroom, if you want. Then I'll prepare in my bedroom."
You looked down at yourself again. The dress hugged your figure nicely, only the skirt, and sleeves were a bit longer than they were supposed to be. Steve's mother must have been a taller woman. Even so, they didn't cover up your 'tattoo'. That could be a problem, considering how Bucky and Steve reacted. The masses outside would probably be much worse. You needed to find something to cover it up. Rummaging through the bathroom cabinets, you found a lot of supplies. Like, A LOT. Were these for Rogers’ ailments? He already had anaemia and stomach ulcers, what else could he have?
You picked up a large, roll gauze, before knocking on the door to his bedroom. "Steve? Can I come out?"
"Yes!" You heard him yell. "I'm finished."
You opened the door, finding Rogers in a suit that was a bit too big for him. His hair done with a bit of gel. "You look nice." Steve didn't respond, he just looked at you, cheeks slightly red. "Do you mind if I use this to cover my tattoo?"
He looked at the roll in your hand. "No, that's fine. Come here, I'll help you."
You two sat down at the kitchen table again, the assigned hang-out spot in his home, and he professionally wrapped the white cloth around your arm, not too tight, not too loose. His hands were soft, only his knuckles slightly damaged. "I didn't take you as someone who gets into fights."
"They're more alleyway beat-ups than fights, but I suppose I can be a bit of a troublemaker." You rolled your eyes. If you knew one thing about Steve Rogers since you met him, it's that he is not a troublemaker, but more a defender. For a small moment, you thought about Captain America, and the very little you knew of him; always doing the right thing, even if that leads to trouble. You couldn't help but compare that to Rogers.
The door flung open, shaking you out of your thoughts. Bucky walked in, dressed similarly to Steve. "Who is ready to go dancing?" His eyes landed on you two. "More people than I expected, I see."
"Yes, is it alright if she comes?" Steve asked, quickly finishing your arm up.
"The more the merrier. Now, hurry up; the dames are waiting." He came over and fixed up Steve's tie really quick. "I promised to pick them up at six-thirty."
Walking through Brooklyn again, it felt very different this time. People weren't staring at you, weren't gossiping. They just went on with their lives. It was dark early, and the nightlife began to start up. Little lights came from every direction, and you could hear music in the distance. Your little group ducked into a little side street, to a row of houses, until Bucky stopped at one.
He went up to the door to knock and then stepped back again. A few minutes later, an excited girl in a dark red dress, that kind of reminded you of the liver fluid from earlier, came out. A warn smile plastered on her face. She immediately came up to Bucky, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, before attaching herself to his arm.
As they walked down the path, you noticed the woman's make-up. Her eyeshadow was very demure, her cheeks slightly rosy, but it was her lips that really drew attention: a bright red. Suddenly, you felt slightly underdressed. You hadn't put any make-up on; Steve didn't have any laying around in his bathroom.
"You must be Steven? Bucky has told me much about you." She nodded at him, before her eyes moved to you. "And you are?"
Bucky quickly gave her your name. "She's a friend."
"I see, it's a pleasure meeting you." Seeing her strained smile, you quickly deduced that it was not a pleasure. "I have to say, I love your dress. It's so... hairy, in a classy sort of way."
"Thank you." This was going to be a long night.
Update Schedule
I just watched Winter Soldier, and man! I desperately want to know what happens next with Bucky 😭😭😭
Now onto Guardians of the Galaxy, S.H.I.E.L.D s2, and Agent Carter s1
Another thing, I can’t take their slang serious. I looked up a list of 1940's slang, and every time I look at them I laugh, or cringe, or both.
- jive bomber, sounds like some kind of throat-burning shot.
-hot diggity dog, 😭😭😭. Why does this low-key sound like it would be a Heathers song? It's so unhinged.
-snap your cap, I have a desperate urge to make some kind of Captain America pun with this one.
-What's buzzin', cousin? I don’t think this one needs an explanation.
Steve Rogers (Captain America) x you
Masterlist Chapterlist
Ao3 link
Word Count: 3017
Summary:
You were just an ordinairy person, living an ordinairy life. One day, however, you suddenly found yourself in 1940's America.
Panicked, you run into a sweet guy called 'Steve Rogers'.
The world was changing; everyone knew that. Gods, Asgard, Aliens, The Avengers. Life on earth would never be the same... In America at least. It was as if the country was a supernatural magnet. And that was fine by you. Let them deal with it, your life in a little Dutch town was far away from all that. You were happy.
Every day, you would leave your apartment with your breakfast still in your mouth. Sometimes toast, sometimes bacon. You would jump on your bike, the one covered in stickers and colourful tape and go to work. You got your job years ago, thinking it would only be temporary, but you ended up sticking around much longer. The liquor store had a small storefront, squished between an expensive boutique and a florist.
You sighed as another drunk customer left, yelling that you wouldn't sell to him. At least he didn't get violent. There had been a few incidents like that over your time here, but you have never gotten hurt. Drunkards were notoriously bad at fighting. You continued restocking the beers and ciders. It was monotonous work, easy and simple; just how you liked it. You heard the bell above the door jingle.
"Ik kom zo bij u!" You yelled, not caring to look who came in. You rolled your eyes when you didn't get an answer. Rude as always. When you finally finished, you made your way to the front, but no one was there. "Weird," you mumbled to yourself. You hadn’t heard them leave. You looked around for a bit, making sure no one was there. In the end, you just went back to your work. There was enough to do.
Not even five minutes later, an older man entered. He wore an expensive black suit and white dress-shirt. In his left hand, he firmly held his briefcase. "Excuse me." He came up to the counter. You wondered what an American, dressed like that, was doing in your town. "I am agent Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D.." He waved a badge at you. "Yes, it's American but we operate and collaborate on a global scale. I was hoping you could tell me something about this individual. Someone spotted him around here." He flashed his phone screen at you.
It showed a man, around thirty-ish, his hair a mess and eyes tired. "No, haven't seen anyone like him around. Did something happen?"
"That's confidential." His eyes roamed through the store. "If you don't mind, I would like to take a look around.
"Just do your thing." As he stepped away, you played around with the register. Changing the names for products to puns, before changing them back. Couldn't let your boss see, unfortunately. It didn't take long for this agent to come back and leave the store.
The rest of the day was quiet, simple, just as it was supposed to be. The sun had slowly dipped down past the horizon. You turned off the LED-lights that spelled 'open’ and started cleaning. As you were dusting off one of the wooden, display tables, you felt some type of static wave in the air. You shrugged it off as sleep-deprivation, but then it happened again, only longer and stronger. Soon after, came the beeping sound.
It was inside.
Close to the door front. You followed it, grabbing one of the beer bottles for self-defence. You sat down by the cabinet in front of the window. Your heartbeat quickened as you pulled the wooden structure back, revealing some type of the device; a disc stuck on the wall. It sent out another wave of static, only this time, you started to feel lighter. Physically lighter. Your hair floating up. Gravity had disappeared. Quickly you looked outside, trying to avoid all the bottles floating up. It looked normal.
Were you hallucinating?
No, that wasn't right. You were hovering, actually hovering. Somehow, gravity only disappeared inside the store. It was that damned device. You needed to turn it off, before everything got worse, but traversing through a weightless space was more difficult than you thought. You tried the usual swimming motions, bringing your arms together and pushing out. The only thing it did was turn you upside down. This position did give you a better view of the device... It started flashing red.
"Fuck." You needed to figure something else out, and fast.
Your eyes darted around. The only things around you were floating bottles, furniture, some coins, and a cord. Wait! A cord. It was still connected to the outlet. You pulled yourself down by it, being careful not to pull the plug out. Once down, you held onto the windowsill, bringing yourself closer to the device. It had started beeping faster and faster. You stretched your arm out. Just as your finger made contact, an intense electrical shock went through your body. Suddenly, everything went dark and cold.
---
Steve looked down at this week's New York Times he borrowed from Bucky. His friend often insisted on helping him, letting Rogers borrow his stuff, helping pay for his medical bills. At least those the government didn't cover. He was grateful for it. He didn't have many opportunities for a good job with all his conditions. His best chance at life was his art career finally kicking off, but he wasn't betting on it.
