Fragile

3

I walked  into the coffee shop that Sherlock had instructed me to meet him at. I was wearing a  white dress with yellow flowers on it that fell just above my knees, with a denim jacket over the top and white converse that were spotless and practically brand new. As I entered the coffee shop I was greeted with the pleasant smell of freshly ground coffee and sweet pastries, there was soft jazzy music playing quietly out of the speakers around the cafe.

As I looked around I noticed one of the lights on the ceiling was a little dimmer than the rest of the lights in the room. My jaw tightened.

I started to notice other things now. Dust on the floor, a coffee cup that was placed a little too close to the edge of a table for my liking. I subconsciously picked and scratched at my fingers nervously and started to realize that this was a bad idea. I contemplated making an escape when a familiar tall man wearing an immaculate suit and black coat entered the coffee shop. 

3 minutes and 57 seconds late.

Suddenly, and strangely, I felt more at ease.

"Margo!" he greeted me with a smile which I returned, though I was nervous.

"Hey"

We sat down at a table which was, to my relief, really clean and tidy. Sherlock went over to the counter to get us some drinks and I sat quietly, still subconsciously picking at the skin around my fingers.

Sherlock walked back over after a few minutes and set a mug of coffee down next to me.

"Thank you" I said with a smile before bringing the cup to my lips and taking a sip. My eyes lit up. "This tastes amazing!"

"I told you" Sherlock answered with a smug smirk that made my heart flutter.

"So what did you mean when you texted me earlier?" I inquired more seriously.

"Hmm?" He hummed, looking up from his coffee.

"You said we were more alike than I thought"

Sherlock put his hands together and rested them underneath his chin, all the while he didn't take his eyes off me. I felt a bit exposed, like he knew something about me that I didn't.

"You don't think that people like you. You stay at home because you're afraid of what everyone will think of you. People don't like me either, the difference is I don't care. You should try not to care"

I raised an eyebrow at the cocky detective. Who the hell did he think he was? Telling me what I should and shouldn't feel. I knew he was good at the whole deduction thing but I thought he was a crime solver, not a psychiatrist.

"How could you possibly know that I'm afraid of what people think of me?" I questioned curiously.

"You have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Of course you're insecure"

My jaw hung open for a second before I began to feel a little bit defensive. I tensed up. I wanted to ask him how he knew, but it wasn't exactly hard to tell once I was in public.

I wanted to say something but I couldn't find my words. It turns out Sherlock had really hit a nerve by pointing out my OCD. It made me feel like my problems were really obvious from the start, it made me feel like I was a mess. Was I really that transparent?

"You know there's nothing wrong with you, Margo"

I looked up at him sharply, tears starting to form in my eyes.

"Are you stupid? Look at me. Of course there's something wrong with me. I always manage to find fault with everything, I can't just enjoy things like normal people can." I hissed at him, getting slightly annoyed at the detective who thought he knew everything.

"I don't see how there's anything 'wrong' with wanting the world around you to be perfect"

Time froze for a second after Sherlock had said that, and a tiny flame started to burn inside my heart for the detective. Instead of looking at me and seeing a freak, he saw something else, he saw a human being.

And that's all I ever wanted, all I ever wanted was to just be normal.

I stared at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"How come you wanted to get coffee with me today?" I said quietly with a small smile, feeling really sensitive, trying not to cry.

"Well" Sherlock chuckled softly; "I was hoping we could have a conversation about the different types of tobacco ash that you seemed so interested in"

I laughed at him.

"Want to go for a walk?" Sherlock said, motioning to the door.

"Sure" I smiled.

We stood up and walked through the cafe doors and out into the busyness of central London. Sherlock's fingertips grazed gently against mine and we linked our fingers so that we were holding hands tightly, strolling through the streets, admiring the beautiful city on a beautiful day.

When I got back to my flat that night, I smiled to myself after having the best day I'd had in a very very long time. I got into my pajamas and went to sleep.

Little did I know at the time, that I had completely forgotten to wash my hands.