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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Elain had been home all of a day and was on her way to meet with Lucien when Arina came crashing down a hall. Green eyes found her own, big and wide and filled not quite with fear…maybe mischief.

“What happened?”

“The Autumn Court,” Arina hissed, looping her arm through Elain’s. “They’ve sent their best emissary for the week to discuss some squabble over sugarcane.”

“What’s wrong with—”

“Eris Vanserra is their best emissary…and also their general…and probably a dozen other roles he’s assigned himself simply to annoy me!” Arina declared.

“Maybe he is their best emissary,” Elain said charitably. “And maybe he’s here to annoy Lucien.”

“Who’s side are you on, anyway?”

Truthfully, Elain thought the whole thing with Eris and Arina was terribly romantic. Sure, he’d been unkind about it the last time they spoke, but Elain knew Eris wasn’t a heartless monster. He’d saved her life when letting her drown was just as easy. And, had he truly hated his brother, letting her die and pinning the blame on Lucien would have ruined Lucien’s chances of ever becoming High Lord.

The Spring High Lord and Lady were mates, and terribly in love, besides. Why wouldn’t Arina and Eris be, too? Other than how stubborn Arina was and, given Eris was her mate, Elain assumed he was, too. They just needed a little shove toward the other.

“Yours, of course,” Elain assured her, smiling sweetly. “You’re too good for Eris.”

Arina narrowed her eyes. “You’re mocking me.”

Elain sighed with exasperation. “I think you’re overreacting a little. If you want to avoid Eris, that’s easy enough to do. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

The gleam in Arina’s eye told Elain that was not what she wanted. “Is it wrong I just want to know what he’s like. Just once?”

“Why not sleep with his brother?” Elain asked flippantly, surprised by how jealous she felt. It was just, had they slept together? And if they had, why had it ended?

And if they hadn’t, why not?

Why did she care at all? Elain couldn’t put her finger on on it, but the morning in winter when she’d found Lucien shirtless in bed with his hair wild around his face, she’d felt something. A spark, a tug that she hadn’t been able to escape, though she was doing a decent job ignoring Lucien.

Arina’s bright laughter pulled Elain from the strange tumult of her thoughts. “Sleep with Lucien? No, I think I’d prefer his older brother. That’s funny, though.”

“So you never—”

“Cauldron boil me alive, no,” Arina admitted, whipping her head around to look at Elain. “He’s like a disgusting brother. Why are you asking, anyway? Did something happen in Winter?”

“No,” Elain said hastily, thinking again of that auburn hair spilling over strong, broad, muscular—stop it right now.

A sly smile spread over Arina’s face. “Are you dreaming of our handsome prince again? No, Luicen, don’t stop—”

“All you have to do is ask,” came the male himself. Lucien rounded the corner, a frown on his handsome, arrogant face. “Though I thought you never would.”

Arina’s own expression dropped into a scowl. She wouldn’t betray Elain, though, which meant she was forced to endure his smug presence while Elain swallowed her own jealousy. While Lucien surveyed Arina, draped in bright red, with slow appreciation, his russet eyes merely flicked to her briefly. It was as if she was beneath his notice or attention. That frustrated her beyond measure, though it shouldn’t. Elain wasn’t supposed to want his attention or to notice anything interesting about him at all.

“I suppose this is why you’re late. Again,” Lucien said dryly, crossing his arms over his mostly bare, muscular chest.

Touch him, taste him, smell him— something in her gut was rising with interest, pulling her closer. Elain remained utterly rigid, grateful when Arina answered. “Your foul brother has descended on our court—again—and I am taking Elain to the pool.”

Lucien’s expression flattened. “The pool?”

“Yes, Lucien. She can’t work all day, every day—”

“She barely works at all,” he snapped, holding himself just as rigid as she was. Lucien seemed to vibrate with anger, now entirely focused solely on her. Just like she’d wanted, though, maybe not like this. Which was worse, she wondered? Being pinned down by his fury or his desire? Each seemed equally terrifying, like playing with fire.

“One day won’t matter,” Elain murmured, hating the way he cocked his head like some sort of predator.

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t look at me at all. I can’t explain to my mother I wrecked an engagement on the prince of Day.

Lucien wasn’t her savior. He’d take what he wanted and leave, and Elain wanted more from her first time. Though Arina suggested she just get it over with, Elain wanted a little romance. Something that was special, even if it wasn’t forever. That didn’t seem unreasonable to her. No matter how Lucien fascinated her, he wasn’t that kind of male.