The papers showed a picture of Britain's Prime Minister, Chamberlain, waving a piece of parchment around; it was the Munich Agreement. Steve nodded his head as he skimmed the article, frowning only every once in a while. A knock came from his front door. "It's open!" He yelled, already knowing who it was.
Bucky threw off his shoes in abandon, after coming in. He looked over at his friend. "That's yesterday's paper, right?"
"I hadn't gotten the chance to read it yet." He folded the paper, threw it on the table, and picked up his mug. It had milk in it, good for his B12 deficiency. Doctors didn't recommend for him to drink coffee, unfortunately. Bucky had one every morning.
The brunette sat down across from him. "What are you wearing tonight?"
"Tonight..." He repeated under his breath. Bucky's newest had a cousin who was 'perfect' for him and Steve could show her such a good time on a double date. He kept saying how it would be different this time. It never was. Rogers knew he wasn't very desirable. He was short, slim, unathletic, and had a list of complicated medical conditions. A stark difference to his best friend, the dreamboat. "I don't know about tonight."
"Don't be a cold fish, now." Bucky jabbed. "Just swing her around a bit, show her a good time, and who knows where it'll lead."
The blonde sighed. "Fine," he gave in. "I'll come." A big part of him already regretted it.
"Great." He stood up again, walking over to the kitchen and started rummaging through the cupboards. "I'm going down to Goldie's soon. Want to come?" He opened the fridge, too. "We need to get you more food soon."
"I still have enough for the week, and I won't come. I need to conserve my energy, for tonight," he quickly added.
Bucky looked at him, unconvinced. "Don't get in trouble when I'm not around, okay?" He slipped his shoes back on. "I mean it."
"I know." The smaller man muttered as he watched him leave. Once he knew Bucky had left the apartment building, he put on his own shoes, straightened his tie, and put on his jacket.
Steve didn’t know where he was going. He just needed some place to sulk. Somewhere without four walls surrounding him, without a mass of people, and definitely without caring friends who fretted over his every move.
It wasn’t too hot nor too cold today. A few clouds covered the sun, and yet her sunshine poked through them. The clouds were white of colour, no rain any time soon. Brooklyn itself was busy. It was a Tuesday, rush-hour too. Steve needed somewhere to duck away for a bit, catch his breath and wait until most people were at their jobs.
His eyes landed on a familiar alley, the one where he got beaten up for speaking up against a catcaller. Not the fondest memory but he decided it worth it.
As he took a deep breath to ground himself, he suddenly heard sniffing. It came from behind the dumpster. Anyone not looking for trouble would have turned around, so Steve continued on. Making slow steps.
"Hello?" He tried but didn't get an answer. Instead, the sniffing became louder, this time accompanied with small whines. He rounded the corner to find a woman.
She was curled in on herself, her red face hidden behind her hands which kept wiping away her tears. She looked strange, not just because of her frantic state. No, her clothes looked like nothing he had seen a woman wear before, and her hair, it was done / dyed in a strange manner.
He went onto his knees, facing her at eye-level. "Miss?"
She pulled her hands away from her face. Suddenly, Steve stared into the most beautiful (colour) eyes he had ever seen. Her eyelashes wet from her tears, and lips red from her biting on them.
---
You awoke in an alleyway. From the moment you opened your eyes, you felt something was odd. From the skies and the building walls, to the ground and the trash. You weren’t in your hometown anymore, that you were sure of. You work uniform felt damp against your body from all your sweating. You didn't know why you were sweating this much; it wasn't hot outside.
Standing up, your legs felled gooey, like someone had put them in a blender and then stuck them back on your body. While trying to balance yourself, you knocked over a bottle.
You hadn’t noticed it earlier. It was an expensive white wine; aged since 1938, brewed in Brooklyn New York. A whole box of them had been standing behind the register, your boss had imported them for a client.
After finding your footing, you made your way out. What you were looking at astonished you. The first thing you noticed was the people; they were dressed like they were on their way to a renaissance fair but for the 1940's.
The closer you looked, the more you noticed. It wasn't just the people, the cars, the technology, the papers, hell even the slang. You weren't in the twenty-tens anymore. That device had sent you back in time. Tears started building up in your eyes, and you did the only thing you could think to do. Retreat back into the alleyway and cry your eyes out.
You sat there, on the dirty floor, next to a dumpster, for what felt like hours. You thought about home, to your nice warm bed, the computer you had been setting up and never got the chance to use, to your favourite plant you watered for two months before realising it was plastic, to your friends who wanted to take you to the bar tonight, to your family who was always there for you. All of it pulled you deeper into despair.
It felt like you were there for hours, until you heard a voice break through. "Miss?" The voice was soft, and sweet. You pulled your hands away. He was a young man, blond hair and twinkling eyes. He was very lean; you probably had more muscle than him. He smiled at you. "Is everything alright?"
You shook your head. "No," you whispered. "No, I am so lost. I don't know what to do."
"Do you have address I can take you to? A family-member?" He spoke with a gentleness you never felt before. "A friend?"
"No, I don't have anywhere to go." The look he gave you, it wasn't one of pity like you were expecting, no, it was empathy. Pure, unadulterated empathy.
He bit his inner cheek, contemplating. "I'm Steven Rogers, and you?" You whispered your name to him. "You can stay at my place, if you need it. You, of course, don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable. I understand, you're a dame, and Brooklyn isn't the safest and I am a stranger-"
"If you would take me, I don't think I will be better off on the streets." You gave him a small smile.
"Yeah, right, of course." He stood up, giving you his hand to help you up. You took it, but Steve ended up not being much help, his arms way too weak. Standing next to him, you finally noticed how short he was. You could probably overpower him, if push came to shove. "My apartment is close by, just, uhm, follow me."
Brooklyn, Steve had said. You somehow ended up in Brooklyn. As you walked over the streets, the people gawked at you, it made you uncomfortable. You weren’t used to being in the spotlight. You never stood out, nor did you want to. Here, however, you didn't have much of a choice. Your work uniform wasn't very demure; low neckline, quite form-fitting, and required a pair of black jeans. You hadn’t seen a single other woman wear pants since you arrived.
"Steve," you whispered. You looked at him with doe eyes. "People keep staring."
"You are... do stand out, but there is no need to worry; I won't let anything happen to you." He grabbed your hand, squeezing it tight. Despite his short stature and non-existent muscles, you believed him. He carried a confidence in him, one that made you feel safe.
You pulled him closer to you, holding onto his whole arm instead. "Thank you."
Steve's home was in the poorer part of Brooklyn. The roads weren't paved, and the parts that were, looked to be in a rough shape. Wash lines hand between buildings, in the same manner as flags. You figured they didn't have drying space elsewhere. The house he lived in had been split into seven separate apartments; the landlord must be making good money off this property.
"It's up these stairs," Rogers explained. You followed him up and waited as he fiddled with the lock. When the stubborn thing finally opened, he held the door for you. "Ladies first."
Steve's place was in a bad shape, both inside and out. The paint in the kitchen was starting to chip, and the cabinets were half busted. You watched him take his shoes off, quickly following to do the same. "You have a nice place," you lied.
"You should see it in the winter. The leaks in the roof will drive you crazy, and the wall in the bedroom let's in all the cold air."
"Sounds like paradise." You sat down by the kitchen table, letting your fingers track circles in the wood. "I want to thank you again. You don't know how much your help means to me." Your eyes started to tear up again.
"Would you like a glass of water?" You nodded. He quickly made it for you and sat down across from you. "If I may be so bold, how did you end up in this, well, situation."
"I would tell you, but I'm afraid you won't believe me." You took a sip of your water. "You'll think I'm crazy, mad even."
"That's okay, you can tell me when you're ready." His eyes travelled down, very discreetly looking at your clothes. "I should probably get you something else to wear. I don't know where you're from, but people here don't like it when woman are... Well, you know..."
"Showing off their assets." You helpfully added. "Yeah, I noticed." You looked down into your water, your voice changed to a serious tone again. "Can I ask you some strange questions?"
"Sure."
You hit your lip, nervously. "Alright, what's the date?"
"I don't believe that's a strange question," he smiled. "The first of October."
"And the year?" You added.
"Woah there, that was way too strange for me." You gave him an unimpressed look. "1938."
"Right... I knew that, of course." You were in fucking 1938?! This wasn't good, definitely not good. People in this time weren't familiar yet with the possibilities science would give in the future. If it had been just a few years later, then they would have the world's first super soldiers, then you would have a chance to be believed.
