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 two better get cleaned up," Mrs Holmes points to the stairs, "and individually! I don't want to hear anything-"
"Mum!" Sherlock gives her a stare of shock.
"I was your age once as well, especially with your father-"
"La la la la!" He holds his ears shut, "can't hear you!~" he sings, hurrying you up the stairs. "Disgusting," he shivers pulling his shirt off once in his room.
"You're making it awfully difficult for me to follow your mother's orders," you shut the door behind you, leaning against it with a devious smirk.
"Am I now?" he peers over his shoulder, folding his shirt up so it settled on the drawer.
You let him corner you against the door, hands on your hips and yours around his neck. They lower slowly, his body falling more comfortable to such advances from your touch. His once reserved nature diminishing bit by bit with every shared moment.
"Mhm," you whisper, grasping at his hair when he skims his breath along your jaw, "too bad I respect your mother's word," ducking out and under his arms, he lays his head against the door with a scowl while you walk to the closet. "However it won't apply back in London," you toss your clothes at him, wrapping a towel around yourself just as he turns.
"Can I start packing now?" he pouts, "please?"
"Later," you pat his face, giving him a kiss on the nose, "don't you dare pick the bathroom lock,"
Sherlock did a double-take, almost offended you'd think he'd stoop so low. "I'm a gentleman, not a hormone-driven teen,"
"Though you still act like a whiny little baby," slamming the door before he could retaliate, your laugh was muffled by the barrier.
~~~
"Alright, I hope you know how to cook, Y/n," Mrs Holmes handed you the recipe and a kitchen knife. "Set the table, I won't let you near the stove again," she nudges Sherlock who rolls his eyes.
"I really want to hear that story," you whisper to her.
"You won't trust me," Sherlock instead grabs a chopping board and knife.
Mrs Holmes gives a weary side-eye as he starts to chop the vegetables up at quite an expert level, "what have you done to my son?" she gives a playful and almost shocked look to you.
"Encouraged him to stop moping about the lack of murders," the sly comment had him glaring, but with no malice as he slipped his hand on your waist subtly, letting his hold linger for a second before he got back to work.
"You, my dear, are a god send," Mrs Holmes places a motherly kiss to your cheek, clasping your face joyously before hurrying off to get fresh herbs from the garden.
~~~
Sherlock looked out onto the horizon, star scattered and a waning moon, the small breeze drifting through the slightly ajar window was beyond calming. Lent against the door frame, you admire the small taps he makes against his wrist.
"Masquerade Suite?" You catch the rhythm.
"Waltz," he looks back, holding his hand out, "Aram Khachaturian,"
"Written for the play by Mikhail Lermontov," you take it, grinning when he pulls you against his chest, "Russian Poet,"
"Performed first in the Vakhtangov Theatre, Moscow," he sways, humming the tune before laughing gently. From side to side, your hands eventually drape around his neck, fingers twirling through each curl.
"Has anyone ever told you that your intelligence is sexy?"
"A few... But, it only matters when you do," he slides in casually, letting his thumb run over your cheeks. "Has anyone ever told you you're absolutely stunning?" his words took you off guard, and his pride swelled when he caught your slight embarrassment. "Incredibly genius, effortlessly gorgeous, awfully hilarious," he lists off, starting with a kiss to your forehead then your cheek, all the way to the spot between your jaw and ear, "anyone?"
"Sorry- uhm, what?" you completely forgot the question by this point, hands dropping down across his chest. The fabric scrunched in your hands, tugging him closer to you for more skin-to-skin contact.
"Flustered, are we?"
"Pfft- no- uhm, not a chance," but the heat from your face against his nearly frosty fingertips made your lie more-so obvious. "I hate you,"
"I'm certain about that," he tilts you chin a little his way, a gentle kiss shared before the heat matched that of your hearts. A burst of flames and both hands started to explore, on your hips and waist, his shoulders and chest. Nothing rash or rough, just eager and longing. He took care to hold you close, like something was going to drag you away from him just like before.
Your kisses to his neck left his knees weak, though falling backwards could have been due to your slight push. Clambering onto his lap, you took both hands to intertwine and force against the mattress, pushing your lips onto his again. There wasn't much but subtle breathless pulls away and dilated eyes begging, pleading for more.
"Are you going to behave?" you whisper into his ear.
"Only if you do... and we both know that's never happening," he counters, overpowering you until you were both sat up. One hand grabs your thigh, his lovebites on your neck driving you insane slowly, "so be my good girl and-"
A crash of glass was heard from downstairs, adrenaline from the moment turning to worry. "No clatter of a thicker glass base,"
"The noise was longer meaning something shattered then hit the floor," Sherlock notes, looking out the slightly ajar window before ducking. He took you down with him, covering you just as an odd device hit the other side of his room.
Red blinked, over and over in a steady pace. Neither of you knew what it was, even in the darkness, it was shaped oddly, almost like a 'U'. Eventually the light subsided, a small click following it after a second. A hiss fills the air as a green smoke started to emit.
"Fuck-" you grab Sherlock's hoodie, holding it to your nose and mouth. Rolling out from under him, you grab the device and fling it out the window. Rapid coughs leave you making Sherlock rush over in worry.
"Are you okay??" he had no time to receive an answer as there was a smell of smoke. Not the smoke you just inhaled but one sourced from fire. "Get-" but before he could devise a plan, you were out the door and rushing down the halls.
"Fire!" You yell, seeing the flames rise up from the stair case.
~~~
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