“You want to see Eris that badly?” Lucien asked, his question a taunt.

Is this the game you want to play? Elain swore golden light flared in those russet eyes, rising to the challenge. “He is rather handsome,” Elain replied, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Arina didn’t move, didn’t react at all. It was only after Elain said it that she remembered Eris was Arina’s mate.

And Arina was her friend.

Still, Lucien took the bait. “Oh I bet he is.”

“Glad we agree,” Elain replied lightly.

“What is happening?” Arina whispered, ignored by both of them as they flounced off in opposite directions. Arina chased down Elain who began to feel foolish the further from Lucien she got.

“What was that?”

“I’m sorry,” Elain immediately began babbling. “He just—he’s so irritating and I—”

She swallowed hard. And she what? Elain didn’t know how to explain the effect he was having on her. Elain blinked, feeling so stupid.

“He’s aggravating,” Arina agreed, her pretty face rich with sympathy. “And stupid. I love the Lady of Day, but surely it can’t be a coincidence all her sons are such idiots. If you want to punish Lucien, I know just the way, though.”

“With a knife?”

Arina chuckled. “How very Spring Court of you. No, not with a knife. Not yet, anyway. There is a party tonight. Let me dress you. Let him watch you walk around, wishing he could have you and knowing he can’t.”

“That’s the last thing Lucien feels for me,” Elain said, embarrassment threatening to choke her.

Arina laughed again. “Oh, Elain. Trust me. Lucien was burning with jealousy back there. All you have to do is touch another male and he’s likely to combust.”

“You’re wrong. He hates me.”

“Lucien is too stupid to know what he feels,” she disagreed, eyes sparkling. “Trust me, Elain. And come with me, if only to keep Eris away.”

“You think he’d brave a Day Court party just to bother you?” Elain couldn’t imagine tightly wound, iron-spined Eris Vanserra at the same sort of party that saw Lucien ducking beneath someone's skirts.

“Everyone wants to know if the rumors are true,” she shrugged, leading Elain toward her bedroom. Elain wanted to know that. The last party she’d attended had seemed rather tame—a little drinking, a little dancing. Calanmai put it to shame.

“Are they?”

Arina’s grin was practically feline. “Yes.”

LUCIEN:

Fingers drumming on the arm of the throne he was currently reclined in, Lucien thought this was the most boring evening he’d witnessed yet. No Eris, no Arina—no Elain. He uncrossed his legs only to cross them again. Who fucking cared? Who cared when Larissa was running her hands over Ayla’s stomach and in an hour, no one in the room would be wearing clothes? If Elain was there, she’d turn it into a book club or something equally chaste and polite. Besides, Ajax was there, already bare chested and Lucien didn’t want to watch her fall over herself for him.

Larissa crept closer to the dais Lucien was still sitting on. With his spread legs, he was sure if she positioned herself a little to the left on that gleaming marble floor, she’d see right beneath his clothes. There was nothing worth looking at given how soft and uninterested he was, but maybe her clever mouth would change that.

Or maybe not. Lucien laid his head back against the cool gold, trying to remember what he’d even liked about Larissa. He’d been with her just often enough to know what buttons to push to make her come. He knew what she tasted like, knew what little noises she made when she came but did he know anything else?

Did she know anything else about him? Or was he merely decoration, too? A prince she might marry so she would one day be Lady of Day. Yearning slammed into him, rough and fierce. He wanted what his parents had.

Cauldron damn him, but he wanted it so badly. This was, perhaps, the worst place to have that sort of realization and yet Lucien still stood. He was going to bed, he decided. He’d sleep off his bad mood and try again in the morning.

Fuck, maybe he’d finally let his mom pick out some of the ladies to court. Why not? Maybe knowing they were all still young and had centuries and centuries of time would settle him for another decade. Or, maybe lurking somewhere in his court was his actual mate, and he’d find her and—

Lucien didn’t finish that thought as Elain Archeron strolled into the room. What had Arina done? Lucien couldn’t take his eyes off her, a sunbeam made manifest in the tight, yet flowing gold dress all but painted on her stunning body. Lucien stumbled down a step, and then another, drawn to her hair flowing over her shoulders in loose curls and her pink mouth that seemed to glitter beneath the fae lights overhead.