"Was that it?"
"No, next question. Imagine, theoretically, there was a young woman in Brooklyn who didn't have any money, method of identification, and connections, how would she be able to get money."
"If it were any woman, her only chance would illegal rings that won't have her best interest at mind, but if it were you, then you won't have to worry. I'll help you."
"That's very sweet of you Steve Rogers. If only all people were as kind as you." You emptied your glass. "Can I maybe use your shower?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course, go ahead!" He scrambled to stand up, obviously nervous around the subject. "Right, you don't know where it is, follow me." You followed the short man into his bathroom. It was run-down, but you could make it work. "This is it. The hot water runs out quickly, the towels are right here, and I've got soap there."
"Thank you." You noticed how Steve's face was completely, beat red.
"If you need anything else, just way the word." He stood in front of you, waiting. You didn't know what was going through his head, his cheeks still looking like two tomatoes taped onto his face.
"Can you, uhm, leave?" It felt kind of rude being so direct, but all subtlety would have flown right over his head.
"Yeah, right, of course, sorry." He turned around, grabbing the door handle. "I'll see you later, bye." He slammed the door shut.
You peeled your damp clothes off your body and stepped into the shower. As the water sprayed from above you, you fell into a haze, the true weight of it all only just falling upon you.
Update schedule
I have only just started watching the MCU, so I don't know everything yet. Please don't spoil anything in the comments.
I'm watching it in release order, and am currently at season 1 of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. The only Captain America movie I've watched so far is The First Avenger. I do know about what is going to happen to Bucky, just not in detail, so please don't mention that either.
Another little side note, I just know the next chapter is going to get content reviewed, because of one word I used a few times, and I am already dreading it. One of my fics has been in content review since begin July! JULY! To see if it needs a content label, which I don't believe it does.
Your boyfriend was... odd, to say the least and it was no secret he was hiding something from you.
But no matter what you did, what you said to him, he wasn’t willing to confess... Not until it was too late.
Several months went by until you saw Sash again. You had heard he had gone out of town for work or something, you hadn't cared enough to listen. Summer had already turned into autumn when he stopped by your parents' house. Hermes sat on your windowsill, while you worked on your computer.
For him, the last few months had been amazing. Well, as much as they could be in his animal form. But you took him with you everywhere he went, and always tried to include him in whatever you were doing. Shopping? you would ask for his opinion, even though you thought his 'nodding' was coincidental. They weren't of course, he had really loved that green dress on you. So, when he saw Sash walking up to the front door, he inwardly groaned.
Hermes didn't worry, however, you wouldn't forgive this guy. He knew you wouldn't.
When the doorbell rang, you were taken aback to find Sash. He was holding a small bouquet with yellow flowers. "I know I was a dick, and I understand how much Hermes means to you. It was just... You made me really worry when you ran out there, and I ended up taking it out on you. I'm sorry." Hermes huffed, the nerve this man had to come grovelling back to you. "I was hoping you would give me a second chance."
Sash held out to flowers to you. You leaned in slightly, sniffing them- they smelled great- before taking them. The tortoise rolled his eyes, as if some flowers would be enough to earn your forgiveness, just look at him and all the trouble he had to go through. You would never, ever-
"One more chance."
.
..
...
What.
Hermes looked at you. Your eyes gleamed at the flowers. He remembered that look in your eye, it was the same as the times he gave your something. It didn't matter if it was an expensive necklace, that he stole, or a donut, which he also stole.
"Great, thank you!" He animatedly hugged you. "Then, would you like to go on a date with me. Get some ice cream or a coffee. I know a cute place in town."
You rolled your eyes, clearly being sarcastic. "It's the only place in town."
"It's still a cute place," he argued. "So?"
You looked at the time. "I'm due for my break anyway. Let me get my bag and stuff."
Hermes watched you put on your coat. He couldn't believe this was really happening. He thought he had gotten rid of Sash, but the human was like a cockroach, impossible to kill and crawling everywhere where he doesn't belong.
You made your way over to the little animal, stretching your hand out to him. "Are you coming? I'll sneak you some ice cream." Hermes didn't move, which you thought was weird. Every time you went to get ice cream, he jumped on you as fast as he possibly could. "Fine, you can stay here." You patted his head. "But if something is wrong, you know where to find me." Hermes nodded at you, making you smile. "See you soon, buddy."
When Hermes was sure you were gone, and wouldn't be rushing back for anything you could have forgotten, he changed back into his human-like form. This time, he had to come up with something permanent. No petty tricks, like storms or cow poop, no. He needed something deal breaking. Something Sash could never come back from.
--
Hermes slowly woke up from the sun hitting his face. He wanted to curse his brother for it. He swung his arm to the other side of the bed, wanting to spoon you. But, when his hand landed on the mattress, he realised you weren't there. He stood up, lazily scratching his chest. You were probably in the shower.
He moved to the bathroom, not bothering to put anything on. He was planning on joining you, after all. However, once inside, he found it empty. No matter. Maybe you were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. He could make that work. But once he stepped into the living area, you were no where to be found.
Hermes summoned his phone, a simple trick, really. He could summon anything from his messenger bag into his hands without problem. He quickly called you, but you didn't pick up.
Hermes
Hey darling
Where did you run of to?
You didn't answer, just left him on read. Did you... did you really just leave him like that? He had never thought you would be the type, but he figured he just read you wrong.
Was he a bit disappointed? Yes. Did he care? A little. He'll probably pull some prank on you, maybe dump you in the middle of no where, or curse you or something.
With a sigh, Hermes put on some clothes with the snap of his finger; his signature sunglasses sitting on his face, and his long, brown coat thrown over his shoulders. He should find a new mortal to hang out with. One that wouldn't disappoint him.
Hermes walked out of the apartment, down to the parking garage in the basement. He still couldn't stop thinking about you. You didn’t even pull anything on him. Even after he dropped so many hinds. No thievery, no trickery. It was boring, and a waste.
He dug through his pockets looking for his keys. The parking garage was dark, but he followed the white lines on the floor to hid spot. 32E... Why couldn't he find his keys? 32F... He dug through every crevice of his coat, he swore they had been in there. 32G... Maybe in his messenger bag? 32H, his spot.
He looked up, only to find it completely empty. For a second there, Hermes was confused, but then a smiled appeared on his face. You had done something after all. It wasn't much, just one of the sports cars, but it was something.
Maybe he would stick with you a little longer after all.
--
You and Sash walked down the path into the small town. The coffee and ice cream shop, cleverly called 'Coffee and Cream', was situated only a little ahead. They had a large sign hanging out with a bougie logo.
While walking, you got a good look at the man. He was wearing a long, brown coat. It reminded you of someone else's, Sash's was more modest; no fur or expensive brand names. His hair was also shorter, less dramatic. And you've never even seen him wear sunglasses, while Hamish never took them off.
Sash lacked everything that made you feel insecure with your ex, and yet... You didn't feel it, not yet at least. That spark, the butterflies in your stomach, when you got to know Hamish. Still, you went on this date just to see, to hope, it could still come.
He opened the door for you. "Ladies first."
"Very gentlemanly." As you stepped in, you were immediately hit with the scent of coffee beans. The inside looked like one of those modern cafes with green walls and plants everywhere. Tables, booths, mismatching chairs and couches littered the room in a chaotic harmony.
Sash led you to the back where you could order. One side had a barista working hard on extremely complex coffee orders, while the other side had a young man scooping up ice cream. As you waited in line, you noticed the man dropping a scoop in a coffee cup every once in a while. So, when it was your turn to order, you immediately got an ice cream coffee.
"I'll just take a hot coffee." Sash paid for you two, and after waiting for a bit, you two sat down. "So, what have you been up to these few months?"
"Not much," you admitted while stirring the ice cream into your coffee. "Just working, mostly, and I've been taking care of my parents garden. Though it doesn't look like much during this season."
"Not planning to go back to the city any time soon?" He took his sip from his black coffee. You wondered if he actually liked it or if he wanted to look sophisticated.
"Not really." You took a sip of your sugary mess. "Too many memories."
