Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

"You Have A Lot Of Explaining To Do" (Part 2)

The day passed as usual. When Y/N had moved into 221B it had become customary for her (much to Sherlock's delight) to assist him with cases. However, he had none to solve, at present, but wished he did because he would have been more than glad of the distraction.

He couldn't stop thinking about Y/N.

Sherlock had been to weddings before, overheard couples, seen movies, and he'd always sneered whenever someone would say they can't stop thinking about their partner. He'd look down his nose at them as if they were juvenile and silly, as if it was their fault. He knew now---now that he was experiencing it for himself---that it very much was not their fault, and he'd been unfair to judge them so harshly. Now, the way he saw it, they were all victims, at the mercy of a horrible betrayal by their own bodies.

Whatever he thought about, wherever he looked, his brain somehow found a way to link it back to his best friend.

He tried catching up on paperwork at his desk, but got distracted by Y/N's doodles, her drawing supplies and half-finished artwork spread over his things and didn't have the heart to move them.

He experimented with putting various crumbs leftover from breakfast under his microscope, but kept almost calling Y/N over to come and look how pretty sugar crystals were up close, or how similar bread looks to bark.

He opened the curtains, observing the sodden streets below and remembered all the times he and Y/N had walked through bouts of rain, how it made her cheeks rosy, and that one time she'd tucked herself into his coat to shelter when she'd forgotten her own. Her little body pressed up against his chest, his arms hesitantly coming around her, making him feel big and protective---

Hell, he couldn't even just pace irritably because objects around the flat that were her favourite colour caught his attention and wouldn't let go.

Y/N, however, seemed very much at peace. She had been reading for most of the day, having claimed Sherlock's chair at some time around Ten, and barely moving since. Sherlock was glad of this for two reasons, one being...

He always got a pleasant warm feeling in his chest whenever Y/N used anything that belonged to him, like when she'd used his coat as shelter. It was now half One, so he'd been experiencing this glow for about three and a half hours. He hadn't experienced prolonged happiness very much in his life, and now that he was---no matter how silly he saw its origin---he liked it.

And two: Reading meant sitting mostly still and not talking, which was good. Well, Sherlock would actually like her to talk to him very much, expressing herself with hand gestures and her cute little Y/N-isms that he'd become so bafflingly fond of, but not right now. Not when he was trying to get her out of his head, to fall out of love with her.

This morning had been a wakeup call for him, a bucket of ice water shocking him back into reality. When he'd first fallen in love with Y/N he had guiltily hoped that one day...maybe just one day he might get up the courage to tell her about his feelings. And maybe then she'd perhaps say she felt the same way about him. And she'd kiss him and take him to bed and from that day on introduce him as her boyfriend to everyone that she meets.

It was obvious to him now that that would never happen; earlier, her cheeks red with anger, her inability to even look at him---his hopes of romance had instantaneously evaporated.

...

Around Three in the afternoon, Y/N suggested they go to a little cafe they often frequent, about half an hours walk away, just to get out of the house. Sherlock agreed because he hoped being outside would give his mind something else to focus on, and he liked the brownies they sold there.