No part of her was on display and yet somehow, it was still the most obscene thing he’d ever seen. He needed to touch her.

He needed to taste her.

A hand slammed against his chest, preventing him from taking another step. The finger of his eldest brother pressed beneath his chin, closing the mouth he hadn’t realized was open. “You’re drooling,” Eris said with a relish, those amber eyes dancing with amusement. “It’s unbecoming for a Day Court prince.”

“What would you know about that?” Lucien sneered, forgetting Elain for a moment so he could face off with Eris Vanserrra. Overdressed, like always, in a buttoned up coat that was likely stifling, his black trousers neatly tucked into equally shining boots. Not a drop of sweat on him, which seemed like the real magic, given how hot it was. Even with his fathers magic cooling the palace, Lucien was overheated.

Eris shrugged. “After listening to mother lamenting what a disappointment her youngest son is, I might be positioned to know more than you think. Are you that spoiled you’d punish Elain Archeron for something that is my fault?” he asked.

Lucien’s stomach dropped. “She said no such thing.”

“Then how do I know you’re tormenting her? And why did mother beg me to talk with you if not because she’s disappointed with how poor a male you’ve turned out to be. Harassing innocent females, brooding, hurting mother—”

Lucien’s fingers curled to fists, and might have connected with Eris’s jaw had his brother not raised his own hand in warning. “I will burn this palace to the ground,” Eris whispered, taking a step toward Lucien. “Hit me. I dare you. Give me a fucking reason to turn this whole city to ash.”

“I’ll bet you’d love that. Kill father and I, drag mother back—”

“What’s going on here?”

Both Lucien and Eris looked up, breathing heavily, to find Arina wedged between the two of them. “Are you two going to dance?” she asked, looking at them both like they were little more than candy stuck to the sole of her sandal. “Surely you’re not about to fight.”

Eris took a step backwards likely because the mating bond forced him to please her. He still looked murderous, his words ringing in Lucien’s ears. He’d never heard Eris lose control like that, or admit that he hated Day Court. Of course he’d assumed, but smirking Eris had never said anything to confirm that.

What had mother said to him truly, Lucien wondered? It was easy to get caught up in Eris’s words, which was exactly what his brother wanted. Creep under his skin, tangle him up in knots. Just like he’d always done. Lucien forced himself to take a breath.

“No fighting,” he said, hoping his smile seemed relaxed instead of forced. “Eris was complementing our city—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. For Eris’s part, he was silent, watching Arina like she might erupt at any moment. This was what Eris deserved, Lucien decided. For the rest of his life, no matter what he said, he’d want Arina. And she’d never let him touch her. It seemed a fitting punishment, knowing your mate was smart and beautiful and powerful and being doomed to watching her from afar.

He wished Arina would reject it and get the whole thing over with. He’d have a little celebration in the city, toasting to Eris’s demise. Finally, his eldest brother wasn’t getting something he wanted.

Lucien only shrugged. “Mind your own business, Arina.”

Eris’s lips curled over his teeth, his eyes flashing with pure, undiluted hatred. Arina didn’t need Eris’s intervention, stepping closer to Lucien. Did she know the look on her face was a match for the male behind her? That they both looked so ready to hit him it was almost funny.

“Destroying the palace is my business,” she whispered, nearly pressed chest to chest with him. And despite how Lucien still towered over her, taller than the already tall Arina, he felt like dirt again. She had that way about her when she straightened her spine and looked at him with…with disappointment.

Cauldron boil him a-fucking-live. “Congrats, Arina. You managed it. I can’t wait to see what you do next—”

She hit him. Right across the cheek, a ringing slap that made his teeth ache. He’d taken it too far and for his part, felt immediately guilty.

Behind Arina, Eris stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. Asshole, those amber eyes said.

“Do you feel better, Lucien?” Arina asked him, shaking out her hand. Unaware of the silent threats her mate was making behind her.

“Not at all,” he retorted, turning his back to them both. He needed to get out, to leave before he did anything else someone might hate him for. Lucien left them both, weaving through the crowd for the open archways…and Elain Archeron, pinned against a wall by Ajax.

No.

The thought slammed into him unbidden, filling him with a fury he didn’t know what to make of. All he knew was he couldn’t stand this, another insult on top of Eris’s indictment that he was a disappointment and Arina’s slap.

If he was going to bed, so was Elain. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to fuck Ajax, or any other member of his court.