"I get that." A silence fell over you. It felt as if he wanted to say something, but was unsure how to approach it, but eventually, he mustered up the courage. "Would you want to trave somewhere else? Because I've got a competition and I'll have to travel pretty far. I was wondering if you would like to join me?"
"Hmmm." You considered it. It would do you got to get out, make new memories, and you could work from anywhere you wanted, but you hadn’t known him that long. "I'll think about it. When do you have to leave?"
"In about a month, but take your time. How is Hermes doing by the way?" He changed the subject, probably to avoid any more awkwardness. "That storm must have shaken him up too."
"He's fine. My Hermes is a lot stronger than he looks. Although, last week, he did throw a fit about taking a bath." You animatedly retold the story.
Hermes stood in your room, pulling out papers and scribbling on them with some old markers you had laying around. He was writing down ideas, whatever he could think of, but nothing was enough. He needed something to make you hate this guy, but there are very few things that make you feel hate.
Yeah, you hate it when dishes are left out in the sink, and you hate it when it suddenly thwarts raining with no warning, but that wasn't the type of hate he needed. No, the type of hate Sash had to bring up in you would have to be...
The same as when you two broke up because of his secrets. Hermes felt a pang of sadness shoot through him at the realisation.
He shook it off, he needed to shake it off, because a plan began to form, but he needed help. Hermes scratched behind his wing, who would help him?
Artemis definitely wouldn't... Apollo? Maybe, but he would go off the rails at some point, and would probably ruin the whole thing. Athena was out of the question, she wouldn't help him with something this petty on principle.
There was only one god who liked him enough, and who was smart enough, to help him. Hermes grabbed the purple marker, writing Dionysus on a piece of paper. He would be the centre of the plan. Without him, Hermes couldn't execute it.
He kept on scribbling down. His plan would need time. Time to make you feel suspicious, time to make you feel like Sash was keeping a secret, and time to make you hate him.
Hermes needed to be patient. Something that you often teased he had none of. He guessed it was time to proof you wrong.
He stepped out your bedroom window, ready to fly off into the distance, when he heard the front door open.
"Shit."
You were back. He closed the window, before picking up all his papers and shoving them into his messenger bag. He was ready to rush downstairs, already opening the door, but he quickly stopped himself.
He was still in his human-like form. The transformation was swift, replacing his hand for green, little feet.
As you stepped inside your home, you eyes immediately searched around for your little tortoise, you two were never apart for long, but when you noticed he wasn't there, your face pulled into a frown. "Hermes?!" You called out for him. Sash walked in behind you, not caring to take off his coat. "Hermes?!" All of a sudden, Hermes stood right in front of you on the third stair step. You quickly picked him up, holding him above your head and sending him air-kisses. "There you are."
"Good to see you again, buddy." Sash attempted to pet the animal again, only for Hermes to snap at him. "Right... Uhm.. I have to go, think about my offer, okay? It would do you good to travel for a while."
Travel? What did he mean 'travel'? Why did you need to 'travel'? Hermes glared at the man, ready to bite his head off.
"Yeah, I'll think about joining you." You set Hermes back down. "But if I go, I'll have to look for a tortoise-sitter. Traveling that much could stress him out."
"Too bad. I was hoping to race him again." He didn't look sorry at all. "See you around!"
Hermes didn't let out a sigh of relief when the man left. You were going on a trip with that man. How soon, he did not know, but he needed to speed up his plan.
The Embroiling Case of the Paranormal Girl - ARC 1 - The Beginning - Part 3
Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x you
Masterlist Chapterlist
Ao3 link Previous Chapter
Summary:
Sherlock did not think anything of her when he first met her. She did not have the same incredible intellect as him, nor the skills of a retired veteran and doctor, but she did have something else; a secret Sherlock felt the need to uncover. Could he grapple the world-changing truth of this woman's nature? Or would he deny it even when it was staring him in the eye?
The story of Sherlock, the Paranormal girl and their blossoming love story.
Chapter summary:
Sherlock finally found you, but you were not alone. He is determined to help you.
Sherlock and John rushed their way into the station, cutting through lines and hopping the gates. The station was busy; hundreds of tourists wandered around, looking for their platforms or trying to make their way through the horde in front of the exit. The hands of the giant clock at the front struck 12 PM. Sherlock followed the tracker; to the left, to the right and to the right again. The little dots came closer and closer to each other; they were close. John tried his best to follow his friend, but Sherlock’s steps were faster than ever before. His eyes glanced to the left, noticing two men in suits hurrying through the station. It wasn’t strange at all, people run late all the time, but something wasn’t right. John bumped into his friend’s back, his face right against Sherlock’s shoulder.
“Why did we stop?” Watson rubbed his sore nose. Sherlock had strong shoulders. He looked up, seeing the well-known woman’s bathroom sign. “Right. We’re not going in there, right? We can just wait outside.”
“You stay outside and keep watch, I go in. Keep everyone out, I’d rather not be caught in a presumptuous situation.” He didn’t let John argue; he looked around, making sure no one was watching, and slipped his way in. The bathroom was dimly lit, making it a bit more difficult to make detailed deductions. It was quiet, but the third sink was still wet. Had you already left? No that couldn’t be; the tracker hadn’t moved. He walked by the stalls, all of the doors were closed, none locked. “I warn you this time; I am going to open the doors. There is no reason to throw anything at me.” He did not get an answer. He already knew, but he still opened all the doors, on by one. He stilled after opening the last stall. The only thing inside was your backpack. Why had you abandoned it? He considered a bomb for a few milliseconds but quickly threw that idea out; you would have left it in a busy area. Almost no one came all the way out here. He pulled at the zipper. Nothing too odd inside either; spare clothes, water, tomato juice, pineapple juice, whole grain protein bars, peas, batteries and over-the-counter medication. The food and medication were new, but the rest had already been in there when he was sneaking the tracker in. He walked out, where John was awkwardly leaning against the bathroom wall. A few passersby gave them both dirty looks.
“She wasn’t in there?” John more so noted than actually asking it. “What now?”
“She left her bag behind, not well hidden; she was in a rush, but she’s not leaving, not without all her stuff,” Sherlock concluded. “No, she needed to shake off the extra weight. You take the West side, I take the East side. She has to be around here somewhere.”
Sherlock’s fast pace and long legs made it easy for him to get through the crowds. He had your bag loosely hanging off his shoulder. The rough look it had– covered in dirt and obviously worn-out– was a stark difference from his elegant, winter coat and white dress-shirt. His eyes locked onto every head of c/ hair, his left hand clamped as he walked by a group of smokers– no, he couldn’t give in–, he checked every homeless woman begging for money and leaving tips, and he even dared to check every woman’s bathroom, only getting stopped occasionally. Sherlock had practically checked every corner of his side, so he made his way back. He looked up at the clock; 1:30 PM. Should he check elsewhere? But you wouldn’t leave your bag for that long, it held everything you owned. He got shaken out of his thoughts by a hard bump against his back. A feeling of déjà vu washed over him. Turning around, he stared into a familiar set of c/ eyes.
“Sorry.” You hadn’t even looked up at him, instead you tried to slip into the crowd again, but before you could, he grabbed your hand and stopped you.
“You truly do have impeccable timing, miss.” A mischievous smile had appeared on his face, but it wasn’t one of victory he normally had after solving a case, nor the smug one he had on after showing off. “I believe you have lost something.” He held up your back, keeping it just out of your reach.
Your lips trembled, just slightly and your eyes were wide, like a deer in headlights. Like an open book, rang through Sherlock’s head. “I don’t have time for this right now.” You looked back over your shoulder, your eyes racing. “Please, give it back.”
“Why?” His eyes had followed yours, but he didn’t see anything. Was he missing something? Or wasn’t it here yet?
“Please, Sherlock.” Your eyes stared into his, pleadingly. A strange feeling gripped his heart, a sensation he had never felt before washed over him, before concentrating at one spot, blood rushing there. You looked pretty, he decided. He wanted to say it, wanted to tell you that, but no sound left his mouth. He just stood there, mouth agape. It was nothing like this. The moment was over way too soon. You ran past him. He looked up, noticing two men in suits pointing to your direction, and taking chase. Sherlock quickly stuck out his leg, making one of them trip. They swore at him, before continuing.
“Sherlock!” John came running in, breathing heavily. “She’s here somewhere, being chased by two men.”
