THE BAKER STREET TRIO (SHERLOCK X READER)

Chapter 59: Celebrate

Y/N stood by a swimming pool with explosives strapped to her chest. A pinprick of red light danced across her chest. Sherlock appeared in front of her. She took a step towards him, but stopped short as blood splattered on her cheek and a gunshot rang in the air. Y/N reached for Sherlock, but her fingers fell an inch short of his as she began to fall backwards. She hit the ground, lying helplessly on her back. She turned her head only to see Mary lying beside her, glassy, unseeing eyes staring at Y/N.

“Sherlock,” She cried out, twisting the sheets around her legs as she dreamed.

His hands found her arms as he tried to calm her, saying her name over and over until she opened her eyes. Y/N stopped thrashing around, but the sobs remained trapped in her chest, stinging her eyes and making her breathing difficult.

Sherlock studied her with the same gaze he’d used the day they’d met, taking in the shine of tears in her eyes, the shudder of her breath, and the white of her knuckles gripping the sheets. He didn’t pull her closer; he didn’t say anything. He just brushed his fingers down her arms until the panic subsided from her face and the sound of her breathing slowed.

A tear slipped down the side of her face and dropped onto the pillow. She inhaled deeply and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Sherlock sat up as well, sitting so he could face her. Y/N raked a hand through her hair.

Sherlock studied her with his steady blue gaze.

Y/N reached out and took his hand. She kept her eyes on his fingers as she played with them.

“I was at the pool again.” She said, brushing her index finger over his palm. “You were there, but we were alone until…”

She took a breath, pressing gently on the calluses of his fingers from the violin. “Until I heard the gunshot and I fell. I fell beside her, but she was dead and she was looking…she was looking at me, but it wasn’t her.”

More tears slipped down her cheeks. Sherlock brushed them away.

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock.” Y/N said.

“For what?” His voice was rough from sleep.

“You and John, you both went through this alone for a month. I left you to deal with everything and I–”

“Y/N, stop.” Sherlock interrupted her. “You are not the one who needs to apologize. I didn’t have to be alone. I could have stayed with you in the hospital like you deserved. I should have stayed. Instead I…sought other forms of comfort. That was my choice. Not yours.”

Y/N pressed her hand to his chest, right above his heart.

“If I forgive you, will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Y/N shuffled forward, carefully wrapping her legs around his hips to settle in his lap without hurting her newly healed hip. She rested her forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his body, the firmness of his shoulders under her hands, and the beat of his pulse. His hand pressed into the small of her back while the other fell to her thigh, not quite grabbing her, but holding her there, where he wouldn’t lose her.

Sherlock leaned in, kissing her. He was gentle, but she pushed back with more intensity, more need. He reciprocated, pressing into her with familiar intention.

Y/N pulled away from him long enough to pull his shirt over his head. She kissed him again, running her hands across the lean planes of muscle on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up enough to move them further down the bed. Sherlock laid her down onto her back, propping himself up above her as he paid her neck and collarbone some much needed attention. Her fingernails left crescent-moons in the skin of his shoulders.