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...
Dinner was soon over and the other three moved to their own tasks. The Holmes pair went to watch telly while John looked to read up on any news about the museum incident; You and Sherlock stayed behind to clean and clear the table.
"Never thought they would be your parents," you tease, drying a few glasses.
"Why? Too nice?" he rinses another plate off to dry on the rack.
"Too normal," you correct making him chuckle. "Though obviously your mother is the genius,"
"Dad was always more simple, but I did get a few things from him, I suppose," he spoke fondly of his parents, in his own way and not as others would.
"And I am yet to see any of this romantic-Holmes charm," you bring a few glasses to the cupboard, shutting them after sorting it all.
"I have plenty," Sherlock rolls his eyes but you were unconvinced.
"The sociopathic detective? A romantic? Absurd!"
"Alright, alright," he flips a tea towel over his shoulder after drying his hands. "One thing I did get from my father is my love for dance," he held a hand out.
"If you do the tango I will leave this house and never come back," you place your hand in his, shrieking quietly when he tugs you into his arms through a small spin.
"Not exactly the tango," he hums, his chest to your back, arm around your waist and the other in a light hold. He eventually let you out, spinning you under his arm until your grip was to his shoulder, face to face. "More like this,"
"Not too bad, very smooth, 9.5/10," you score.
"And the .5?"
"Weren't you paying attention to the movies we watched? Candles, dimmed lights and music," you roll your eyes, "slow dancing without music isn't meeting that mark,"
"Picky, picky," he shakes his head, swaying with you a little, "Beatles? Stevie Wonder? Elvis?"
"I thought you didn't fill your head with all sorts of nonsense?" you move your hands to drape around his neck, his hands falling to your waist.
"I do listen to music other than Mozart and Bach, you know?"
"Didn't actually," you tilt your head, laughing at his playful glare, rolling your eyes only when music starts to play, his hand holding up your phone. "It's rude to steal,"
"Says the one who stole millions in jewels from the national museum," he counters, grinning subtly at his next choice of move.
"Sherlock!" You gasp when he pulls you into a low dip, "that scared the shit out of me!"
All he does is laugh. It was a deep and rather adorable laugh, eyes glinting with a child-like joy. "What?" He suddenly showed a hint of confusion from your silent stare.
"Nothing," you were both then drawn away when John clears his throat, walking into the kitchen.
"Sorry, just needed some water," he moves past while Sherlock pulls you back up, creating some space between you both.
"We were just- it wasn't-" stammering like an idiot, it was all saved by Sherlock who cut you off.
"Just proving a point," he grabs the last few dirty dishes just as Mrs Holmes walks in.
"You head to bed, Y/n, I'll finish up," she gestures you out to the living room.
"I swear I can-" lips shut and lock when she gives a motherly look. "Yes, ma'am," you nod curtly, "goodnight, I suppose," the cloth was handed over while you hurry out.
"Oh! Y/n, come on over," Mr Holmes gestures you towards him, pointing to a guest room, preventing you from ascending towards Sherlock's old room. "We got it all prepared," he lays down fresh towels, "last night Sherlock brought you right to his room, though I suppose good on him considering this room was filled with all sorts of nonsense,"
It was warm in tone, red plaid duvet and oak to deepen the off-white sheets. Old roses in one jar, decorative branched potpourri in another and a small desk with a vanity mirror was stationed beside the empty closet. Though, it was only empty in comparison with your old closet.
"Thank you,"
~~~
Despite the jolly atmosphere all day—most was more like it—you were still unable to shake the guilt lingering in your system. Every time you realised you got out of there alive, you change focus to Anna's very last pleads, screams and cries.
"Y/n! Please! Make it stop!" Anna let the tears run down her cheeks, sobs for mercy ringing out. You watched in horror at every inflicted torture, chilling you to your bone as you stood by... watching. "Y/n... please-" her body nearly went limp after every whimper, your stomach dropping in return.
You were shot out the flashing nightmare, gasping for a clear breath as the sheets felt laced with cold sweat. Body shivering under the draft, eyes blurred with unshed tears, you felt helpless. You didn't tend to sleep peacefully most nights, subtle nightmares occurring more times than the harsher ones would.
In fact the only time you were slept well for long periods time was when- "fuck," you collect a small rob from the scarce closet, fitting on your slippers and opening the bedroom door.
Each step felt like a loud crash in the dead-silent night. Nothing stirred, nothing but the rustling of leaves and branches swaying in the wind met your ears. You hoped not to wake anyone... well, anyone but-
"Sherlock?" you knock twice on his door, whispering softly, uncertainly.
~~~
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Short chapter ik sorry! Also the way you're all refusing to believe Anna's dead- lmfaooo