“Yes, I am aware.” Sherlock closed his eyes. He remembered seeing a map of the station. Imagining in his head, he planned out the different routes you could take. If they ran hard enough, they could cut you off behind the food court. “Come on, there is no time to lose.”
They ran as hard as they could, at least Sherlock did so, John just tried to keep up with the taller man. They bumped into people, accidentally pushing some of them over. Sherlock was not afraid to step on chairs and walk over the table in the food court, to his friend’s dismay. They got yelled at by underpaid waiters and overworked station security, but nothing stopped Sherlock in his path. John was not as lucky, however, eventually getting stopped and escorted away by one of the security guards. There you were, still running, with the two men just a few metres behind you. He wasn’t fast enough to catch up to you, but if he was correct, then you were running into a dead end. He turned the corner, just a few seconds after the two men, but you weren’t there. No, you had disappeared, just like the first time he had met you.
They turned to look at him. “Everything alright here, gentlemen?” Sherlock put on his best ‘normal concerned guy’ face. “I saw you two running.”
“Stay out of it.” The shorter man, the one he tripped, grumbled. The blonde man, with a distinct southern Russian accent, had an obvious drug problem, and an inferiority complex, but there was a more dangerous detail; he was armed, and so was his friend. He bumped Sherlock’s shoulder as he left, on purpose of course; a childish intimidation tactic.
“I’m sorry about him. He’s new, gets carried away sometimes.” The second man came up to him, taller with a Brummie accent and handed him a fifty-pound note. “Here, let’s keep this between us, okay?”
“Of course.” Sherlock hid his hand in his pocket, clutching the note in his hand. He watched the second man jock slightly to catch up with the other. As soon as the two were out of sight, he brought the red note up to his nose, sniffing both sides. Flowery scents and sweat, but both were overpowered by the heavy ether-like smell of perchloroethylene. From a dry-cleaning business used as a front for money laundering. The note hadn’t been in the man’s hands for long, considering how strong the scent still stuck to it. Sherlock would have to visit the dry-cleaning businesses around London. On his way out, he played with the heavy weight of your backpack, carefully considering all the options for his next move. Too many places to check, too many places you could be…
No.
There is only one place you would make your way to next, and he would gladly meet you there. Sherlock stopped a taxi, sitting down in the back. “Where to, sir?” The driver asked, turning to look at him with a friendly smile.
“221B Baker Street.”
When John came storming into their shared apartment, Sherlock was sitting in his leather chair. He held his hands against each other right in front of his face. Some might think he was praying to whatever god could capture Holmes’ attention, but his roommate knew better. He was focusing. His eyes were locked onto your bag, which stood on the coffee table. Next to it stood a cup of tea accompanied by a biscuit, no doubt made and delivered by the kind-hearted Mrs. Hudson.
“You really left.” John shook his head in disbelief. “I was being detained and scolded by the security as if I am some ill-behaved child. I sat there for hours! The police were called, and I received a scolding, AGAIN! I got a hefty fine! Got banned! And you just left! To what? Sit down in your chair and play at being a… a bloody rock!”
“Sit down.” Sherlock looked up at his friend, completely ignoring his long rant. “We will receive a guest any minute now. And please stop raising your voice; you wouldn’t want to scare her off.”
“Scare her off?” John couldn’t believe this. He was still going on about that girl when he was just detained by security and banned from Victoria Station. “I had always thought it would be funny to see you love sick; never been this wrong. Can’t even go a minute without you trying to ‘solve’ her. It’s not healthy to obsess this much over a crush.”
“John, it is not a crush. This is a complicated case with many unknown variables, it stimulates my brain without a need for drugs; that is all there is to it.” Just then, the sound of a doorbell echoed through the hallway. “She’s here. Sit down.”
“Yeah, yeah.” John sat down in his signature chair. “I won’t embarrass you in front of your crush. A piece of advice; don’t show off your deductions in the bedroom. Most girls won’t appreciate it.”
“Thank you, John, but considering the long list of failed relationship I’ve been keeping on you since you moved in, I don’t believe you to be a trusted source for relationship advice. Not that I am interested in anyone in the first place.” A voice came from the stairwell. Mrs. Hudson was fretting over you. Sherlock, closed his eyes and breathed in. He heard the sound of the door to 221B open. He breathed out and opened his eyes. “Three... Two... One...” The door to their apartment flew open once again. Sherlock’s intense stare slightly softened after seeing your face. Barely noticeable to anyone but those who truly knew him.
Your eyes immediately locked onto your bag. You could probably make a grab for it, but your escape was a different problem. They would stop you leaving the apartment, and you couldn't really teleport in front of them. Exposing yourself like that would be too risky. “May I please have my bag back?” You asked sarcastically.
“Why don't you sit down first, miss? Then we can have a little chat.” Sherlock emphasised the 't' at the end, drawing it out in a mocking tone. He attempted to put on an innocent smile, but it turned into a more devious smirk.
You shot him a glare, before sitting down. The whole setup and sitting on that stupid chair made you feel like you were going to get scolded, like a child. “What do you want?”
“You are sitting in the chair, you are our client; you tell us your story, and we’ll take your case.” John laid it out for you, as if it was the obvious conclusion.
“My case?” You laughed. “I don’t have a case for you. Now, I want my bag back.”
“So, the two men chasing you down at Victoria Station just wanted to invite you over for tea?” Sherlock stood up from his chair, a bolt of excited energy flowing through him. He wanted this case; no, he needed this case. “No.” He circled your chair, like sharks in the water. “They were after you. Who are you running from? What do they want from you?”
“That is none of your business.” You stood up, glaring at Sherlock’s frustrating, cocky, blue, perfect, handsome, hypnotising− reel that back− eyes. “I can handle myself. I don’t need the help of some detective wannabe and his trigger-happy babysitter!” His face fell.
Sherlock kept quiet for a minute, before putting on a smile again. “You read his blog.”
“That’s what you took from that!” Your face was turning red now, and he couldn’t help but finding it kind of endearing. You were so easy to read, while also being the most mysterious person he has met. “I can’t believe you! You’re impossible!”
“For some reason people always call me that, but I do prefer improbable.” He leaned in closer, his eyes challenging you. “It’s more accurate.”
“I call you whatever I please!” You stood your ground, no matter how close he got. You wouldn’t let him bully you.
He took your stiff stance as an opportunity to lean even closer, noses almost touching. “What else do you want to call me?” Your face heated up. Who does this guy think he is?
“If you two are just going to flirt then I am going to watch telly with Mrs. Hudson.” John interrupted whatever tension was building up between you two.
You quickly stepped back. “I am not flirting with him. I don’t want him; I just want my bag.”
Sherlock grimaced at the newfound space between you two. He had to stop himself from pulling you back. “You can have your bag if you let me prove myself.”
“He means once you let us help you.”
You shook your head, fighting with the men like this won’t get you anywhere, so you took a different approach. You looked at John, and then back at Sherlock. These two were determined, and Sherlock was smart; you wouldn’t be able to shake him off that easy. He might even me better at finding you than… “You don’t want to help me; it’s dangerous.”
“What do you take me for?” The younger man scoffed. “I only take dangerous cases.”
“I’m not playing around! You shouldn’t even be seen with me!” Why was this man so infuriatingly insistent on helping you?
“It’s a bit too late for that I’m afraid.” Watson noted, huffing to himself.
“Exactly.” Sherlock turned around in one swift move and pointed right at his friend. “Which is why you have nothing to lose. Staying here will only be beneficial for you and won’t change our danger status.”
You hesitated. Sleeping in a nice bed, a warm home with food on the table. You hadn’t had that in a long time. These people were willing to give it to you, but the costs were simply too high. “I… I can’t tell you why…”
Sherlock bit on his inner cheek, thinking for a few seconds. “You don’t need to. I’ll figure it out on my own, I can be surprisingly ‘creative’-” He sarcastically held up two bunny ears- “when faced with a mystery.”
“Then, I’ll stay here.” You finally gave in. “But don’t think I won’t run the minute danger knocks down the door.”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now that that is taken care off, I believe it is time to introduce yourself.” Sherlock held out his hand for you to shake. You cautiously took it. “Sherlock Holmes; consulting detective.”
