Being alone is scary, but being alone with your thoughts is absolutely horrifying. You've been pondering for what seems to be hours about your new flatmate, Sherlock Holmes.
He's handsome, unpredictable, and possibly dangerous. But not boring. Anything but boring. You've read so much about the man and the papers seem to have him all wrong besides his skills. He smiles for the cameras, but what he really wants to do is smash them on the ground.
Maybe this would work. Being friends with Sherlock Holmes sounds so... impossible. You've never been accustomed to such a blatant term, and not because you didn't want them, but because you never met the right people to let into your life.
You're snapped out of your thoughts as staggering footsteps make their way up the wooden stairs. You wait until you see Sherlock enter the room with blood pouring down his face and holding a rag to his nose. You slowly get up from your chair and walk over to him, now realizing just how tall he really is.
"I'm guessing he didn't take the news well," you say, stifling back a chuckle.
"What do you think?" Sherlock harshly replies, tearing himself away from you and going to the kitchen.
"Well, I think you had it coming. I mean, who doesn't tell their best friend they need to fake their death? Don't you realize how much that broke him?" you question seriously.
Sherlock tosses the rag into the garbage and wets another before starting to wipe the blood from his face. "It was to protect him and it's not like I thought he would have a breakdown."
"How would you feel?" you shoot back.
"What?" he asks, facing you now that the bleeding has stopped.
"How would you feel if you thought John died and he suddenly reappeared after two years?"
Sherlock stares at you in deep thought before retreating to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
Great. A man-child.
You sigh and saunter to the bathroom, open up the medicine cabinet and take out something to help with the headache you're sure Sherlock will have soon considering John probably punched him around ten times. You fill a paper cup with water and kick the bottom of Sherlock's door with your foot.
"Open the door," you say.
After a few minutes of impending shuffling, Sherlock, with a blood-free face but a few scratches, opens the door in his pajamas.
"Take this. I know you probably have a headache from getting your ass kicked," you say as gently as possible as you hand him the cup and tablets.
Sherlock looks at you skeptically before taking them and shutting the door in your face. You're, unsurprisingly, used to people treating you lower than them. You check the time and see it's getting close to midnight, so you click off the lights and head up to your room where sleep welcomes you with open arms.
♖♖♖
The few days later, you walk down the staircase and into the living room where an unexpected sight is waiting.
"Oh, bugger!"
"Whoopsy! Can't handle a broken heart, how very telling."
You snicker at the Holmes brothers from the doorway and they don't spare you a glance as they continue their conversation.
"Don't be smart," Mycroft scolds.
"That takes me back. 'Don't be smart, Sherlock, I'm the smart one,'" Sherlock mocks.
YOU ARE READING
Exception || Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Fanfiction(Y/N) (L/N) works for Mycroft Holmes and has for years, but when Mycroft's brother, Sherlock, fakes his suicide, Mycroft needs someone to take his place. He decides there is no one better than (Y/N) who has nearly identical abilities to his little b...