Because you want to fuck her, came a traitorous voice in the back of his mind.

That only enraged him more. Lucien strode toward them, ignoring Arina in the distance demanding he mind his own business. Maybe she should mind hers and get Eris the fuck out of Rhodes. Every minute she dragged this out was another Eris would be around, harassing them all while he waited for her answer.

This was her fault, then. Arina’s fault when Lucien demanded Ajax move and Arina’s when Lucien hauled Elain over his shoulder, screaming at him to put her to the ground.

And Arina’s when he strolled right out of the ballroom, leaving the noise and music and people behind.

“What are you doing?!” Elain demanded, her fists beating pathetically at his back.

“Doing what you should have done the minute Arina offered to paint you like—” Gods, he nearly called her a whore. He didn’t think she’d forgive him if he said that.

“Like what, Lucien?” she hissed, guessing all the same.

Well aware he was already fucked, he plowed ahead. “When I dragged your fiancé—”

“We’re not engaged!” she screeched, slapping him hard enough it stung. He hissed, though he didn’t release her.

“You will be,” he said, unable to admit the thought made him angrier than anything else. Just the thought of spending this year with her—of how unforgivable it was that he liked her the way that he did—only to know she would consent to the marriage and spend the rest of her immortal existence planning tea parties and smiling at that bastard filled Lucien with fury he couldn’t contain. It was seeping out of him in the form of hot, golden light.

He hadn’t been so close to erupting since he was a boy.

“No, I won’t,” Elain panted, bracing her palms against his lower back. “That’s why I’m here. And when this is all over, I’m going to vanish into another court—Summer or maybe Night—somewhere they don’t force females to get married.”

“Not here, though?” he demanded, pushing open her bedroom door when he reached it. “We don’t require that.”

“Why would I stay and work for a High Lord who hates me?” Elain demanded as Lucien dumped her on her neatly made bed. The scent of her slammed into his chest, heating his blood and Lucien was so, so fucked. He felt insane, wild and out of his depth. Elain scrambled up on her knees, throwing out a hand like she expected him to grab her again.

Lucien knew if he came any closer he’d do something he’d really have to apologize for.

“I don’t hate you,” he said truthfully.

Elain raised her eyebrows, looking around. “This doesn’t feel like the friendship you offered, Lucien.”

A growl slipped when she spoke his name like that. Too intimate, it was too much. He backed away. “I don’t know…” Gods, he didn’t know what was wrong with him. “I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” she said earnestly, slipping from the bed to come toward him. He watched, staring down his nose at her while forcing the rest of him to remain still. “You don’t know how to be friends after hating me for so long.”

No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t know how to be her friend when standing in her presence was pulling such an extreme reaction. But maybe it was better to let her think the opposite. After all, friends didn’t want to do the things he wanted to do to her. And if Lucien ever got the chance, he had a feeling it would start a conflict in Spring.

“You can stay here,” he said, heart pounding. “When this is all over, I mean. I don’t hate you. Don’t leave on my account, I—”

Fuck. I want to taste you so bad it’s making it hard to think.

Elain blinked those wide, fawn brown eyes up at him. They seemed bigger, brighter beneath the gold dusted over them. Her mouth, too, was pinker, her cheekbones glittering beneath the light. What the fuck had Arina done to her?

“Just admit you like me, Lucien.”

“Haven’t I done that already?” he grumbled, fisting his hands at his sides. She was going to scent him if he stayed much longer and their whole talk of friendship would be wrecked over the arousal rolling off him in waves. “Of course I like you. You’re coming to Summer with me, aren’t you?”

My legs are trembling, don’t you see that?

“Then no more outbursts like this?” she asked, too forgiving for her own good. “Maybe next time you should hit Eris.”

“I’d like to,” he admitted.

“Do it. Please,” she added, seeing perhaps how he meant to argue. “Instead of taking your anger out of me, take it out on Eris. It might do you both some good—I don’t think anyone has ever put him in his place.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I do,” she mused, though her eyes seemed to say, I like you more. And though she didn’t explicitly say those words, just the thought was enough to ease some of the tension in his chest.

“He’s clearly trying to get a rise out of you, Lucien.”

“He wants to know how powerful I am,” Lucien said, the words all coming out in a rush. Eris had been baiting him into exploding for years and tonight he’d nearly succeeded. Lucien took a breath, settling himself enough to stand in front of her without being a threat. “He wants to know if I’ll be a threat to him someday.”

