BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock x Reader | Can I Stay?

Description : You're on the bus home, and it breaks down. There's a terrible storm going on and your house is way too far away. But you happen to be only a block away from your friend Sherlock's flat.
Warnings : Fluff, Swearing.
Word Count : 1737
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A small drop of rain trickles down the side of the bus window. I check the time on my phone, 9:56pm, the bus would be at my stop in nearly an hour. To keep myself occupied, I watch the heavy rain hit the side of the bus, then fall down. A crack of thunder sounds in the distance, a flash of lightning following soon after. Boredom crawls over me, and I lean down to grab the book out of my bag. It wasn't exactly a reading book than actually a textbook, but anything was better than trying to count the rain drops. Before I can take it out, I'm sent flying forward into the seat in front of my. My face collides with the metal bar and a sickly sound comes from the bus's engine. I sit back up and rub the space where my head had been hit. The bus starts to make wailing noises, then comes to a stop. I can hear the driver cursing under his breath.

"What happened?" I ask, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"The bus broke down, I'm sorry Madam but you'll have to get off here."

"But my house is still so far away! It's pouring rain!" I argue.

"Don't know what to tell you." The man says, picking up the radio to report the broken down piece of shit machinery. I sigh and step off the bus. The gelid rain hits my skin like pins and needles. In attempt to blanket myself from the rain, I put my bag on my head. There's no way for me to get home, I used my only money for the bus, so I can't call a cab, and hitchhiking is illegal so I'm basically screwed. I would call my best friend Molly Hooper to drive me, but it's late, and I don't want to be a burden. I pull out my phone to see where I am, and it says I am on Siddons Lane. It sounds familiar, so I dig deeper. I zoom out of the map to see the surrounding streets. My eyes snap forward abruptly when I find I am a few blocks away from Baker Street. My friend Sherlock Holmes lives only a few blocks away.

I say friend, but it's more like an acquaintance. Molly works at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and I like to bring her lunch sometimes when I'm free. The last few times I've brought her lunch, Sherlock was there looking at the bodies. Molly told me all about him, his sociopathic lifestyle, his friend John Watson, his dingy apartment. Hence why I know where he lives. It will be weird of me coming to his flat when we've only talked once in real life and exchanged a few text messages, but he's my only solution right now, and if I stay outside any longer I'm going to get sick.

I begin to walk to his flat, thinking of what to say when I get there. I decide to just wing it.

I finally get there, and knock on the dark wooden door. It opens and I'm greeted by an elder lady.

"Hello! What can I help you with?" She says happily.

"Hi, does Sherlock Holmes live here?"

"Oh yes, dear. He's upstairs, come on in! You must be freezing!"

"Thank you." I respond, stepping into the building.

"He's upstairs, number 221b."

I nod a thank you, and begin to walk up the stairs. The more stairs I ascend, the more I hear the sound of a violin playing. I never knew he played, maybe it's that friend of his.

I knock on the door and wait. But after a minute there's still no answer, and the violin playing continues. Once again, I knock on the door, the violin playing stops this time, and I hear footsteps coming closer to the door. The footsteps stop, but the door doesn't open. I wait patiently for a reply to my knocking.

"Are you a client?" I hear his baritone voice speak.

"No it's Y/n, Molly's friend?" I say, but it comes out more as a question.