“Y/n L/n; homeless woman.” You finally gave up your name. The detective mulled over it for a few seconds before deciding that, yes, he did like your name. He hadn’t let go of your hand yet, it was awkward. You carefully tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he pulled you forward and rolled up your sleeves, revealing a band-aid.
“I had a suspicion when you stayed here, there was a slight paleness to your skin. The contents of your bag made it even more evident; tomato juice, pineapple juice, whole grain protein bars, and the medication; iron supplements. Important to steady iron-levels after having your blood drawn. You don't seem like the kind of woman who gets annual blood checks. Besides, you don't have any medical records-”
“How do you know?”
“Educated guess. As I was saying, you haven't donated any blood, again medical records. So, why?” He gave his brain dome time to breathe by getting distracted by the warmth of your skin. “Unless... You do get annual blood checks, your friend. He has been drawing your blood and examining it. He has been giving you recovery packages.”
“Congratulations, you figured out the least important detail.” You gave him a sarcastically slow clap. “What else are you going to figure out? My bra size?”
“It's (size) cup.”
Your head snapped back up at him, this time with a more 'weirded out' glare than he murderous one. “I can’t believe you! You dug through my underwear!”
“Deducing a cup-size isn’t difficult, no matter how many layers you wear,” he explained. “But yes, I looked through everything in your bag.”
John stood up and made his way to the door. “This is my que to leave.”
Neither of you paid him any mind, didn’t even look when you heard the door close. No, you two were too busy continuing your one-sided feud and one-sided flirting. Sherlock’s heartbeat spiked every time you made a quip at him, every time you glared at him. It didn’t spike incredibly high. He had never been nervous, always in control, always keeping his BPM at the most optimal speed. You changed that, infuriatingly so.
“I can’t believe you!” You pushed your way past him, snatching your bag from the table. “What made you think you had the right!” You hugged it close to you, as if at any moment it would be taken from you. “Asshole.”
Before Sherlock could make a snarky retort, Mrs. Hudson came through the door, with the excitement of a labrador puppy. “Oh, girly!” She made her way to you, her arms open, ready to embrace you. “Did John tell the truth? Are you really staying this time?” She held your arms tightly.
You smiled at the sweet woman, feeling bad you had just left without saying goodbye. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson-”
“No,” the detective interrupted you. “In fact, she will be leaving right now.” He had made his way to the window, staring out into the street.
“Excuse me? Didn’t you just argue with me for ten fucking minutes, trying to convince me to stay?!” You yelled at him, utterly confused. “And now you want me to leave? Are you fucking kidding me?!”
He pulled the curtain back over the window. “No, I am not kidding you. You must leave, storm out of the building and scream that I will never find you again. Make sure to be loud. We must make sure the people watching us won’t know you are staying here. You hear that Mrs. Hudson? You can’t tell anyone we are hiding here. Don’t even make it seem like we are hiding anything.”
“But she is staying here then? This is all one of your brilliant little plans then?” As soon as he nodded, Mrs. Hudson let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, Sherlock, you mustn’t make me worry like that.”
“Y/n-” He ignored the older woman- “You can sneak back in through the window in the back at exactly five o’clock, there is a small alleyway there. John will stand there with a rope to help you up. I trust you can get there on your own without being noticed?”
“I’ll figure it out.” You swung your backpack over your shoulders. “It’s not like there is twenty-four seven surveillance on your apartment,” you joked, but Sherlock didn’t, no. Instead, he gave you one of the most serious looks you had ever seen. “There isn’t right?” This time, your voice had a serious tone.
“My arch-nemesis likes to keep an eye on me, as well as some other enemies,” he shrugged, as if it was nothing. “I’ve gotten used to it, but it can be annoying at times like this.”
“Annoying isn’t the word I would use for it.”
“Now, I need you to look angry again.” He ignored you. “Look at me like you despise me.”
“Not that hard.”
“Make sure to really scream at me. This needs to be as believable as possible.”
“Not a problem either.” You slammed the door open, made sure to stomp with every step down the stairs, opened the front door. “I can’t believe you- you EGOTISTICAL ASSHOLE!!”
Sherlock had looked shocked at your outburst for just a few seconds, before regaining his composure. For someone who is so easy to read, you act surprisingly well. Or perhaps, you weren’t acting at all. Maybe you were taking more build up frustrations out on him. Yes, that was it. “Try harder,” he smirked at you. “I have been called far worse.”
“You can take that stupid smile of yours and shove it up JOHN’S ARSE!” People on the street were staring now. Some judging your public freak-out, others getting more and more intrigued on what the hell Sherlock Holmes was up to now, but one thing you were sure off, between them were spies. For Sherlock’s archnemesis no less.
At that moment, Watson stepped out, summoned by all the noise you were making. “Why are you involving me again?”
“Because, apparently, YOU are the only one who can get through to his THICK HEAD!!!” You picked up some dirty, trash from the road, not looking at what it was. Knowing London, it was probably dirty and full of bad bacteria. Which is why you didn’t hesitate to launch it at the detective. Sherlock quickly rubbed the filth off him, despite his shortcomings, he was a classy clothed man. “NEVER, EVER TALK TO ME AGAIN YOU BASTARD!!!”
“I am pleased to inform you; my parents are in a long and happy marriage.” You picked up more filth to throw. He was faster this time, you were growing more predictable, your actions more repetitive. Sherlock dodged it this time, it instead landing on Watson, who sighed in defeat. “That isn’t a very wise thing to do to a man attempting to help you.” This argument needed to end sooner rather than later. Luckily, you had the same thought.
“I told you! I don’t fucking want your help! You’re INSUFFERABLE!!!” You glared at him. “Now, FUCK OFF, and leave me alone.” You turned around, face red with rage and voice hoarse from all the screaming you’ve had to do. You walked off, steps fast and furious.
“I’ll see you when they find your body!” He yelled after you, desperately wanting to have the final word, even in this fake argument.
You were the same, couldn’t help but turn around for one last retort. “I would rather stay unsolved than have my body be examined by a freak!” You yelled from the other side of the street. This time, you turned around without looking back. If Sherlock said anything else, you hadn’t heard it. What does it matter anyway? It wasn’t real. A stupid argument, for a stupid fight. You swallowed; your throat was dry. Looking at the time, you could probably get something to drink before you had to go back. It was better, safer, to be somewhere busy, anyway.
You wandered the streets of London for a few hours. It wasn’t hard to notice that you were being followed, but you made swift work of that now that there wasn’t a stupid detective following you around and annoying you. You ran through China Town, bumping against tourists on your way. The two men, whom you had been trying to follow you for around seven months now, were making their way to the crowd. They were armed, you knew that. It wasn’t a big problem for you, but it could cause extreme chaos if it were pulled out. That’s why you put as big of a distance between you and them as you could. You finally found a small alley. Quickly, you ducked into it, not even running to the far edge to disappear. You only looked out, making sure no one saw you, and then, you jumped. You would never get used to teleporting. It made you incredibly dizzy. Over the years, its effects had diminished, but never truly disappeared. It used to feel like jumping out of an airplane, now it just felt like carsickness.
You ended up in the middle of Regent’s Park. You only had two waypoints in London, and luckily for you, one was close to Baker Street. Not like you could use the other one. That one was only for specific moments. You treated through the park, finding the public restroom where you quickly changed, and then you made your way back to Baker Street. You had to find your way around first, but eventually you found yourself behind 221B.
“Y/n?” John whisper-yelled from the second-story window. You looked up at him. “I’m going to let the rope down now.” The rope was a professional rock-climbing rope, strong, very strong. You pulled at it two times, making sure it was bound tight, before putting it around your waist and making a knot. As you climbed up, John pulled at the rope, getting you up faster. Sherlock was no where in sight, of course he would make Watson do all his dirty work. You finally made it up, quickly shutting everything and pulling the curtains in front of the window.
You were in someone’s bedroom, and looking around, it was obvious whose. This was Sherlock’s room. Everything had a very specific place, from the pillows on the bed, to the collection of serial killer pictures on the dresser. On second thought, there were more hints than just having specific places for everything. “I thought he would have at least made his bed, but I guess my expectations were too high.”
John huffed. “I used to try and make him every morning, a fruitless endeavour. He says it is a waste of energy when he just messes them up again when goes to sleep.” He smiled. “Mrs. Hudson sometimes does it for him and then scolds him that he is not a brooding teen.”
