The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 3: Blackmail and 80's Rock

That next day, you found yourself clad in faded jeans and a sweatshirt, unpacking a few moving boxes and setting up the furniture that you had put in storage. You noted that your rooms and cupboards were painfully sparse and decided to head to the shops as soon as possible.
Around 2:00, you sat on your plush couch to take a break. Above you, you could hear someone descending the stairs. Thinking that it could be John or Sherlock, you strode out of your flat to say hello.
Surprisingly, a man you had never met before stood at the base of the stairs, straightening his coat and retrieving an umbrella. It took a mere ten seconds for you to realize who this person was. You ambled over to him with a grin. He looked up from his coat and returned your expression with a tight smile and a "Hello."
You extended your hand for a formal shake. "I'm (y/f/n). You must be Sherlock's older brother."
The tall man looked a bit taken aback, but shook your hand anyway. "I'm surprised he would mention me to someone who just moved in next to him," he said, clearly trying to read you.
You smirked. "He hasn't. Anyway, what's your name?"
He looked a bit confused, but answered, "Mycroft Holmes. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss (y/l/n)."
"Just (y/n) is fine."
He gave another tight-lipped smile. "I best be off then." And with that, he turned to exit the flat.
Odd, You thought to yourself. Without giving it another thought, you turned to mount the stairs.
"Sheeerlock," you called into the open doorway of the flat, afraid of being intrusive.
Sherlock strode out from the kitchen holding a mug, still clad in his dressing gown and plain pajamas. "Come in, (y/n)," he called back.
You smiled and walked in, taking a cautionary seat on the edge of the sofa. "Just woke up?" You asked with a giggle.
"Ah, yes. About an hour ago."
"Mycroft seems pleasant," you replied, folding your hands in your lap.
Sherlock sucked in a breath. "So you've met him. How unfortunate."
At this, you gave a soft chuckle.
The man continued, "Speaking of which- all that information about me from yesterday, did he give you that?"
You tilted your head slightly in confusion. "What, you mean when I guessed all those things about you?"
He nodded.
You stared at the floor for a minute, gauging your answer. "I've always had a talent for reading people," you offered nonchalantly.
"Interesting," he muttered, staring at the wall blankly.
You both sat in silence for a while- you fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt and Sherlock staring off into space. Finally you mumbled, "Where's John at, anyway?"
Sherlock gave no reply, continuing to stare at the wall. He made no sign that he had even heard you.
"Sherlock?" No reply.
After a minute or so, John strode out of his bedroom down the hall, making his way the kitchen, still in his pajamas. He noticed you on the couch and his face lit up slightly.
"Good morning, (y/n)," he chirped.
You laughed. "I think you mean 'good afternoon'."
He chuckled nervously, adding water to the kettle to boil. "Yeah we had a bit of a late night last night. Tea?"
"Tea sounds lovely." You looked back to Sherlock, who still hadn't moved an inch. "Does he do this often?"
John glanced over at his flatmate before giving a short laugh. "Yeah, he tends to do that a lot. He calls it his 'mind palace'."
You suddenly understood, giving a nod.
John came over to sit by you on the couch, handing you a steaming cup of tea. You accepted his gesture gratefully, inhaling the earthy scent of English tea.
"So, what had you two up so late anyway?" You asked with a raised eyebrow, trying your hardest not to sound too nosy.
A pink blush captured John's cheeks and he stuttered out, "W-we aren't a couple, you know!"
At this comment, you burst out laughing. You even had to set your tea down so that you wouldn't drop it in your laughing fit.
"I- I wasn't suggesting that you two are a couple or anything, I was just genuinely curious," you managed out between giggles.
John's face grew to an even darker shade and he hung his head slightly in shame. "Sorry- a lot of people just assume that we're an item and all, so I..."
"No, it's fine, I understand."
John gave a slight smile. "Sherlock and I were called into The Yard to look at some case files, but it didn't take us too long. Oh, did Sherlock tell you he's a detective?"
"Sort of."
John gave an uncertain smirk. "Alright then...What do you do?"
You sighed. "Ah, well, back in America I sold my paintings and also worked part-time as a therapist in a small clinic. I'm still trying to find a job here in England, though."
John gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure you'll find something soon. I'll keep my eye out in the paper for you as well."
"Thank you. You're a doctor, aren't you?"
"Well- yes, actually. I served as a war doctor in-"
"Afghanistan," you finished for him.
He quirked an eyebrow. "Did Sherlock already tell you?"
You shook your head, but before he could ask anything else, you quickly stood up, brushing imaginary dust from your jeans. "I really better get back to my flat, I still have some work to do," you said apologetically.
"Oh, um ok. Maybe if you're free tonight, we could get together?"
You beamed at him. "Yes, that should work for me. I'll see you soon, then."
"Uh, bye!" He called after you, still confused at your sudden departure.