Elain cocked her head, spilling those thick curls over her shoulder. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Eris is just jealous of you?”

Lucien rubbed at his jaw. “No. Why…why would he be?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” she asked with a pretty laugh. Elain tried to turn, but Lucien caught her wrist. Not because he wanted to hear more, but because he wanted her to stay right in front of him, close enough he could still smell her. Elain glanced down and Lucien released her, letting her think what she wanted.

She shrugged. “You were raised here with your mother, in a place that clearly adores you and a father who hopes you one day take his place. And Eris, I think, would have liked that, too. I think he would have left with his mother if he’d been given the chance.”

“He loves power,” Lucien disagreed. She shrugged again.

“Maybe that’s the only thing left to love. Now. Get out of my bedroom, Lucien. I want to fix my hair and I don’t need you breathing down my neck.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, stalking for the door. He paused, though, looking back. “You could do better, you know.”

He didn’t stick around to hear a response—didn’t want to see her face as his words registered. If she guessed what he actually meant.

You could have me.

#elucien #happy tuesday!

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gaitwae · 2 years

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Your Stupid Face || Sherlock Holmes x F!Reader

Summary: Sherlock is too proud to admit to anybody he likes you, but John knows.

Warnings: A bit of an open ending, Y/N isn't really present until the very end, it's in John's perspective. Inspired by Kaden McKay's song, "Your Stupid Face."

John sipped his coffee and walked slowly with Sherlock as they braved the rain of the early morning. Their feet clapped against the wet concrete, making the rest of the noisy city sound like a song that probably would have put the doctor to sleep years ago. He was having the time of his life watching people — he had always loved to observe the odd behaviors of his best friend, obviously, but he also liked to see what the city of London was up to. It was always the same, and yet always so different. London had a sound. It had a similar hum every day. John found comfort in that, unlike Sherlock. But similarly to Sherlock, he was always excited to see if the sound ever changed.

Currently, it was seeming like another one of those droll days where a case just couldn’t come fast enough. John didn’t mind being bored every once in a while, but in truth, he really did enjoy cases just like Sherlock did. He liked the danger. He liked the mystery. There was one thing, however, that he enjoyed far more than Sherlock — he enjoyed meeting the new people that came with freelance crime-solving.

“You could talk to her, you know. Tell her how you feel about her,” he mused to his friend as he took another sip of his coffee. He peeked at the taller man. “Or stop talking to her, if it annoys you so much.”

“She’s a plain, horrifically boring person, John, with no knowledge of how to shut her chatterbox.” He crooked the collar of his coat up. “It’s not me talking to her.” He flexed his jaw. John understood the implications of this, of course — Sherlock was saying Y/N L/N, a reporter who had somehow entered their social circle, was the one who started every conversation.

John knew better than that, of course. He knew Sherlock liked to show off.

Especially to her.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Right. What time are we meeting her at the diner?”

“Ten o’clock,” he answered automatically. “She said she wanted to talk about the girl with the hacksaw.”

“You mean ‘The Cutting Edge’?” The doctor smirked to himself as he recalled the name he had chosen for this particular case they had just wrapped up. He remembered when they had confronted the killer, Y/N and Sherlock practically jumped for joy together.

“Yes, that one. She wanted us to recount the case from our points of view.”

“‘Ours,’ Sherlock? Or yours? Because she might have been making the moves on you,” he said knowingly. He finished the last sip of his coffee and turned on the next corner as the detective did. He was usually running these days to catch up, but Sherlock was kind enough to slow down and share the umbrella today. Shocking, considering how he was teasing his friend. “Trust me, I was married; I had loads of girlfriends. I know what a date sounds like.”

“Don’t be preposterous!” he scoffed. His ears went pink. “I find her repulsive.”

“Like bloody hell you do! You paid extra attention to your cheekbones after she said your trim was cute.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, stopping for the light before them. “I don’t pay attention to my cheekbones.” He practically spat out the word pay.

“Yes, you do. I live with you, mate, and I know your habits probably better than you do.” John couldn’t help but grin. “Do you like her back, or are you being serious about the whole repulsive thing?” He found a public bin and tossed his coffee cup in it as they waited for the light to turn.

“I have no idea what you’re possibly implying,” his friend said, clearly trying to ignore what he had just asked. It was amusing — Sherlock wasn’t the type to have crushes, and he certainly didn’t like when people knew he did. John had started noticing the subtle clues over the years, and he could always manage to whittle down the possibilities of the detective’s interest.

