SHERLOCK; imagines

EVEN YOUR THORNS; s.holmes

FOR boundlessspirit

PROMPTS: 

#29: do you think there's something wrong with me?

#31: i just want to be with you forever and always. what's so bad about that?

#33: for a rose to truly be loved, you have to love all of it. even its thorns. and i love all of you. even your thorns. 

SUMMARY: sherlock feels as though there's something wrong with him, but the reader is there to comfort him and convince him otherwise. 

WORDS:~0.9k

The rain pattered on the windows of 221b Baker Street and the sounds of London's bustling people could be heard faintly underneath the whistling of the teapot on the stove.

Sherlock heard the soft scuffling of footsteps, the gentle clangor of ceramic hit ceramic and the solid thunk of two mugs on the counter. Sherlock knew it was you preparing tea for him. He had been sitting in his leather chair since the early hours of the morning and, by some miracle, you cared for the insane detective enough to make him tea. A few minutes later, you sauntered out of the kitchen in a pair of sweatpants and one of his old jumpers with two steaming cups of tea, he wasn't surprised. But the gesture didn't fail to warm his heart ever so slightly.

"Tea, love?" You asked, sending him one of the bright smiles he had filed under happiness in his mind palace. There were few memories or topics in that file of his and next to no people. But in that file you were, smiles and all and despite everything.

A small hum was the only response Sherlock was capable of giving, but he wished more than anything he could thank you properly, for the tea and for all that you meant to him. You placed the mug in his hand and a kiss to his forehead. The comforting, earthy smell of earl grey and warm honey drifted up from the cup in his hands and it made him smile softly.

But then he sighed and his woes returned.

"You okay, Sherl?" you asked, your hand drifting from the side of his face to his curls, brushing them back and running her fingers through his hair in a way that always calmed his anger and his worries.

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?" Sherlock heard himself ask, a hint of sadness in his voice that he knew would break your overly kind heart if it escalated.

A worried look crossed Y/N's face as she set her cup of tea down on the small table beside john's chair before setting herself in front of him. She raised a hand to his cheek, brushing it with a gentle touch and bringing his far-off gaze back down to reality, to her.

"Of course not Sherlock," Y/N said, thumb rubbing circles on his cheek. "What made you think that? What's wrong?"

Normally, Sherlock didn't indulge in human romance and affection, but when you looked at him as if he was more than the sociopathic madman he was. He couldn't help falling in love with you. He couldn't help the urge to lay down everything and care for you. He couldn't help becoming completely enraptured with you, no matter how hard he tried. You looked at him and you memorized every detail about him and even after that, you still loved all that you saw.

But he wasn't capable of that same amazing feat and you deserved better. You deserve someone who could care for her the way you care for the world, he thought.

"How can you love someone like me?" Sherlock asked, his voice tight and small as he bit his lip to keep from breaking down. "I'm nothing special. I'm just some sociopath trying to love someone who deserves more love than even the stars themselves could give you."

"Sherlock," you said, eyebrows knitting together, "you know that's not true. You're brilliant, love."

Sherlock let his eyes rise from his hands that fussed endlessly in his lap to meet yours.

"But I can't always give you everything you need," he complained. He raised a finger to tap the side of his head in annoyance. "Sociopath. Remember?"

There it was. That smile again. It warmed his heart as your calming touch danced a short tingling path from his cheekbone to his jawline.

"Sherlock, if I saw something wrong with you, I would've left a long time ago. But I'm still here. You're a genius, Sherlock. And I know you don't think so, but I know that deep down in that cold and brooding soul of yours, there's an ability to love that sometimes outweighs everything else," You assured him with a serious tone sprinkled with a dash of humor. It was always your recipe for trying to cheer him up.

"I love you, Sherl, and I wouldn't trade you for anyone else. You're my world, love."

"Really?" Sherlock asked in disbelief, his voice shaky and uncertain.

"Of course," you said. "I just want to be with you forever and always. And if that means I have to keep you from your thoughts every once in a while, I'll do it in a heartbeat."

Sherlock smiled and his heart filled with an overwhelming sense of love. "Can you hold me?" He asked warily.

You smiled brighter than ever and Sherlock felt the air in his lungs leave him. You were so beautiful and he was amazed by you as you stood to sit on the arm of his chair. A soft of course left your supple lips and Sherlock's heart fell faster and faster into that overwhelming and endless pit of love. You settled on the arm of his chair and wrapped your arms around Sherlock's broad shoulders as he wrapped his around your waist and buried his head in your chest. The scent of his cologne and the delicate, flowery undertones of you blended and greeted him as the fibers of his sweater tickled his face.

He smiled as he felt you run his fingers through his dark curls and press a kiss to the top of his head.

"For a rose to truly be loved, you have to love all of it. Even its thorns," you murmured. "And I love all of you. Even your thorns."