You walked through the room, there were two doors; one made with frosted glass. You figured it led to the bathroom. You opened the other one. Immediately, you found yourself in the kitchen, there was no hallway. The kitchen was a mess as well. It seemed like Sherlock liked to set up weird experiments in here.
“I’m sorry about the mess.” John scratched his neck, embarrassed. “Sherlock, he-”
“Don’t worry, I figured it was him.” The sliding doors to the living room were closed. The doors looked similar to Sherlock’s bathroom door. Music came from there; someone was playing the violin. You opened the door, finding Sherlock standing by the window. He was standing as if he was looking out on the street, however, the curtain was closed. He had heard you come in, you were sure of it, but he didn’t stop playing. “Erhuhm.” He didn’t react. “What’s your plan now?” He ignored you again. “If you’re just going to ignore me, I might as well actually leave.”
He stopped. “You can stay down in 221A, Mrs. Hudson has already prepared it.” He spoke colder than normally, not even looking at you. “The curtains will block anyone from seeing you, still, make sure not to get too close to the windows. Be quiet as well, in case a client is here.” Sherlock was acting weird, but not your circus, not your monkeys. Definitely not your monkey. John could deal with it. He must have noticed something about you, despite having his back to you, because he huffed. “You can leave now.”
You rolled our eyes. “I’m going to shower and then to bed. Don’t bother me, no matter how long it takes for me to get up tomorrow morning.” You moved past John into the stairway, walking down to 221A. Mrs. Hudson was waiting there for you, key in hand. She opened the door, leading you inside.
“Ow, I am so glad you’re back,” she whispered. Sherlock had probably told her she couldn’t let anyone hear her talk to you. “London is no place for a woman like you to be out on the streets at night.” You weren’t going to mention the dozens of homeless women you’ve met, let alone the little communities you’ve sheltered in. “Come, sit down.” She gestured to a rackety, small, dining table. “You must be hungry.” A beautiful, warm, home-cooked meal stood there, waiting for you, steam still coming off the pan.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” You sat down, the smell making your stomach growl. You didn’t hesitate to stack your plate with the pasta she prepared. Your favourite veggies were mixed into the sauce, those you haven’t had in a while.
“I’ll leave you to it.” She made her way back to the door. “I can’t come down here often, but you are free to drop by 221C. There’ll always be a warm meal for you there.” The door closed behind her, leaving you alone again.
You didn’t know where this decision would take you. It could be your chance at freedom, real freedom, or maybe you have just crossed paths to your demise. There was no way of knowing.
To everyone who like my fics, please don't hound me like this. It won't make me write any faster.
It is okay to ask me for my schedule or when I am planning to update, but when I answer, don't keep coming back like this.
I send you to tumblr so I don't have to keep repeating myself.
I said on tumbr that I was on vacation, and I told you guys the next chapter wouldn't be out any time soon bc I was working on a one-shot (for the same series).
This just leaves a bad taste in my mouth when I LITERALLY posted the one-shot I said I was working on only five hours ago.
I understand they meant well, but this doesn't motivate me. It only makes me more stressed.
If you guys do want some sort of special schedule on my tumblr instead of scrolling through posts for it, then I can look into it. But I don't think I can pin it. I already have the Masterlist pinned.
To everyone who like my fics, please don't hound me like this. It won't make me write any faster.
It is okay to ask me for my schedule or when I am planning to update, but when I answer, don't keep coming back like this.
I send you to tumblr so I don't have to keep repeating myself.
I said on tumbr that I was on vacation, and I told you guys the next chapter wouldn't be out any time soon bc I was working on a one-shot (for the same series).
This just leaves a bad taste in my mouth when I LITERALLY posted the one-shot I said I was working on only five hours ago.
I understand they meant well, but this doesn't motivate me. It only makes me more stressed.
If you guys do want some sort of special schedule on my tumblr instead of scrolling through posts for it, then I can look into it. But I don't think I can pin it. I already have the Masterlist pinned.
Hermes was ready. Excited to see what you did for him. Until the piece of cloth fell from his eyes, and he was staring at a board reading; Splash Splash Park.
You organised a date to a waterpark. Unbeknownst to you, Hermes dislikes water.
Hermes wasn't a swimmer. He had wings, could fly higher than any mortal could ever try to imagine. He didn't need to touch the water. Even when he was sent to deliver a message to Poseidon, he never actually went into the water. The god's palace in Aegai was not completely in the water. Certain rooms held air, as well as a secret tunnel through the caves only few knew of.
And yet, somehow, you had been able to lure him to his worst nightmare: a waterpark.
You had said you wanted to take him on a date, to plan something for him for a change. "You deserve princess treatment too," you had said. "I just want to spoil you in the way you spoil me," you had said. "I want to surprise you," you had said. He had been completely smitten with you, immediately throwing his card at you. "Get whatever you need, and when you want to go somewhere; rent out the whole thing for just the two of us."
He had blocked out the whole weekend for you, telling everyone up in Olympus he would be busy, and to not bother him unless giants scaled the mountain. He had been so excited the whole morning.
"Where are we going?" He floated above you, trying to peek into the bag you were packing.
"You'll see when we get there."
He kissed the back of your neck. "Give me a hint, darling."
You rolled your eyes. "You have shown me your temples, and all the things, rituals, festivals you had in ancient Greece. So, I decided to bring you somewhere I used to go to as a kid."
He frowned. "Another farm?"
He was wearing a blindfold, your hands leading him forward. "Ready?" You asked.
"Born ready!" Hermes was ready. Excited to see what you did for him. Until the piece of cloth fell from his eyes, and he was staring at a board reading; Splash Splash Park.
"Tadaa!" You pulled him by the arm. "I did as you said and rented to whole park out for today. Got a bit of help from Apollo too. He switched all the employees with nymphs, so there is no reason to hide your wings!" You pulled off his fedora. "You can just be yourself."
Gods, he loved you so fucking much. His wings fluttered at the sentiment, out in the open. He just couldn't tell you the truth. Not after all the effort you put into it. So, he just followed you to the changing room. The swimming trunks you bought for him was bright orange with snakes on them. The size was just right too.
He stepped out to find you. Red quickly coated his cheeks, his feathered wings shot up in surprise, and suddenly the trunks felt too small. You were wearing the cutest bikini, emphasizing all your best assets. You looked so damn good. "Wow, you look..."
"Beautiful? Gorgeous?" You pried.
"God-like." He put his hands on your waste, holding you against his chest. "No, better than any god."
"Don't let Aphrodite hear that," you joked. "She'll have my head."
"She can try, but only I will have your head." He laughed. That cute, dorky laugh.
You pushed him off. "Hermes!" You shoved on some cheap flipflops and grabbed his hand. "Come on! We should go down the tornado!"
"R-right, maybe we should take it easy first!" He pulled you back, lifting you up. "We have all day to explore. Why don't we... hang out there!" He brought you over to the kid's play area, the pirate's cove. He first tested how high the water came, concluding it didn't reach his ankle-wings, before stepping in.
"You sure? There are a lot more exciting things to do." He set you down, deliberately in one specific spot. "You haven't even seen The Vortex of Death, yet."
"No, I want..." He floated up again. "You to stay..." He flew back a bit. "Right there." The giant bucket hanging from the play structure filled up, making it tilt. All the water fell out, drowsing you.
The impact on your head, neck, and shoulders made a loud splash sound. Your entire body grew cold at the new sensation. Your eyes slowly moved up, to look at your laughing boyfriend. "HERMES!" You launched yourself at him, barely grasping his feet as he flew up high, settling down in his little bird nest at the top of the play-area.
"Come and get me!" He taunted you. "If you can!"
You took the challenge, climbing the structure that was way to small for you. The water made everything slippery, but the pirate ship's ropes helped keeping you upright. On the side of the upper 'floor', had three water guns attached to the structure by a tube. You picked one up and aimed it at the bird's nest. "Take that!!!" The water pressure was stronger than you had expected. It reached Hermes, hitting him against his calf.
"AAAWWW!!! You have wounded me!" He yelled, jumping up and sitting on the railing to look at you, his legs swinging back and forth. "But I have not been defeated yet."
You smirked. "I have the perfect weapon to beat you! Just you wait!"
"Looking forward to it!"