No one would have been able to tell he liked those women, anyway.

Nobody except him and Mycroft.

When they had first met Y/N, Sherlock had a funny little twisted look on his face. He stared at her with his mouth tight, his eyes twitching. The memory always made John smile.

She had walked up to him, making sure to keep your stance serious even though he had just said something most people would disregard, but she had found it humorous. She had stuck her hand out, Sherlock stared at it, and they stared at each other for so long John thought there might have been something wrong with her. His eyes practically bugged out of his skull.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes,” she had said, offering a polite smile. “I’m Y/N L/N. It’s an honor to finally have the opportunity to cover one of your cases. I think you’re a solid genius; it’ll be a real treat to cover for you.”

A beat passed, and Y/N’s smile fell from her face as Sherlock kept staring at her as if she had a blemish on her face. John knew not to interfere in one of these situations.

“Miss L/N,” Sherlock said lowly, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” His gaze had swept her up and down, as if he didn’t know what to make of her. That was the first time John had seen that look, save Irene Adler.

That was the first clue he had picked up on.

The second clue was a little harder to see — he would have had to see Sherlock’s phone if he hadn’t just admitted it himself.

It started with a gun.

The shot rang through the flat loudly, making the baby cry. John bolted out of bed in a rage, holding his crying toddler to his chest as he stomped down the stairs. “Sherlock?” he called out, hoping there wasn’t some kind of dangerous crook in their home. He kept his senses on red alert. He was a soldier and a doctor — he knew how to throw a deadly punch at the least. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”

There was nobody but his flatmate, his teeth bared in fury. His eyes had gone wild, his gun pointed straight at the wall once more.

“Sherlock!” he cried, seeing red instantly. “What the bloody hell has gotten into you?!”

“Y/N,” he snarled. “She won’t stop blowing up my phone!” He clicked the hammer back once again, seething. “I can’t think when every ten minutes there’s something new!”

“Put the gun down!” he roared, which only made Rosie cry harder. Sherlock sobered up as soon as he noticed the baby, which John was thankful for. “It’s two in the morning, Sherlock! Y/N can’t possibly be up, now! Besides, what is she texting you that’s annoying you so much?”

“Her new boyfriend!” he snapped, quickly setting the gun on safety and tossing it lightly onto the sofa. “He’s an absolute fool and she can do better.”

He dropped his jaw. “You’re shooting the wall… over Y/N’s new boyfriend?”

“You say that as if it’s ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed. After that, he just disappeared into his room once he apologized and soothed Rosie.

The third clue was the most unmistakable, especially since Sherlock had left his phone open and abandoned for more than a minute or two.

It was simply Y/N’s contact, with a small red heart next to her name.

“I’m implying that maybe you should divorce your work and ask Y/N out to dinner yourself before you end up shooting another bullet into our wall,” John said smoothly. “You know, since the only thing that’s keeping you from making a move on her is the fact that you’re married to it.”

“You mustn’t say silly things,” Sherlock sighed.

“You’re the one in love with her, you dunce.”

Sherlock just shook his head. “Love is a chemical reaction in the brain that—”

“Save the speech, mate. You’re in love with her, clear as day. Ask her out.”

There was a brief pause, and his ears went pink. It would have been funny if John hadn’t been dealing with this nonsense for so long. “…You owe me ten quid if she says no.”

“If it’ll get a smile on your stupid face?” John said. “I’ll pay you thirty quid if she says yes.”

Sherlock said nothing. They turned into the diner in the blink of an eye. Sure enough, inside was Y/N, grinning at the brunet as he swaggered into her presence.

“Sherlock! John!” she called gleefully. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” John said.

“Oh, absolutely wonderful, darling.” He moved to take her hands. “May I talk with you in private for a moment?”

Y/N binked. “Oh, sure, I suppose,” she said, letting the detective lead her away.

It was hilarious, watching from a distance. John could practically see the moment Sherlock asked her to dinner — directly after, she kissed him square on the mouth. The look on his face was worth losing thirty quid.

For once, his friend was actually smiling like a lovesick fool.

And John wasn’t going to hear the end of it.

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#gaitwae writes #sherlock bbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x y/n #september is sherlock's month btw #if you couldn't tell already #happy tuesday!

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