𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Life sucks. There's no denying it, there's no hiding it.

I mean, sure, there are good things- friendship, laughter, love, etcetera, etcetera...

But life is also full of disappointments, pain, sorrow. Death. I was professionally experienced in the ever-growing department of over thinking so, naturally, I devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to think about death. What comes next? Is it just the end? Does it really matter? Granted, I didn't tend to think about death all that negatively, but neither was I an optimist. I often viewed death like a florist would view a surgical operation- a process with much depth that I was far too absent and small to comprehend.

But on this day, on this awful, wet, cold day, I allowed myself to submerge into the deep pool of negativity, surrounding my body and mind in the dark waters, clouding my thoughts with pain and desperation. Because life sucks.

"Y/n?" The deep baritone echoed from behind the closed door, slightly muffled but still notably laced with confusion, "is that you?"

I pulled my heavy body up and lugged my foot over the final step; "yeah, it's me." My voice was dull, empty. Dropping my gaze to the floor, I forced open the thick wooden barrier that barred my entrance to my flat and stumbled across the threshold. The tense atmosphere clung to my skin.

"Why are you here?"

I turned to the tall man who stood, looking vaguely like a ruffled otter, watching me from the kitchen. He pushed the clear goggles up to rest on his head, forcing his unruly brown curls into an even untidier formation. His soft hands fell from the microscope he had been clutching and hung limply at the sides of his strong frame, sort of mirroring of a heavy cloak. I cleared my throat,

"Sorry, I'll go if you want me to."

Feeling the blood brush my cheeks, I turned back, the heavy weight of embarrassment pulling me down. He moved quickly and stepped forward,

"No, no, I want you to say-" He paused. "I just meant, why are you here at this time? Shouldn't you be at work...?"

My chest fell as I sighed. Forcing a smile that turned into a grimace, I looked at him,

"I quit."

"You got fired?" He raised his thick eyebrows condescendingly. I rolled my eyes,

"No, I quit."

"Y/n, I know when you're lying, you got fired."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did-"

"Fine!" I exclaimed, impatience and anger lacing my voice like those expensive Victoria Secret panties John bought Mary. Throwing my hands up in defeat, I threw myself down on to the sofa, sighing like a deflating air bag, "yeah, I got fired. But I was going to quit, they just...beat me to it."

Sherlock stood watching me for a second, his mind calculating which of the 63 possible reactions would be the best. His hands flinched for second, hesitating before he pulled off the canary-yellow rubber gloves and placed them on the counter, removed his goggles from his head and slowly shuffled towards me.

He was new to this kind of stuff- romance. But in all honesty, we were both were. And he was a lot better than he believed himself to be. Take now, for instance.

Cautiously, he sat down next to me, mimicking a disgusted upper-class Lady with his slow movements.

"Y/n," he said softly, moving closer and placing his hand between my shoulder blades. A tsunami of emotion hit, overwhelming me with a rather wide range of feelings- sadness, anger, love.