Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Biscuits ((Final) Part 7)

"Nothing." Y/N shrugs and Sherlock stares flatly at her. She cringes away from the blue of his eyes because both they and his mouth say:

"Obviously it's not nothing." He always looks at her so deeply; deeper than anyone has ever looked at her.

She doesn't want him looking at her like that in her moment of self-loathing. She sighs. "It's stupid."

"Tell me anyway."

"I'll sound like a prick."

"What else is new?"

"Sherlock."

"Just tell me."

"Fine. It's just...I know it's selfish but I...like it when you don't have a case. I liked doing stupid things with you."

His eyes widen as if that's not what he'd been expecting. Then his face softens. "Y/N, just because I have a case that doesn't mean I won't do things with you. I actually...prefer doing things with you. While I was out today I kept wishing you were there with me."

She smiles at him. "I wished I was too."

There's an awkward little silence Y/N doesn't know how to fill. Disinterestedly, she picks up the box of sea monkeys on the table and turns it over.

The bubbly red and yellow font looks childish now.

Almost shyly, Sherlock sidles up to her, his hand reaching out like he's going to place it on her shoulder.

She waits for it, wanting it, but he pulls it away.

His fingers fiddle with a loose thread on his shirt instead. "Hey...I was going to try to make lasagna tonight. Like we had at Riccardo's. Do you want to make it with me?"

"Don't you want to get started on your case?"

"The case can wait: they pay me by the day and I've been out of work for a week." He'd been giving her his trademark, mischievous smile but it falls when he catches her face. He nudges her side with his elbow. Gently:

"And...I'd rather spend time with you."

...

The Sea Monkey tank sits on the shelf above the microwave between two mugs, one celebrating the diamond jubilee, and the other patterned with a humorous map of Devon. They'd filled it with water Sherlock had purified over a bunsen burner, then, when it had cooled, Y/N tipped in the first little sachet.

The lasagna cooking away in the oven, Sherlock distractedly wipes the soapy saucepan Y/N had handed him with a teatowel. This had been helpful three minutes ago but now a pile of other saucepans, wooden spoons and knives are building up on the draining board, slowly oozing Fairy-scented water onto the countertop. 

He keeps looking sideways at Y/N as she draws a scourer over a chopping board. Eventually, he says, quietly and more serious than she's used to hearing him:

"Y/N, you know I'd always rather spend time with you...don't you?"

She smiles, slotting the chopping board onto the crowded dish rack. "You don't have to say that."

"No, but I want to. I mean it." He hesitates then leans forwards and kisses her cheek.

He kisses her a lot. Usually in excitement—an easy peck to her cheek to welcome her home, a rushed press to the top of her head in celebration of a breakthrough in a case.

But he's never kissed her like this.

It's slow enough to feel the warmth of his lips on her cheek. The shape of them. The point of his nose nudging her cheekbone.