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...
Did John's eyes deceive him? He felt as though a fever dream had made way into reality. It was like a myth taken to life. When he finally snapped out of the shock, he watched Sherlock stir to pull your body closer against him.
One night he was gone and the next morning he returns to this??
"There's only one thing I can do," says John, his phone camera being taken out. One to thirty photos were taken immediately, sent to Mrs H, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft and Stamford. Oh, this was revenge for when Sherlock sent those pictures of John having his little... self-care day—yes, face mask and all.
How John wished he could see their live reactions!
~~~
"Holy shit," Lestrade chokes on his donut which make Donovan and Anderson look to him in concern. "Look,"
"What the-" Anderson was lost for words.
"-fuck?" Donovan finishes.
~~~
"Disgusting," Mycroft shuts his phone off with a grimace, looking over another government file.
~~~
"Aw," Stamford gives a small smile while sipping at his coffee.
~~~
"That's a first," Molly tilts her head before getting back to work, the electric bone saw buzzing back to life.
~~~
"Oh wonderful!" Mrs H claps her oven mitts together, preparing a tray of breakfast.
~~~
A yawn breaks out just as your eyes flutter open. You had never gotten better sleep, especially on a... Sherlock? Frightened at first, sure, but soon you relax as his hand runs up and down your waist subconsciously.
He had such a soft look in the morning. Cupid bow lips, curls messed about and head to one side. Fiddling with his shirt a little, you kept admiring him from your spot, body facing his, flushed closer than ever. One deep breath in, then one out, you nestle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the subtlety of his after shave.
"You two enjoyed your night, did you?"
"Fuck!" Jumping away in fright, the small couch left no room for balance ending up with you on the floor. A disoriented Sherlock sits upright with a shake of his head, looking around with a pointed finger while you groan against the wooden floor.
John couldn't keep in his laughter, stopping the recording just as Mrs H got to the flat. "Shame on you, John, waking them like that," she scolds lightly.
"We didn't- This isn't what-"
"We know, deary, if you did then I would hope you both had enough decency to keep it in the bedroom," Mrs H slings the tea towel over he shoulder.
"Excuse me?" you blurt out while Sherlock stares in complete confusion.
"Eat up," she quips before scurrying out with John.
~~~
A few weeks had passed and Lestrade sent in an update on the case you first helped on. Sherlock walks up the stairs to your flat, knocking on the door before entering. An empty living room, but you were obviously still here, or else who was blasting that music?
(Honestly change it if you want but Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift is a banger)
"Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I'd be usin' for the rest of my life," you mutter under your breath, letting the paint layer over and over. Smiling at the small portrait of the magpie which had been eating away at the feed you had placed on the window sill, it was so close to being done.
The music beat against the painted walls, not bothering the bird surprisingly. Lyrics from your lips slipping in and out of Sherlock's line of hearing, he eventually pushed open the door a little more. It was already slightly ajar but now he saw you swaying from side to side, angling your brush at the bird to measure proportions.
Nothing but what looked to be an old coat drenched in dry paint and pyjamas is what you wore. You looked adorable... The music tuned out while he appreciated the brush work, though he realised his reasoning for coming up here wasn't to look at your painting. "Y/n," he taps his knuckles against the door frame.
"Mother f-!" you turn to see him leaning against the frame, "Christ, Sherlock, you scared the hell out of me!" Wiping your hands, paint stained an old shirt, "what's up?"
"Remember the case with the market?"
"Mhm, I think John called that one the market of poison," dramatically, you said.
"Yes, well, he does have fun," he hands his phone over to show a picture. "That symbol, have you seen it?"
It looked like a letter 'M', but the end on the right curled around, the left peak shorter than the right. It was elegant but hardly given attention as it was sprayed quickly with an almost aegean blue paint, ocean blue outlining it. "Uh... no, why? It just looks like an M,"
Sherlock sighs with a small click of his tongue. "The paint? You know anything about it?"
"What am I? Your paint encyclopedia?" joking about, you didn't sense the tension in Sherlock's stance until now. "Uh, looks a little familiar, I guess, but a lot of shades do... I got nothing,"
"Nothing at all?"
"Sherlock, what's this about?"
"Lestrade found it on the wall behind the stall, it was uncovered when they removed all the evidence... including the cloth covering it," he takes his phone back huffing subtly. "I have an idea on who it could be,"
"Who?"
"Moriarty..." just by the way he fiddled with his phone, you knew his mind raced faster by the second. "Thought he'd take a damn break- last case was just before you got here and he nearly shot John in the leg,"
"What the hell?!" you nearly knock down the pot of water for your paints.
"John was fine," Sherlock paced a little instead of staying in his spot, "Y/n... I was wondering if you... would like to go- uhm... out? With me?" he mutters, "to Bart's, there's something I want to check,"
From excitement to disappointment, you put on a passive face. "And John?"
"Work, tedious, dull,"
"Mhm, saving lives, how awful," you put away your brushes, "let me get changed,"
"Yes, of course," Sherlock let you walk past, glancing around the room before seeing a trail of paint leading towards a cloth. One single cloth over what looked to be paint. However, standing out was the pigment- the shade of-
"Oh, and you might as well check if the fridge needs re-stock, I need to do some shopping too," you yell from the bathroom making him ignore the pile.
"Sure," he calls back, turning from the cloth to the door and rushing out.
Paranoia, that's all.
~~~
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