As soon as the door to your flat closed behind you, your cheery façade crumbled. You sank to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as tightly as possible. Your breathing was shallow and your entire body was shaking. You tried to clear your mind, focusing only on inhaling and exhaling.
You told yourself you weren't going to do this. The past is in the past, so pull yourself together! You keep repeating these things to yourself, but you still feel sick.
After a couple of minutes of silent rocking on the floor, you pull yourself to your feet and head to the bathroom for a bath. You fill up the tub with steaming water and undress yourself. Before getting in, you put in your silver earbuds and turn on an eighties rock playlist on your phone. You set the device on the counter beside you and lower yourself into the water.
The heat immediately helps to soothe you. You let out a content sigh and raise the volume of your music, letting it distract you from the world around you.

---
Upstairs, Sherlock ponders over your most recent encounter with John. He hadn't actually been lost in thought when the whole thing happened. He was curious about how you interacted with others, and so, in a way, he had decided to eavesdrop on the conversation. John was now in his room changing, and Sherlock took advantage of that time to think over everything you had said to him.
It was obvious to him that you weren't as ordinary as he had thought you to be. You weren't just good at seeing things in the world, you were skilled at observing them. You did so in a similar fashion to the way he and Mycroft took notice of things. You were definitely more intelligent than you make yourself out to be.
This wasn't what bothered him the most, though. He was currently more concerned with this odd burning he felt in his chest. Rage? But what could be the cause of this anger? He certainly didn't dislike you. When he had heard John mention something about dating you, though, this sort of anger just clouded his thoughts. It annoyed him. Perhaps he felt this way because he thought you were too smart for John? He just couldn't wrap his head around it. In the end, he pulled himself off of his familiar chair and went to change into something more presentable. Maybe working on his newest case could take his mind off of things.

Once dressed in his usual button up shirt and suit jacket, he started down the stairs to your flat, ignoring John's quizzical glances.
He knocked twice on your door. No reply. He grew a bit worrisome, and decided to just let himself in. He cautiously opening the unlocked door, stepping through the doorway into the flat's kitchen.
"(y/n)?" He called out. The flat was silent. He glanced around, noticing that your purse and house key were still on the counter, meaning that you were probably still home. He walked through the kitchen into the living room. All of your furniture had a dark, vintage theme. Your walls were lined with bookcases filled with thick novels, and the fireplace held a large vase of roses instead of ashes or wood, making it unusable but much nicer looking all the while.
Sherlock took a seat on the sofa, resting his head in his hand. He let out a sigh. Where could you have run off to?
After a minute of waiting, he heard a door down the hall swing open. He could hear you humming a tune, and making your way towards the living room. He looked up at you as you entered the room, his mouth jarring slightly. You were only wearing a towel, and beads of water ran down your curvaceous form. Your long, (h/c) hair rolled down your back in tangled waves.
As soon as you saw the form on the couch, you gasped and dropped your phone, pulling out your headphones along with it as it tumbled to the floor.
"Holy shit, Sherlock! You scared the hell out of me!" You exclaimed, bringing a hand over your heart.
The man quickly averted his gaze to the carpeted floor. "I-I'm sorry about that, I didn't know you had just gotten out of a bath." He forced his expression to stay placid, but he could feel a deep blush creeping up his neck.
You gave an airy laugh. "It's fine, just give me a minute." With that, you disappeared back down the hall, closing a door behind you.
A minute later, you emerged wearing a pair of black jeans and a blue sweater. Your hair was pulled back into a French twist.
"Sorry for keeping you. Anyway, what is it that you needed?"
Sherlock finally forced himself to make eye contact with the woman before him. "Mycroft just gave me a case today. I'd like you to come with me to The Yard to have a look at it. Another opinion could prove to be useful," He finished all in one breath.
You looked a bit stunned. "You want...me? To help you?"
He rolled his eyes. "That is what I said, isn't it?" He took hold of your hand, pulling you off your chair. "Hurry along now, we haven't got all day."
"W-what's the case even about?" You sputtered, trying to regain your balance.
Sherlock smirked. "Blackmail."