No Shit, Sherlock

Busted

I wake up to see Sherlock reading a book, my head still laying on his chest. I reach my hand out and place it on the book, he sets it down and looks at me. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Slept like a queen, and you?"

"Slept like a king."

The front door opens, revealing Watson, who drops a bag by the door. "Good morning, Sherlock. Did you miss me?"

His eyes land on us, darting back and forth between us. He clears his throat, "Although, it looks like you didn't need my company."

"Shit, I have to go meet Timothée," I say standing up.

My blouse is wrinkled, and I can feel that my hair is knotted. Sherlock stands up behind me, holding his shirt closed. "You're still going to meet him?"

I tie my shoes and straighten my back, the couch was way too uncomfortable. "He's my friend."

I walk to the door, turning back to smirk at Sherlock, "I'll see you later."

"Good morning, Watson," I say, smiling to the man.

I shut the door behind me, giggling to myself, as I skip down the hall.

~~°°••°°~~

"Sorry I'm late!"

Timothée looks down at me in confusion, "You look like you've been through a tornado."

"I feel like it too," I say.

He stares at me, and pushes my hair behind my shoulder. "Are those hickeys?"

I push his hand away, pulling my hair back over my shoulder, "Mind your own damn business."

"Oh my God. You spent the night with someone!"

I slap my hand over his mouth, "Not a word."

He pulls my hand away, a smirk on his face. "So, who was the lucky guy?"

"Can we not talk about this?"

I walk away, but he follows me, leaning down to whisper, "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I'm not answering that."

We continue walking, every time he looked at me he'd laugh. Much to my disapproval, I don't appreciate being laughed at.

"Are you shaming me for this?" I finally ask.

His eyes widen, "Absolutely not! I'm just happy you've found someone."

We've only known each other for around two weeks, but he quickly became a good friend.

"You sound like my mother," I say, sighing.

"Can you at least tell me what he looks like?" Timothée says.

I smile to myself, "He's handsome, the most attractive person I've ever seen. And he's got the body of a God."

"You really like him, don't you?"

"More than anything."

We stop at the pond, and sit on a bench together. I watch as a group of kids push each other into the water. Oh, to be young again.

"Good afternoon," Timothée says.

I look up to see Sherlock and John standing in front of us, Sherlock's eyes staring right at me. I squirm under his intense gaze, refusing to make eye contact.

"Beautiful day for a walk," says John.

I finally meet Sherlock's gaze, and he smirks.

"No way," Timothée whispers.