You ducked into the round netting, leading up to the bird's nest. It was cramped, clearly meant for young children and not a fully grown woman. Still, you climbed on. Your eyes locking onto two white ones, waiting or you. Hermes wings stood stretched, ready for some excitement. You finally reached to top, standing right in front of him.
"What do you have in store for me? Let me guess; you were going to push me off? Or were you going to tackle me down? Or were you going to-"
You cut him off with your ultimate move; pushing your lips up against his, pulling him in a sweet but desperate kiss. You held his face in your hands; his cheeks squished between your fingers. After the shock settled, he kissed you back with just as much hunger. After who knows how long, you two pulled back, faces flushed, and lips wet.
"Clever."
Hermes and you messed around at all parts of the kid's section. Every time you attempted to pull him away to the slides and other attractions, he found something new to do.
You two:
Chased each other in the splash zone, throwing water balloons at each other. However, in some mysterious way, the balloons never broke when they hit Hermes in places he didn't like.
"Now I know for sure; you are stopping them from popping!!!"
"If you say so, darling."
Played with the giant chess board, ending in 3-1 for him. Apparently, he had picked up some chess moves in his long life.
"Looks like I've won again." He flew to the scoreboard and changed the two to a three.
"Bragger."
"Loser."
And battled on the beam, where Hermes proceeded to cheat again. You two were hitting each other with the foam stick, you a lot harder than him but he had better balance; no doubt due to his constant playing around on branches, light poles, and electrical poles. Then you got on strong hit in, pushing him over the edge.
As he was about to hit the water, his wings sprung alive and floated him back on.
"Cheater."
He winked at you, before throwing another punch.
After all that tumbling around, you two sat down at the park's restaurant, famished. The nymphs immediately started up the kitchen again. One of the nymphs walked up to your table, biting back a giddy expression. Hermes had as much fans as haters amongst the Mythos, unsurprisingly.
"Lord Hermes," these were the only words said in English. She continued to speak in Greek, most likely old Greek. You understood nothing.
It happened more often than you would like, being ignored by Mythos creatures in favour of putting all their attention on your boyfriend. They just saw you as another mortal fling of one of the gods; insignificant, unless you grant a child.
Something you weren't ready for in any way. So, you just went back to being ignored.
Hermes spoke back to her in English: "Just bring me a greasy burger, no tomatoes." He then turned to you, "and..."
"Just a grilled cheese." The nymph did not look at you as you spoke, her gaze locked on him.
"A grilled cheese for the lady," he repeated when the nymph stayed unmoving.
"Of course, my lord." She turned around and finally left.
"This becomes more annoying every time. God forbid my lowly mouth to even mutter a hello to them." You complained.
"These are Apollo's nymphs. They are bound to be more stuck-up than most. Next time I'll bring you to meet some from Artemis' domain; they tend to like women a lot more, even mortal ones."
"Sounds fun, can I sneer at you with them?"
"Only if you dress like them." You rolled your eyes at his insinuation.
It took them surprisingly little time to get the food out. A different nymph came out this time. She was less impressed by Hermes' presence, but still, she ignored yours completely, even when you thanked her.
You held up one piece of the grilled cheese to him. "To a fun day."
He held up his burger in return and booped them against each other. "To a perfect day."
You took a large bite, rolling your eyes back at the heavenly taste of the melted cheese. "What do wanna do next. We could go down the Hydra, the slide has multiple exits. Or we could do the thunder bringer. We can go down together in a slide ring."
"Is it really such a good idea to go down a slide after we just ate?" The perfect excuse, he figured.
"Hermes, I have seen you fly through a category 6 hurricane after eating an unholy amount of burritos."
"That's different! I didn't have a human girlfriend who pukes after doing one cartwheel in the sky, to take care of afterwards."
"Touché." You thought for a few quiet seconds. "We can go to the beach simulator. Every five minutes there is this giant wave, always dragging everyone all the way back."
"Hmmhmm," Hermes hummed. "We could do that, or..." He swiftly looked around for another idea. "We could... uhm..."
"Hermes." You grabbed his attention back to your now frowning face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong." He took a quick bite of his burger, nervously stuffing his mouth.
"Hermes." You repeated strictly.
"I told you; nothing is wrong, babe."
"Yeah, the more you repeat that, the less I believe it." You reached for his hand, holding it softly. "You can trust me." Your eyes drifted to the side, where the nymphs were watching you two. You sighed, "come on, I want to show you something." You pulled him by two fingers, holding them tight but soft.
Off to the side, close to the water slides, there stood a wall with pictures. Every one showing a person going down the slide. You brought his attention to one at the far right, holding you finger on the photo.
"That's my little sister," you said, pointing to a young girl, clearly happy at the back of a slide ring. "And this was me." You took your finger off, revealing a terrified girl. "I was so scared to go down, but I let myself be pushed around by my little sisters. They are both younger than me, and I felt an obligation as the oldest, to be the bravest. What I am saying is: I get it if you're scared, I won't judge you, but please be honest with me."
Hermes looked fondly at the little girl in the picture. "I am not scared of the slide, per se. Styx, I am used to a lot worse. Like hurricanes."
"Still, can't believe you did that."
"I can. Done it often enough. The thing is I don't like water or getting wet. Rain is one thing, swimming another. But you did so your best for this day, and you were so excited, I didn't want to let you down. I also didn't want you to feel guilty for bringing me here, so I have been secretly trying avoid the water this whole time."
"I'm so-"
"Don't. I said that I don't want you to feel guilty. I am sorry for not saying anything. Father, I feel like an idiot."
"What don't you like about getting wet?" You asked. You wanted to understand him more.
"I don't like it when my wings feel soaked." He admitted. "They get heavy, making me slower when I fly, and they get itchy while drying."
You kissed his left wing. "And we can't have that. We can leave if you want. There are plenty of other places without pools."
"No, I want to stay here. You did your best and I want to enjoy it."
You looked at his wings again, letting you fingers glide over one. You wondered if their size would be a problem, but looking at them again; you don't think so.
"I have an idea, wait here." You ran back to the park's store.
Hermes had his eyes closed. He didn't know what you were planning. He heard you open a plastic packaging. "Should I be afraid?"
"Only a little." You took them out and brought one to a wing on his ankle. "Tell me if you don't like how they feel."
You put something around it. Hermes quickly opened his eyes and looked down. A blue bag? Or something in that manner. It wasn't pure plastic. The texture was strange but not unwelcome.
"They are shoe covers, size XXL." You brought another to his other ankle-wing. "You are lucky; they are pretty high quality. The lower ones either rip or will become too hot for you." He didn't say anything, just had a soft smile on his face, so you continued.
At the end, he looked a bit silly, but it worked. "Now, I know exactly what to do."
"And that is?" Hermes asked while looking over your handy work.
"Go down the lazy river and relax."
You had your eyes closed, lying down in the blow-up tube. The sun shined down on you both. You muttered a: "Thanks Apollo."
Hermes was floating on the water next to you, dipping his feet in the water, without getting his wings wet. "This is nice," he admitted.
"I know," you said back.
There was a second of shadow. He opened his eyes to look at what caused it, finding that a slide had blocked his sun. A little sign called it 'The Tornado'. He looked down to his feet for a few seconds.
"Come on, darling. I've had enough relaxing for today." He clumsily made his way out the water. "I want to go down the tornado."
You looked up at him as you slowly made your way out yourself. "Are you sure? You don't have to do this."
"But I want to." He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the slide. "Come on!"
I found these two candles. They look really cool, but they smelled gross so I didn't get them, unfortunately.
I also found this hardcover of the Song of Achilles. It's really good! It isn't completely accurate to Greek Mythology but it was still an amazing read. I recommend it to everyone who reads!
Also stopped by the Sherlock Holmes museum and there was this creepy ass doll in the corner. It scared me to death.
I also bought a bottle of gin there. I haven't tried it yet, but it's supposed to change colour.
Me and my friend also signed our names into the guest book they had there. I will show you guys a page where our names aren't on. They also had busts of different Sherlock Holmes's.
We went to sea life too. There is an animal crossing event right now. You can get stamps like those events in the museum with Blathers and pictures with Tom Nook. It was fun. Very pretty, but it was a bit expensive. I don't think we would have gone if there wasn’t an event.
