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...
For once, you had woken earlier than most, feeling direct sunlight hitting your eyes, unfortunately. Of course turning over put you face to face with Sherlock, softened lips and shut eyes looking defined.
Tracing the outline of his Cupid bow lips, you felt regret from last night surface. You had kissed him before, but that was all a game. A game you needed to know his next move for. Him looking for physical affection, knowing exactly who you were, no distinguishing gain at hand... what the hell was he planning?
He had helped you willingly. Kept you safe. Cared for you like no one had before. After all you had done... why did he choose to do so?
"You're staring," his lips moved, eyes still shut.
"Christ sake, Sherlock!" You felt your heart leap to your throat, "don't do that!"
"Don't stare," he turns away to get more shut-eye, not expecting you to hold him from behind.
"I wasn't staring," you whisper, cheek against his back, "thank you for letting me stay... comforting me and all that shit," you were glad he couldn't see you, read your body language. "I don't usually... cry in front of others. I find it-"
"Difficult?"
"Embarrassing," you finish off.
"Must be so disheartening letting people know you can feel,"
"You know what, Holmes?" You gave a warning tone, feeling his chest vibrate with his laugh. Feeling weak to the knees already from his morning voice, his laugh sounded rougher, deeper which caused your stomach to churn with butterflies. "You tell anyone about last night and I'll kill you,"
"Cross my heart," he groans, turning over with elbows on either side of your head, "you're not the only one with a reputation," he winks jokingly making you narrow at him.
"I'll slap that smile off your pretty little face,"
He leans closer, then directing to your ear, "I'd like to see you try," just as you took it as a challenge, he grabbed the in-motion hand. "Careful now, princess,"
"Call me princess again and I'll kick you where the sun don't shine~" you hook a leg around his, pushing him off the bed and stepping over while he laughed through the subtle pain.
He watches from his spot as you walk out his room, still in his hoodie; nothing got his heart racing more than the sight of you in his clothes.
~~~
Days later, you were still guilt stricken. Nothing Sherlock or his parents did could make you give anything but that fake-happy look. So it was almost a lost cause.
Almost...
Sipping at a mug of hot chocolate the movie played in front of you like white noise. Mr and Mrs Holmes headed to town to pick some groceries up and John was writing on his laptop, though not posting on his actual blog.
Sherlock was leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching your blank stare. He stirred his own mug of hot chocolate, as he walked over to you. "You looked like you needed another," he exchanges his for your now empty mug.
"Thank you," this had become a little bit routine like at 221B. While his parents were off, John confined to his room, and with nothing left to do, Sherlock would join you on the couch.
Sometimes it would end with him carrying you to his bed. No one failed to notice this, of course.
"And they return," he notes the car pulling up to the drive way. "I think they got a few things for you, warmer clothes, might as well check it out,"
"But I'm warm and comfy," you whine a little, slumping into his side while under the blanket.
"I will take back that hot chocolate-"
"Nope too late!" You down as much as you could, rushing off with so much regret, "hot! Hot! Hot! Ow!"
Sherlock simply follows you to the front door, letting you swing open the door but stop dead with your jaw dropped to the floor. Tears well up in your eyes, undoubtably streaming down your face instantly.
"Anna..."
There your friend stood, holding a few bags with a wide smile. "Hey, boss- oh, fuck!" They're tackled down by you, nearly suffocated by your hug.
"You're alive! Are you?? Oh my god you are!" You grasp at their face, squishing their cheeks and messing up their dark hair.
"Wow, if I knew you loved me this much then I would have faked my death years ago!" They hug you tight, sniffling lightly while you were still in a full-blown sob.
"Don't say that you idiot," you let them sit up slightly, but never let go, "I don't get it... I thought you- the gunshot- the screams-"
"Haven't gotten my hands dirty like that for years," Jim waves from the car Anna must have arrived in. Seb and he were standing in front of the driver's door, the soldier leaning while Jim held both hands behind his back.
"You're so dead for not calling me, James," you grab the knife Anna always has hidden in their boot, lunging at Moriarty who yelps in fear, running away as Seb grabs you. "Put me down! Let me at him!"
"TRANQULISE IT!" Jim yells at Seb who just rolls his eyes, bundling your collar up in his hand, you slump at the restraint. "Thank you," Jim fixes his suit, hurrying to Anna and using them as a human shield.
"Pietro moment," they look to the readers.
"I'm fine!" You hand over the knife to Seb which made him let go of you, "I missed you, Sebby," finally being able to embrace him, there was a fuming figure by the doorway, his smile turning sour as soon as you embraced the soldier.
"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, virgin," Jim rest his head on top of Anna's, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
"Be thankful I'm letting you within ten miles of my parent's residence," he leaves swiftly with a huff, grabbing your empty mugs and washing them with a dark scowl on his face.
"He gets that from you," Mr Holmes looks to his wife.
"Shut it," she smacks his hand playfully, walking off to help unload the car with the clothes that could be saved from the raid.
~~~
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The secret 6th stage of grief is truth. Truth is y'all were too stubborn to trick into thinking I was actually dead :((
