The Vacancy: Sherlock x Fem!reader

Chapter 4 - Cup of coffee

Sherlock was up bright early. With a coffee and 2 hours of sleep, he was ready to visit St Barts. His purple shirt was done up, hidden by his coat and scarf snug around his neck, hair barely combed through. Racing up the stairs to your flat, he swings open the door only to frown at the silence.

Why weren't you up yet? It was already 8 in the morning!

Scattered were canvas' and decor to give a welcoming feeling. Fresh smell of painting chemicals lingers in the air, all sourcing from the spare room. Splashes of paint against hung up plastic sheets were a work of art on its own. Sherlock observed the paint tubes and cans on the ground, brushes somewhat clean.

An almost overbearing smell overtook his sense, sourcing from a can of red paint. It was like a minty sting to his nose, the mask on your desk hinting to its use with the paint. The shade was deep and specific, soft as it dripped off the paint he dipped in.

Your paintings. They were gorgeous.

People of all ages. Animals of all sorts. Architecture of all shapes and sizes. Different styles and saturations. It was like you housed your mini art gallery.

"Hm," he sees a blank canvas on an easel. Must be a work in progress- somewhat progress. "Y/n!" he knocks rapidly on the door of your room once he finished admiring your work.

This makes your blood run cold, adrenaline kicking in. Grabbing the nearest thing to you, your book was hardly and acceptable weapon.

"Y/n, come on! We're losing time," Sherlock groans.

"What the fuck?" You base your thumbs against your eyes, sleep rubbed away. "Sherlock??"

"Yes, now come on! We need to go!"

"Go do what?? What are you doing in my flat?!" You were already tired simply from yelling, but stand to go to your door regardless.

"Finally, you're up, come on,"

"Yes, I'm up because you're screaming your bloody head off right outside my door!"

He blinks a few times, silent, then ruining it, "come on,"

~~~

"You're buying breakfast," leaning back into the chair, you try to resume your sleep within the 10 minutes it would take to get to the hospital.

"Fine," he ignores your state, oblivious to how tired you really were. Sherlock mutters a little before bringing up a new clue he had just realised, "remember that the-" for some reason he had shut up and that reason looked to be... his confusion... guilt?

You looked uncomfortable against the taxi window, shifting a little from the cold weather. He was part to blame, hardly giving you time to grab warmer clothing pieces, instead dragging you out the moment you had shoes on.

Sherlock was reluctant, removing his scarf and nudging you, "Y/n,"

"Later, Sherlock, later," you murmur. Ignoring him was abandoned when you feel a soft fabric place around you.

"You didn't have time to get your scarf," he says casually.

Smiling to yourself, a possibility rang in your head: maybe Sherlock wasn't as thoughtless as he made himself seem.

~~~

"So," you put your hands in your coat pocket, still wearing Sherlock's scarf. "You come here often for cases?"

"Molly works here, so she lets me tinker around," his head had jolted side to side to find whichever lab wasn't in use.

"She must be very patient considering she still lets you in here," you muse.