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...
Anna busies themselves with folding your clothes to place in the drawers and closet. You were doing the same, of course... until Mrs Holmes knocks on the door.
"Sorry, dears, but we have a problem," she held blankets in her arms, "it seems we won't have space, some of you will need to double up with one of the others,"
"Oh, Jim and I will be able to," Anna assures while you awkwardly shift on your feet.
"Uhm, I'm sure I can-"
"Double up with Sherlock? Wonderful idea, dear," she gestures you along with the blankets. "If you need any extra pillows then give me a call,"
"I- wait-" two pillows were stuffed onto the pile, giving you no ability to articulate your protest.
"You've done it plenty of times before, what's the difference now?" Anna removes essential clothes, "won't need too many when you'll be stealing more of his clothes," they nudge your hip, eyeing Sherlock's hoodie that you wore.
"I would make a joke about killing you but I just got you back," your voice was still muffled behind the mass of fabric, Anna shoves you out the door and slamming it behind regardless.
"Need help?" Sherlock grabs the pillows.
"Need a gun," you mumble, heat flushing your cheeks from his laugh. Day by day, every single time, your reaction from that sliver of joy, became more and more prominent.
"Not happening,"
"You're no fun, William," pushing open his bedroom door, you settle everything on the bed. Sherlock, disregarding the neatly folded blankets and clothes, jumped on with a groan. "Hey! Ruining my good work is rude, you know?"
"So is calling me, William," the ends of his lips twitch upwards.
"Shut up," you pull a blanket out from under him, plopping it onto his face. Just as you turned around, he grabs your waist, pulling you on top of him, "Sherlock!"
"That's better," he leans his head back.
"I'll find that gun," you plant firm palms on either side of his head, "pow," you pretend to shoot him.
"I'll be waiting," he drones sarcastically, mindlessly roaming his fingers along your waist. It was silent for a moment, all until he piped up. "Can I ask you a question?"
"The great Sherlock Holmes asking a question? Is this a fever dream?" you gasp.
"Will you let me ask the damn question??"
"Hm... sure," you gaze at the usual twinkle in his inquisitive eyes.
"The night of the 'ambush', what did you need so bad from your mansion?" his question made your heart drop, nerves building which he felt from the more evident thumping of your chest.
"Nothing!" You pull away from him, sitting upright in his lap with a scoff. "It was nothing, just files and shit," blurting out half thought through excuses.
"Alright," he shrugs, sitting up as well, head against the headboard, "sorry, I was just curious," his nightstand drawer was pulled open, "so I suppose it wasn't this?" he hums, holding up a slightly matted stuffed bunny. Its grey fur was now in all sorts of directions; not dirty but age was evident all over. A few rips stitched up with whatever thread at hand, it had a burst of personality and evident sentimental value.
"Careful!" You grab it from his hold, cradling it gently to make sure it wasn't harmed. His brow raised to you, your eyes widening and head lowering, "no use lying...?"
"Nope," he places a hand under his head, the other on your waist, "so what's the story, hm? Unless you just really like old toys,"
You fiddle with his shirt, the fabric twisting beneath your fingers, "this was the first gift I ever got,"
"Y/n! Happy birthday!" Luna skips up to you, landing in your lap while you were reading under a tree.
"Luna, you've said that five times already!" you cradle her in your arms, tickling the little girl until she was squealing with joy.
"You were born today! If you weren't then I wouldn't know all the things you taught me- and, and, I wouldn't have someone that cares about me," she hugs you tight, "I got enough money from selling little paper roses just like you showed me and I got you... this!" she held up a small bunny you didn't catch sight of at first.
The two black buttons for eyes, fluffed up grey fur and a porcelain white cottontail. The nose blushed pink and ears flopped on both sides, it was the most lovely thing you had ever laid eyes on. It was also the most perfect first-ever gift.
"And when she got sick I gave her the bunny... she always kept it near her until- well, you can guess," you whisper, not realising you had closed your eyes at the memory until they open at the feeling of Sherlock's hand holding your face. "It's just a little embarrassing... that's why I don't usually parade around with it,"
"I think it's adorable,"
"You're just saying that," getting off him, you take the small bunny with you, placing it on the desk.
Sherlock shakes his head, getting off the bed with a small grunt. He grabs the bunny and puts it back in your arms, "you know I'm not one to randomly compliment someone,"
"You call that a compliment?" you tilt your head at him, playing with the small paws.
Sherlock blinked a few times, uncertain of his words. "I don't... know? Was it bad?"
"It was sweet," you assure, leaning into him for a hug which he happily accepted. "Good to know my lessons in the beginning helped,"
"They surprisingly did," he muses.
"Surprisingly," you click your tongue, "thought you'd never learn, William,"
He turns away to his bookshelf. "Alright then, I'm not talking to you until you use my real name,"
"William is your real name, though," with no reply, you huff a little, "fine, don't reply, Will," pacing a little, you look to him, "hey, Will, did you know there are only 30 types of tobacco ash... and the coagulation of saliva after death is none. Oh! And you can't identify someone's profession from their thumb, isn't that right, Will?"
Seeing him so close to bursting out from anger or frustration was the most amusing sight you didn't know existed. His eye twitched, mouth pursed and cheeks flaring a light pink, fingers curling open and closed around the book he held.
"Oh, if you stay silent then it must be true!" you shrug, putting the bunny on the bed and walking to the door, "and, Will? You're also short,"
"Alright, that's it. Come here!" he throws the book to the bed, chasing you out the door instantly.
~~~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
