Everything (Sherlock Holmes X Reader)
Hello, darlings! Katie here! My deepest apologies to you readers, it was brought to my attention that Tumblr kinda screwed with this post. Just a few technical difficulties, however, I managed to salvage the fic and really quick I would like to dedicate this fic to @dandonish for the feedback given on the original post! We cannot stress this enough feedback is strongly encouraged! Love you all, sorry for the inconvenience. Please enjoy! :)
It is a perfectly ordinary day in 221B Baker Street.
Mrs. Hudson has brought you a steaming mug of tea, and you curl your cold fingers around in gratefully. The autumn is just giving way to winter, and your fingers always seem to be cold now.
You take a slow sip of the hot liquid and look next to you at the gaunt figure sitting in the adjacent armchair.
Sherlock has steepled his fingers and slid them beneath his chin, staring vacantly out the window.
You know that it’s the case that’s bothering him. There’s one small thing that he seems to be missing, and you know how that tends to prey on his mind.
He hasn’t eaten, slept, or spoken to you for nearly two days.
His pale, shadowed face looks more pale than usual, and his high cheekbones seem even more pronounced in the low light of the flat. You’re worried about him, but you know that all he needs is a little distraction.
Lately, you are the only one that can provide such distractions. You know it, and John knows it too.
From the kitchen doorway, you can feel him watching you. You turn around and see John staring expectantly at you. “Go on,” he mouths.
“I will, I will,” you mouth back, and turn back to your drink.
After a long, relaxed sip of tea, you glance down at the page of the book you’ve been reading, and reach out, casually nudging him in the shoulder.
“My significant other is better than yours,” you tease in a singsong voice, knowing things like that always get him to talk.
Today, a muscle in his jaw flexes, and he drops his hands very suddenly at his sides, turning to face you with an instant, catlike grace. He looks you in the eyes very intently.
“Y/N. You have given my meaningless existence a purpose. You are the reason that I eat and fall asleep because I know that I can eat and fall asleep with you. I have done everything to make you my queen. I let you move the furniture. I let you come on cases. I think that you are one of the only human beings that understand me, and I think that you are one of the only humans who actually open your eyes and bother to SEE the world around you, not just dismiss it. You have made me human. How could you question the undeniable fact that you are everything to me?”
You sit there in stunned silence.
“Y/N,” Sherlock cautions and stretches forward a single finger towards your mug, tipping it upwards seconds before tea would have spilled all over the armchair, and your book.
You glance quickly down at the mug and feel heat spreading into your cheeks. Knowing that you are blushing in front of him when he seems so casual and comfortable. He is pinning you under the weight of his gaze, and you feel scrutinized as if he thinks that there’s some insecurity within you that he needs to fix.
He blinks and tilts his head.
“What’s the matter? Did I do that wrong?”
You look down into your tea, shake your head and chuckle to yourself.
You want so badly to kiss him, but you know that physical touch has been one of the boundaries in your relationship. Sherlock doesn’t like to be touched, and you don’t know if he likes to touch you. You look up to see if he’s still confused because you know that you should explain your reaction if he is.
Suddenly, his face is very close to yours and he is leaning in, lips pressed firmly to yours.
Warmth spreads through every inch of your body, including your icy fingers. There is no air left in your brain, and you feel lightheaded.
You reach your hand up and touch his face, you palm perfectly sculpted to fit the shape of his cheekbones.
You remain there for what seems like forever.
Then you break away.
Sherlock doesn’t smile. The only discernable difference after the kiss is that he is breathless, breathing more heavily than before.
“I love you,” he whispers, so quietly that you aren’t sure he’s said it.
But you know that he did.
And sometimes knowing is enough.
Sherlock turns back to the window, and you turn back to your book.
But this time, your hand is folded securely in his.
Behind you, you can feel John and Mrs. Hudson watching and smiling, and catch snippets of excited whispers from the kitchen.
You simply can’t stop smiling.
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