Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Fruit Punch (Part 4)

Y/N falls asleep as soon as her eyes close.

Sherlock just sits for a moment, her breathing soft beside him. He can still feel the ghost of her kiss; a faint tingle across his lips.

He touches his fingers to his mouth and finds that he's smiling.

Eventually, he brings himself to stand. Before leaving, he pops two paracetamol from Y/N's medicine cabinet and leaves them on her nightstand with a glass of water.

...

Sherlock wishes the weekend would hurry up and get itself over with.

He passes the time by ushering in every client that comes to his door, and listening patiently to their case, no matter how trivial their problems.

He needs to, otherwise, his thoughts—as they so often do—will wander back to Y/N.

To what it had felt like when she'd kissed him.

And when he'd kissed her back.

He'd have liked to do other things, now that he thinks about it. Let his fingers run through her hair, to cradle her in his arms.

Or at least kiss a bit more.

He wishes she hadn't been drunk so he could ask her exactly why she'd kissed him, and he wishes she hadn't fallen asleep right away so he could have asked her if she'd liked it.

Of course, he could ask her these things in person, but he's not sure he'll be able to push the words off his tongue.

...

By the time Monday eventually makes an appearance, Sherlock has gathered enough evidence over the weekend to warrant a visit to the labs of Scotland Yard.

Upon placing his bag down on an empty workbench, however, it occurs to him that Y/N might not even show up.

She doesn't always use the lab; as a forensic scientist, she's often called to a crime scene or stuck in the briefing room. Or, as a public servant, she might be getting trained in all the things police staff need to be trained in these days---CPR, and classes on the newest politically correct words.

Sherlock would understand if Y/N is too shy to make an appearance right away—even if they hadn't kissed, she'd still gotten embarrassingly drunk. And even though he doesn't regret their kiss, with hindsight and the harsh light of day, she might.

...

By 2.15 pm, Sherlock starts to think he won't see Y/N today. 

He's despondently wiping down his microscope slides when the door opens and she hurries in, her usual heap of paperwork threatening to topple at any moment.

"Good afternoon," Sherlock greets, lighting up, and Y/N's cheeks instantly colour.

She keeps her eyes on the papers in her arms as she lowers them onto her desk, her raspberry-pink blush a stark contrast against the white A4. "Hi."

Sherlock's heart sinks a little.

He moistens his lips, finding them peculiarly dry. "Did you have a nice weekend?"