Eye Contact *ON HOLD*

Sentiment

There were roughly two weeks spent just settling into the flat. Maggie felt uncomfortable there at first, like a squatter. She had, after all, literally passed out on their doorstep. She didn’t have money to pay rent, or any utilities for that matter, and spent most of the first few days travelling around the city with John as he too tried to find a job. On the first day they returned from job hunting, they found Sherlock sitting on his heels in the seat of his armchair, his hands steepled in front of his mouth and his eyes closed. He opened his eyes when they entered and jumped up from the seat.

“Maggie, come with me,” he said, striding into the kitchen.

She gave John a confused look. He shrugged, turning to lay out the take-out they’d brought home on the coffee table.

She turned and slowly followed Sherlock’s path around the corner, finding that he had vacated the kitchen, but his bedroom door was open. He was standing in the doorway, looking at her expectantly. She gave him a confused look as she approached, but he did not explain, and kept his face serious. He stepped back as she entered the room, and suddenly his reasoning for taking her back there was obvious.

On his bed was box after long clothing box, all obviously bought that day, and judging from the names on the boxes, all very expensive.

“You-”

“I bought it, yes,” he said, cutting her off.

She took the box closest to her, opening it slowly. Inside was a deep purple women’s button up. She ran her fingers over the material and checked the tag.

“How did you know my size?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“I looked at the clothes you changed out of when you took mine last night,” he said.

She looked over to the dresser, where her old clothing was neatly folded, though she had left it over the bedpost the night before.

“Ah,” she said, looking back at the tag. Egyptian cotton. “Sherlock, this is too expensive.”

“Ridiculous,” he said with a smirk. “You needed clothing. You can’t borrow mine forever, and Mrs. Hudson’s… don’t suit you.”

She looked down at the brown trousers and flowery blouse Mrs. Hudson had loaned her for the day.

“While that may be true,” she said, closing the clothing box and looking back at him, “you could have gotten anything. This is too much.”

“Not really. Didn’t even leave a dent in my finances, and you can always pay me back later.”

She gave him a confused look. “Didn’t leave a dent? You had to get a flatshare, John told me that today. You couldn’t afford the rent, and it looks like all of this,” she gestured to the boxes, “probably cost you over two months of that rent.”

Sherlock began toward the door. “I didn’t need a flatshare. John did.”

“Then why have someone move in with you if you could pay for it yourself?”

He stopped halfway out the door, pausing there for a moment. “Because the flat felt empty,” he said. “And I need to say my thoughts aloud to someone.” He turned his head, giving her a smirk. “The skull would’ve done fine, but Mrs. Hudson confiscates it whenever I leave the flat.” With that, he entered the hall, closing the door behind him. “Don’t worry about the clothes,” he said, before he shut it completely. “Try some of them on. I can take any back that you aren’t pleased with.”

The door clicked shut, and she sighed, turning back to the bed of clothing. She reached for the box that held the purple shirt, and the door opened again.