Save Me Sherlock (Sherlock x Depressed Reader)

Chapter 2: Dinner

The moving trucks had come not soon after you arrived. They helped you carry all your boxes inside and we were done within the hour. You didn't have many things with you so unpacking was easy. By 5 you had turned the rather empty flat into a homely space where you would live. You stood in the doorway and observed it for the 10th time before sighing and making your way inside.

"I suppose I should go get dressed for dinner now." you mumbled to yourself.

You made your way to the bedroom and opened the closet. You spent the next 20 minutes deciding what to wear before finally choosing a long sleeved navy blue shirt, black pants, and some black tennis shoes. You went into the bathroom to do your hair and makeup and on the way, you heard noises outside that suggested Sherlock and John were home now. You began to worry that if you took to long to come up that it would be considered rude, so you hurriedly began doing your hair. After applying some mascara and some foundation you decided that it was as good as you were going to get and checked the time. It was a little after 6 and you began to get anxious as you went to leave.

What if you managed to mess it up? What if you gave away your secret? What if you made a fool of yourself? What if you offended them?

All these worries built up inside of you as you climbed the stairs. Upon approaching the door, you raised your hand to knock before hesitating. You were really nervous and your anxiety was through the roof. Maybe it would be better if you just made an excuse so you didn't have to go. But no, you had promised to at least try to be more social, so you took a deep breath and knocked before the new found confidence decided to leave. You heard some rustling coming from inside and then the door was being swung open.

"Oh hi there y/n! Come on in!" John said excitedly, turning his body so you could get through.

"H-hi." you greeted before stepping into the flat.

"Dinner should be ready soon. Usually after cases we order takeout, but since you were coming tonight I decided to cook." John explained as he led you into the main room.

You took everything in. From the cluttered desks, to the yellow smiley face painted wall, to the skull sitting on the mantel. It was far from clean, that was for sure, but it wasn't bothersome. In fact it only added to the homey feel of the place.

"Make yourself at home." John told you before heading around the corner to what you assumed was the kitchen.

Looking around the room, you decided to look around and explore. You walked to the smiley face and, upon closer examination, realized that there were 3 bullet holes in the wall. You ran your fingers over the marks before moving on. You had made your way past the case files on the cluttered desk and the violin next to the music stand, when you reached the skull. You reached your hand out to touch it when you heard someone shout.

"Don't touch that!"

You whipped around, anxiety quickly returning, and saw Sherlock standing at the beginning of a hall, probably the one that lead to his room. His arms were crossed and he was fixing you with an icy glare that only made your anxiety worse.

"I'm s-sorry. I-I didn't mean to- I-I didn't-" you tried to apologize before John interjected.

"Sherlock! Be polite." he reprimanded firmly while giving the detective a glare of his own.

Sherlock only rolled his eyes and made his way over to the dinner table, sitting down dramatically, while John turned to you.

"I'm sorry for his lack of manners. You can come sit down, dinner is almost ready." he said, motioning towards the table Sherlock had sat at.

You nodded and cautiously moved over to the table before sitting on the other side of the table, diagonal from Sherlock. You say there awkwardly, chewing the inside of your gums while you waited, before finally Sherlock spoke.

"What's your name?" he asked, although it came out as more of a demand than a question.

"Oh, it's y/n." you replied, somehow managing to not stutter.

"Hmmm. I'm assuming you already know who we are, but I suppose I should introduce myself anyways," he said before holding out his hand to you, "I'm Sherlock Holmes."

You took his hand and felt the long pale fingers wrap around your hand, your hands bobbing up and down a few times. The gesture was broken off not soon after it started, your hand immediately missing the warmth, and then he asks the question you've been dreading.

"When did you start?"