Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

There's A Dog In This One (Part 1)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Let's say, for the sake of this story, that you'd very much like to one day settle down as Mrs Holmes in a cottage in the British countryside with your husband and dog.

CONTEXT: When Y/N (much to Sherlock's delight) has to look after her friend's dog for a couple of days, the experience accidentally changes a few things in 221B for the better.

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It was a brittle January afternoon. Snow is drifting lazily down from the dull grey sky, but not enough to be satisfying. The flakes aren't fat and heavy like downy feathers, they're minuscule and prickly like sugar crystals dusted onto a cookie.

Y/N's Christmas holiday was slowly trickling to an end, while, much to her annoyance, Sherlock's still ploughed on---not that he wanted it to. He wasn't even formally on a holiday, rather, he was forced to take one because crime always seemed to dry up around mid-winter. Perpetrators may be hardened criminals but they seem to be just as sensitive to the cold as everyone else and prefer to commit their various offences during warmer times.

You would think that this arid spell would mean life in 221B---especially now that the weather made going outside very unappealing also---next to unbearable. After three weeks without a case, Y/N had estimated that Sherlock's boredom would reach fatal levels by New Years and he'd be dead before seeing his birthday.

Each morning she would sleepily stumble into the kitchen, expecting to see him slumped diagonally in his chair, complaining loudly about his brain shrivelling into a raisin due to lack of stimulation.

And each morning she was pleasantly surprised to find that her estimation had been incorrect.

The days went on, Sherlock's birthday came and went, and he continued to be in a surprisingly amiable mood. He'd do experiments at the table, find things to stare at under his microscope, read in his chair, or even sometimes just watch television. He seemed to have relaxed, uncoiled enough to enjoy simple things, even asking Y/N to play board games with him, or let him join her while she pursues her own interests. Well, this behaviour isn't exactly new. These are typical between-cases-Sherlock habits. What is new is the length of time he's been doing them. Usually, a week is the absolute limit, but now it's been at least three, and he doesn't seem to care.

Lestrade had joked that if he didn't know any better he'd say the detective was in love. Or perhaps at least 'getting some', as he put it. Y/N had wondered this too, despite how unlikely it seemed, and watched him closely but he never really left her sight. Not long enough to carry out a relationship---serious or casual---anyway. Thus, she put his good mood down to the simple fact that he enjoyed this time of year and left it at that. She'd rather put it down to that. It was much easier to accept than the rather ill-tasting mental image of him dating. It's not that Y/N didn't want Sherlock to be with anyone---she did, she wants him to be happy, of course---she would just rather that the person he was with, the person that makes him happy was her.

At present, Sherlock was still in his pyjamas and a dressing gown and was hunting around in the kitchen cupboards for left-over mince pies. Y/N had been the one to put them away, and he knew this, so kept asking her for directions, which she wouldn't usually mind, had she not been on the phone.

"You said they were in the top cupboard," his voice drifted over, muffled by various tins, jars, and that one Tupperware box Y/N didn't want to look in.