The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter Two: Deductions

The cab pulled to a halt near a curb. The street ahead was crowded with afternoon traffic, and you decided to make the rest of the distance on foot.
You quickly paid the cabbie, and exited the car, keeping your large messenger bag close to your side to protect it in the rain. Ahead of you, you could make out the maroon awning of a shop and began to head towards it. You turned your coat collar up in the wind, but its fabric offered little protection from the elements.
Your black stilettos clicked noisily on the wet pavement, and you carefully monitored your step in fear of slipping. In less than a minute, you found yourself at a green door labeled 221.
"I guess this is it, then..." You mumbled under your breath.
The gold knocker on the door was severely crooked, and you extended your hand to straighten it. Right as you were about to do so, the door swung itself open to reveal a short, blond man with  stormy blue eyes and a faded jumper.
"Oh- hello," He piped.
"H-hi, um, do you know if a Mrs. Hudson would be here?" You asked uncertainly.
Recognition seemed to light his face. "Yes, yes you must be here about the flat downstairs. She told us she would be expecting you," He extended a hand. "John Watson."
You smiled. "(Y/f/n). Lovely to meet you, John."
He gave a nervous laugh. "Oh- what am I doing? Come inside, the weather's terrible."
You accepted his offer and stepped into the flat. You were suddenly grateful that Lillian had done your hair in a braid, as it wouldn't be tangled from the wind by now.
"I was just heading out, but I'll show you upstairs. Mrs. Hudson was just lecturing Sherlock-"
"Who?"
"Oh, Sherlock is my flatmate. Er- I apologize in advance. He can be a bit...blunt at times."
Now it was your turn to give a nervous laugh. "I'm sure I can handle it."
With that, John led you up the stairs to his flat. The door was already wide open, and you could see a figure sitting in a chair across the room and an elderly woman speaking to him in a raised voice.
"Honestly now, Sherlock-" She began again, but was quickly cut off with a small 'ahem' from John.
The woman spun around and gasped when your eyes met with her's.
"Oh, you must be (y/n)," she said, crossing the room to take your hands. "Give me a moment dear, I'll go and put a kettle on."
Mrs. Hudson disappeared down the same stairs you had come up a moment before.
You turned your attention back to the man at the center of the room. He was watching you with great intent, as if reading you. You squirmed slightly under his icy gaze, but refused to back down from his stare. Though you would never admit it, you found him to be rather attractive. He had perfectly fair skin, and dark locks that curled around his sharp cheekbones. His pale blue eyes never wavered, a dead sign of overconfidence in accordance with his entitled posture. He had a slight stain on his lower lip, likely from drinking tea only hours earlier. His hair was combed neatly, indicating that he was expecting your company. His fingertips revealed thick callouses from playing a stringed instrument- most likely the violin. Besides those things, there wasn't much else you could deduce about the man with certainty. You found this odd. You were usually very skilled at reading people.
John cleared his throat behind you and you realized that you had been staring at the man for longer than normal.
"Ah, sorry," You snapped out of your daze. "Spaced out there for a minute."
"American. Interesting," Sherlock stated abruptly.
"Sorry?"
"It's nothing," he muttered, returning to his intense staring.
"Well, anyway, I'd better be off," John said awkwardly. "See you around (y/n). Maybe we could grab coffee sometime?"
You gave him a wide grin. "Yes, that sounds lovely. See you."
Even with John now gone, the man in front of you never tore his critical gaze from you. Eventually, you plopped down on the couch, continuing to stare at the man yourself.
"I've been informed that it's rude to stare," you stated flatly.
"As have I," he retorted.
"You're a detective. You play the violin to help yourself concentrate. Currently you're sporting a nicotine patch on your left wrist, but it isn't to cope with an addiction, it's simply to gather your thoughts. I do the same thing when I need to focus."
He raised an eyebrow, his face going from bored to entertained in a matter of seconds. He leaned forward in his chair. "Anything else?"
You smirked. "You have an older brother. You probably have some complex relationship with him. I can relate," You sighed. "You like your coffee black, adore attention, and have an interest in odd experiments, usually ones that include human organs."
He gave a short laugh. "I'm impressed. You're a lot more clever than you look. Assuming someone didn't give you that information, of course."
You simply hummed in reply.
He continued, "You're currently staying with a friend, but being the introvert you are, you're seeking out a more private living space. You play the cello and paint in your free time. You used to  work in some field of psychology, possibly a therapist. You recently moved from America to escape something from your past. You hate physical contact of any type, haven't called your mother in over a year, and woke up late this morning." He said all of this in one breath, and was about to continue when Mrs. Hudson returned to the room.
"I'm glad to see you two are hitting it off so well," she said with a smile.
You smirked at the detective. "Yes, Sherlock here is a very interesting man."
Sherlock gave a fake grin. "You flatter me."
Mrs. Hudson chuckled and poured you a cup of tea. "I know this place is a bit run down, but I think having another woman here would be fantastic."
You smiled. "Certainly. Are these two boys the only other residents here?" You asked, ignoring the 'boy' sitting right across the room.
"I'm afraid so. We've had a few people come and leave over the years, but no one else has ever really taken up a permanent residence here." And with that, she launched into some story about her husband and marijuana. You tuned her out for the most part, occasionally nodding to act as if you were listening.

After an hour, you two had finished the required paperwork, and the flat downstairs was yours. You could hardly contain your enthusiasm. You quickly hailed a cab to Lillian's to pack up your few belongings. In the morning, a new chapter of your life would begin, starting with 221 Baker Street.