Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

That Date On The Motorcycle ((Final) Part 2)

This time, the bike edges forward inch by inch, then carries on going forward until the clutch is all the way out and Y/N gives a triumphant, childish little cheer. "I'm doing it!"

She feels Sherlock chuckle again.

"Yes, and you are doing it brilliantly."

Y/N glows, his praise setting a strange, pleasant sensation fluttering in her stomach.

"...Do you want to do it faster?"

She glows with a little thrill of excitement. "If you think I'm ready." Turning the throttle, she speeds the bike up a little, the wind slipping past her face like feathers. It gets faster and faster until it's got a slight nip to it.

The engine starts making a distressed, pained wailing sound and, probably feeling her grip tense back up on the handlebars, Sherlock prompts gently:

"It's trying to tell you to go up a gear."

"Oh. I have to push my foot up, right, not down?"

"Yeah, twice; you have to get past neutral."

Hesitantly, like checking items off a list, Y/N works her way through the manoeuvre, the bike fining second gear with a satisfying sigh.

As if in relief, its tone settles into a consistent, low hum.

"The engine seems happier now," She observes.

"It's much smoother the faster you go. See?"

Y/N nods.

It isn't jolting as much; it's less like a stallion stifled on a chain and more like a boat drifting on calm waters.

They lumber forward for quite a while, Sherlock's hands loosening on the backs of her palms.

As they pass the WHSmiths, he takes them away altogether and Y/N yelps.

"No! No! No! Where are you going?! Put them back!"

"Why? You're doing just fine," he insists encouragingly, flexing his fingers. His palms come to settle easily on the leather of his trousers, the reflection of his proud smile visible over Y/N's shoulder.

Suddenly, the sparse little hedge lining the car park seems unsettlingly large.

Y/N glances at Sherlock's hands, wishing she could be brave enough to let go of the handlebars for a fraction of a second---just long enough to grab them and put them back.

The hedge seems to be doubling in size, its spindly little twigs swelling into enormous, hulking, branches.

"...How do you turn?"

Sherlock smirks.

She can see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

"What do you mean, how do you turn?"

Her knuckles gripping the handlebars again, she struggles in what is now a wavering, shaky line. "It's not going where I want it to!" She frowns angrily at her own arms, willing them to the left and then, when that fails, to the right.

Softly, something warm takes her chin.

Sherlock is cupping it with one finger. Gently, he tilts her face upwards, bringing her gaze back to the pavement ahead.

"You have to keep your eyes on where you want to go. The bike will follow."

"But it isn't!"

"It will. Keep looking forward."

Moistening her lips, Y/N rakes the car park for something to focus on. She decides on a discarded shopping trolley lying on its side vaguely in the direction that isn't the hedge. Staring fixedly at its rusty wheels, she desperately wills the huge machine below her to curve to the right.