The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 9: Talk To Me

It had been a week since your date with Sherlock. The man had been completely avoiding you as well, which was starting to annoy you. John claimed that they were busy with a case, but it was easy for you to see through his lies. The two hadn't had a single case since the incident with Moriarty, and it was probably killing Sherlock.
You were growing rather bored yourself with no one to bother and no job to keep you busy. You had built up a large savings account from your previous job and you were starting to sell your paintings again, so you were able to live substantially. As such, you weren't in a huge rush to get a new job. The option seemed tempting, though, with this level of boredom you were facing.
You were laying face-down on your sofa currently, deciding what to do with your day. You heaved a long sigh. After a few minutes, you pulled yourself off of the couch and went to retrieve your easel. Might as well get some work done, you figured.
Earlier in the week you learned that John had mentioned you quite a bit in his blog. Thanks to him, you had numerous clients calling and asking about your paintings. The one you were busy with at the moment was a landscape of Italy for a high-paying customer. The painting was nearly completed, and today you would finish up the sky and patches of street.
You ran your brush over the canvas with ease, falling into a steady rhythm. You had also turned on some classical music, which helped to shut out the outside work and focus your attention on the painting.

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It was nearly five o'clock when you finished the painting, leaving your loopy signature in the bottom corner of the canvas. You took a deep sigh of content and turned your stereo off. You stood up and stretched your arms to the ceiling to work out your stiff joints.
You caught a glimpse of the clock and gasped. You had been working all day and hadn't even noticed the time go by. What had felt like only an hour had actually been six. You had finished the Italy landscape and another painting of a floral arrangement. You hadn't eaten a single thing all day, nor had you moved much from your chair.
You were suddenly pulled from your thoughts by the nearby sound of footsteps. Whoever they belonged to was walking softly down the hallway. You grabbed the first thing your eyes landed on, a lamp, and assumed a defensive stance on the corner of the hallway, ready to lunge at the intruder the second they rounded the corner.
The intruder, however, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He turned the corner, and you were caught in an awkward position with the lamp raised above your head and your mouth agape.
"What are you doing here?? I was scared to death!" You finally managed to say.
Sherlock looked rather taken aback himself. "(Y/n), please just put the lamp down-"
"Sherlock!" You sighed in exasperation, tossing the lamp onto the sofa. "You can't just keep letting yourself in."
The man chuckled, moving past you to sit down.
"What?" You demanded.
"I've been here for the past two hours. You were simply too lost in thought to notice my presence."
You gave him a dumbfounded expression. "Seriously?"
"Yes. It was quite amusing, actually. Eventually I got bored of sitting here and I went to take a little tour of your flat. I was a bit surprised to see you holding a lamp above my head when I came back."
You stared at the ground, thoroughly embarrassed. "S-sorry..."
"No problem. I do the same thing sometimes. Escape to my mind, I mean."
You nodded. A long silence ensued, both of you thinking the same thing. Finally, you decided to say what was on both your minds.
"Why are you here?"
He sucked in a breath. "I wanted to apologize to you."
You raised an eyebrow. Sherlock certainly didn't strike you as the type to openly apologize. "What for?" You finally asked.
He pondered this question for a minute. "I'm sorry for avoiding you this week. I haven't been very considerate."
"What is this about?"
No answer.
"Come on, Sherlock. Talk to me."
He snapped his eyes up to meet yours. There was something completely new in his expression, something you never would have thought to see in Sherlock. It looked like sincerity.
"Let me show you." He sprang up from his seat, taking your hand and pulling you to the door. You quickly grabbed your shoes and coat, and pulled them on as Sherlock hailed a cab. You hadn't had time to wash up, and you still had purple paint smeared on your hands, your hair was still in a loose bun.
The cab ride was deadly silent, however, your roles seemed to be reversed. This time, you were the one closely examining the detective and he was the one staring awkwardly out the window. You two rode in silence for about ten minutes when the car slowed to a stop.
