The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 10: Storm

"I knew you'd agree," Sherlock says smugly as the two of you wait on the curb for a cab. "To be my girlfriend, I mean."
You can't help but smirk at the man's cheekiness. "Oh yeah? And why is that?"
Sherlock smiles back at you. "Well, you did follow me all the way to the roof. Any sane person would have turned back."
"I suppose I'm not sane, then," you reply, earning a airy laugh from Sherlock.
You both stand around for quite some time, waiting for a cab. Eventually, Sherlock grumbles, "It'd be faster to just walk home."
You grin deviously, grabbing Sherlock's arm and linking it with yours. You set a pace down the sidewalk and say, "Well, Mr. Holmes, how about a walk then?"
He smirks back at you, easily keeping up with your pace. It seems your outbursts don't faze him in the slightest.
You two start chatting about the events of the week; you tell him about your long list of clients awaiting paintings, and he tells you about all of the boring things he and John did without a case.
Just as you two were reaching Saint Bart's, a few raindrops pelted your face. You were just going to ignore the light rain, but the mist quickly escalated into a full-blown downpour.
"Oh bloody hell," you hiss, pulling you coat collar higher in an attempt to shield your face.
"Come on, we're close to the flat," Sherlock yells over the growing thunder.
He releases your arm in favor of your hand, making it easier to sprint the rest of the distance. You cling onto the detective's cold hand. Your hands were much smaller in comparison to his, you noticed.
Even after running the rest of the way home, the two of you were still completely drenched by the time you collapsed on the stairwell of 221B.
You both laid there for a moment, the sound of your panting mixing with his.
Unaware of the couple occupying the stairs, John casually strode out of his flat. He stopped short at the scene before him with a gaping jaw.
"Sherlock? (Y/n)? Did you two get caught out in the rain?"
"Unfortunately," Sherlock grunts, picking himself off of the stairs. He helps you up as well, and you suddenly become conscious of your smeared make-up and soaked clothes.
Still baffled at the uncharted amount of affection the detective was showing you, John muttered, "I'll, uh, go make some tea for you then," disappearing into the flat.
You giggled, following John into the living space with Sherlock following closely behind. You nearly flopped onto the sofa, but remembered your current drenched state and decided against it, opting to stand instead.
Sherlock reappeared from the bathroom, draping a towel over your shoulders to still your shivering. "You can use our shower," he mumbled so that John wouldn't overhear. "Wouldn't want you catching a cold."
You suppressed another giggle, replying, "If you insist."
John returned to see Sherlock leaning down to you, brushing his lips against yours. The doctor nearly dropped the tray. Quickly recovering from the shock, John cleared his throat loudly, breaking up the near-kiss.
Sherlock pulled away from you abruptly, straightening his shirt and sitting in his chair as if nothing had happened.
John merely shook his head with a laugh, setting the tray on the coffee table. He handed you a cup, which you graciously accepted. You took a sip of the hot, earthy liquid, immediately feeling reenergized.
"Thanks, John."
"Uh-huh," he hummed in reply.
"Anything new?" Sherlock suddenly interjected, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. His clothes were still wet, but he had suffered considerably less from the rain with his large trench coat.
"Mm, not really. Lestrade called saying that he needed to talk to you, but it didn't sound too urgent."
"A case?"
"Not sure. He didn't say much, only that he needed to speak to you."
"Hmm. Have you done the shopping?"
"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock- You were supposed to do the shopping!"
You chuckled as the pair began bickering like a married couple. You took the distraction as an opportunity to slink off to the shower without John noticing, which was probably Sherlock's intention from the start of the conversation.

Inside the bathroom, you shed your cold, wet clothes onto the floor and let your hair down. You suddenly realized that you didn't have anything dry to change into, and cursed yourself for not realizing something like that sooner. You really had been quite the ditz since your first date with Sherlock. Though, the thought of him brings a wide grin to your face. He even called me his girlfriend...I'm surprised he'd be so upfront about all of this. The events of the night play in the back of your mind, and you decide to harbor those memories in your mind palace for later.
You climb into the standing shower, letting the hot water run over your stiff limbs. You can feel your muscles immediately relax. For the time being, you completely shut out your thoughts. A feeling of numbness envelopes you, and you close your eyes, focusing on the rushing water instead of your racing heart.
After some time, the water begins to run cold, pulling you form your daze. You turn the faucet off and clamber out of the frame of the shower. Resting on the edge of the bathtub across the room, you spy a small stack of clothes along with a towel. You quickly retrieve the towel and dry off before you can drip any more water on the floor. You address the clothes before you. The      T-shirt is far too big to be yours, and is accompanied by a pair of baggy sweat pants. A crimson blush explodes on your cheeks as you realize that the clothes belong to Sherlock. You burn an even darker shade when it dawns on you that he brought these in here without you noticing. While you were showering.
Before your thoughts can escalate to anything more than that, you shove your arms into the shirt and pull on the sweatpants. In the mirror, you wipe off any remaining eyeshadow and run a comb through your (h/l) hair.
Heaving a sigh, you give yourself one last look in the mirror. The clothes are much too big for you, but are quite comfortable.
You turn to leave the bathroom, but stop short at the door. You turn with knob with renewed caution, and creep out into the hall as quietly as possible. John must surely know that you used the shower, but you still didn't like the idea of him seeing you in Sherlock's clothes. Besides wanting to hide your relationship from the doctor, it was a bit embarrassing to be wearing such large clothes.
You were relieved to see that John's chair was empty. Not only that, but the detective was missing as well.
No longer seeing the need to be stealthy, you made your way to the kitchen. You were still starving, and figured that the men wouldn't mind you grabbing a snack from their cupboards.
You pulled open the fridge, expecting to see ordinary foodstuffs, but immediately recoiled with a short shriek. After a moment of shock, you pulled the door back open. On the top shelf sat a severed, human head. You gaped at it in slight wonder. You reached a finger out to prod it, but a familiar voice stopped you.
"No touching," Sherlock snapped, pulling you gently from the head.
"But-"
"No. I'm testing an experiment on it. You might compromise the results."
You pouted at the man like a child, plopping down on his chair.
He stared at you for a second and a devious smirk played on his lips.
"I see the clothes fit."
Your face went pink and you stuttered out, "N-not really. You're too tall."
He let out an amused grunt. "You're too short."
You glared at him as he opened a few cupboards, pulling out a tin.
"Where'd John go?"
"I sent him to do the shopping."
"Seriously?" You giggled. "It's nine o'clock."
"Oh believe me, he was eager to get out of the flat. I think he...wanted to give us space."
You and Sherlock laughed at the thought of a very flustered John, rushing out of the flat to escape the two geniuses.
Sherlock returned to the living room, holding a tray of cookies and tea.
"I know it's not much, but we don't do much grocery shopping."
"That's alright," you beamed, accepting the cookies.
You turned one over in your hand for a moment as Sherlock adjusted himself in John's chair.
"Why do you guys call them biscuits?" You pondered aloud.
Sherlock huffed with a smirk. "Americans," he mumbled mockingly.

---

Around midnight, John returned home to find you and Sherlock sleeping peacefully on the couch, cuddled close together. The doctor quickly shuffled to the kitchen to put away groceries, deciding to ignore the scene before him. It was obvious that you two were in a relationship, but since neither of you had openly said it yet, he decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Though he had been interested in you at first, he couldn't help but be a little happy for Sherlock. The man had never shown affection to anyone quite like this. It was an odd sight, but it made him hopeful that the detective wasn't a complete machine, after all. Perhaps you could fix him...