When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
You expected something bad but this? This was nothing like you expected.
"Sherlock!" you yell with a scream of fear following after four hands grab a hold of you. "Sherlock, help!"
The market grounds were abandoned, all but closed stalls and eerie amusement rides. Of course there was the lone stall, lit with warm orange light while a van was parked to the side. Men were dashing around, just a few, ordered to capture and subdue you.
But that didn't quite turn out as expected, did it?
A bullet fires into the air, hitting one lamp. Whilst you clasp your ears, the two who grabbed you were knocked down in darkness within seconds. Light bulbs were going out every few seconds while a figure, you only assume to be Sherlocks, gathered the packages.
"Y/n!" calls John, his silhouette seen just under one last lamp which he shoots just in time.
"Get off!" You land a rough strike at a person's attempt to hold you, body scrambling off the clay ground towards where John had turned.
Suddenly, by the neck, you were grabbed then dragged. Ice cold metal pressed to your temple makes your heart still, "everyone stop or the bitch gets it," it was the woman from the stall earlier, her tone lingering with strains of annoyance.
"John..." you whisper to the soldier who drops his gun.
"Good... now, thank you all for this but-" she adjusts herself, sarcasm dripping like venom. Fortunately she falters her hold on the trigger long enough for Sherlock to knock it away, then her out cold.
"No, thank you," Sherlock notes, dropping a block of wood. Pulling you away and closer to him he makes sure she was still out cold, "here," the detective's coat was draped over your body soon, "are you alright?"
"I'm- yeah, I'm good," even with this, he didn't leave your side, only taking the phone from the fallen woman's pocket and sending a location to Lestrade. Palm against your back, you were able to be fully pulled against his chest, lifted to your feet as the clay dirt was only a bother once rain started to pour.
"Come on," he leads you under the cover as John directs the quickly arriving police towards the scene. "I didn't mean for you to get into so much- well, be- uhm,"
"I'm fine, Sherlock... just a little shaken, I think," your mind was whirring, over and over, every flash and rough grip. Malintent in the atmosphere fueling nightmares for days to come, it was hard to tell if your shaking was from fear or the cold weather.
"Let's just get you back home," he decides, wrapping his scarf around your neck.
"Thank you, Sherlock," sticking close by his side, nothing but the steps through rain were processing.
"Lestrade, we'll need a car, cabs take too long to hail from here and with this rain Y/n might catch a cold," he was able to snatch an umbrella from an officer as they pass to hand them out. "Come on,"
"So... that's new," Greg looks to John, drops increasing by the moment until it poured mad.
"I'll keep you updated," as if he had read his mind, John bids Greg farewell, one last thanks from the detective inspector for solving the case.
~~~
"Fuck, it's too cold," chuckling a little, you hand back the drenched coat to Sherlock who's curls were soaked, falling over his face.
From fluffed up, they became slicked downturned loops of ebony. Not just that, but his porcelain white collared shirt now stuck against his skin, charcoal suit jacket dripping water along the patterned carpet and shoes embedding clay into the fabric. Poor Mrs H would have a busy day dealing with that.
"Hey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," even you could see though the great Sherlock Holmes' lies. Shivering an insane amount, he tried to walk it off as best as possible only to fold his arms mid-flight of stairs.
Hurrying after Sherlock was easy, the detective lighting the fire and sitting in front of it. "Take a shower, you'll get sick," against the door frame, you decided against putting a blanket on him until after he was out of his wet clothes. "I won't until you do, Holmes,"
Sherlock looks to you in defeat, then getting up, "fine,"
"Good boy," missing that blush just once more, you both leave towards the bathroom, though for you it was your own.
~~~
"Come on!" You smack the shower once more with no avail. All the events of the night nearly had this pushing you over the edge of tears. "For fucks sake,"
Sherlock heard your steps descend the steps just as he left the shower. Yes, your clothes had been put in the wash and dryer from the sounds of it, but the tap never turned on. Drying his hair as quickly as possible, he wraps the towel around his waist before exiting, a cloud of steam just showing how cold it was in the flat.
"Sherlock...?" you call out, awkwardly walking down the steps in your towel, too cold to feel shy.
"The shower is free," he leaves the door open, both eyes meeting to see the state of the other.
Your hair was starting to dry up but the scent of rain water overtook the smell of his body wash. One grip was against your towel which hardly shielded your skin from that draft, the other hand lifts to cover you up more in the awkward situation.
His skin was tinted pink from the water temperature, and maybe more. Warm beads of water fell from his shoulders to his chest, lower... and lower...
Eyes up, Y/n!
Then there it was, his hair had regained that slight volume, framing his cheeks which had a cut running along it. "Sherlock, you're bleeding,"
"I'll get to it later," he steps out the way for you, "you promised to shower if I did," he gestures before shutting his bedroom door behind him.
~~~
To add to the many events, you had to shout for Sherlock at the end of your shower: No clothes. Great.
"Open up, I'm not looking," he fits a bundle of clothes through the gap. A purple shirt, one you remember him wearing once or twice, even his cologne was practically woven into the fabric. It was warm, soft and oversized on you.
"Uhm... thanks, but I still need- uh other necessities... I don't have... underwear," you scratch your neck once you catch him in the kitchen boiling the kettle. "I'll be back then we can patch that up," you point to the cut which kept bleeding.
"Yup," he almost stammers like a nervous school boy, turning away from you at the new knowledge.
~~~
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Oop- anyways I have classes tmrw and I've never been so excited(??)