You ventured a glance out the window, and unsurprisingly, had no clue where you were. The cab had taken you to what seemed to be one of the back alleys of London. The street was abandoned in an eery way, and the warehouses towering every angle were old and worn.
Sherlock rushed around to your side of the cab to hold the door open for you. You decided to ignore his uncharacteristically nervous attitude, but couldn't help noticing the quiver in his voice when he said, "This way." He took your hand in his, guiding you down a particularly shady alley.
You looked back at the cab, still parked on the side of the road. The cabbie looked back at you with concern, but eventually drove off.
The alley was nearly pitch black, and you felt yourself clinging to the detective as paranoia absorbed you. Sherlock kept a collective stride, doing what he could to still your nerves. After a few seconds, the blackness began to thin and was replaced by growing moonlight from the opposite side of the alley.
About halfway to the end of the road, Sherlock slowed to a stop beside one of the warehouses. He fished around in his pocket for a key and unlocked a door leading into the building. You had stayed silent the whole time, deciding that asking questions would be pointless.
The entrance to the building was equally as dark as the street outside, but the clever detective seemed to know exactly where to go. He dragged you about 20 paces forward and then turned, ascending a flight of the stairs. He continued to hug you close to his form to prevent you from tripping in the darkness.
After what felt like ages of aimless walking, Sherlock stopped short at a wall. He was groping the wall for something when you finally asked, "What are we doing, exactly?"
"Hush. Here, climb up after me, okay?"
You stared at his form quizzically as he began climbing a ladder attached to the wall. You sucked in a breath, unsure if you wanted to make the dangerous ascent.
He was nearly to the top, and you knew you couldn't wait around any longer. Muttering a few cynical prayers under your breath, you took hold of the first ladder rung. You started a steady pace on the ladder, focusing all of your efforts on making careful steps on the teetering rungs. Above you, Sherlock opened a hatch, and the room was immediately flooded with moonlight. The sudden light was enough to give you the confidence to finish the climb, pulling yourself onto the roof after the detective.
As soon as you took in your surroundings, you could feel your heart stop. All around the two of you was a beautiful view of London, complete with thousands of bright stars and a full moon.
"Sherlock," you breathed. "It's gorgeous."
The man grinned, guiding you to a set of chairs in the middle of the roof.
"Did you plan this?" You ask.
"Not really. I come here to think sometimes. It's a bit of a sanctuary for me."
As soon as he says this you notice the numerous cigarettes littering the ground near the chairs. You smile at the thought of Sherlock secluding himself to this very roof in times of trial, gazing at these very stars.
You take a seat next to the detective and for a while the two of you just admire the sky, not uttering a single word to the other.
"You know, I don't know much about the solar system." He finally says.
"Really?"
"I'm surprised you didn't know that. Don't you read John's blog?" His tone is slightly bitter with this last comment.
You chuckle. "Not everyone reads his blog, Sherly."
Sherlock grimaces at the nickname, but doesn't say anything about it.
"I'm just...scared." When he says this, his voice barely hovers above a whisper and you almost don't catch what he says.
"To learn about the solar system?" You laugh, trying to ease the tension in the air.
He smirks, but his eyes remain conflicted. "I've never..." He sighs, trying to find the right words. "I've never really had the desire to pursue a relationship with anyone...that is, until you came along."
You can feel a hot blush dust your neck and cheeks. Your foot taps the ground nervously as you ponder your next words.
"I'm...I'm scared, too."
Sherlock snaps his eyes to yours. He looks slightly shocked at your choice of words, but lets you continue.
"As you know...I haven't always had the best luck with relationships. Ever. And, I mean, I know that I can trust you, Sherlock, but that doesn't make it any less difficult-"
"I know."
You both stare at the ground, unsure of what to say.
"I know this sort of thing is new to both of us, but...what do you say we give it a try? It could prove to be an interesting experiment if nothing else."
You can feel tears brimming your lashes, and a few escape before you can wipe them away.
Sherlock suddenly looks alarmed. "Did I say something?"
You shake your head vehemently. "No, no. I'm just- really happy." You laugh, choking on a sob. "I didn't think- ever since him-"
"I know." A very relieved Sherlock quickly pulls you into an embrace, wiping away your tears. "I won't let him haunt you, anymore. You're safe, (y/n)."

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