Type: Sherlock x Reader

Warnings : None 

Listen boy I'm sure that you think you got it all under control

Sherlock Holmes was never good at communication.

Not even so much in a relationship sense, or a people sense, but just in general. He'd sit and assume everyone in the room just knew what he knew, had the same thought he just had because everything in this world is just so dreadfully obvious. Even when it came to things that sent shivers down his spine or wound his insides up into excitement, everyone else would be left grasping to random exclamations or a witty remark.

It was this lack of skill that led Sherlock Holmes to the rather creepy situation he found himself in at this very moment. 

John walked into 221b, grocery bags stacked rather high in his arms to the point he could barely see over them. "Sherlock, care to lend a hand?" He grunted as he stumbled his way to the kitchen, using his elbow to push jars of abstract liquids out of his way so that he could have the relief of putting his bags down. Usually, the clicking of glass as beakers and such were cleared earned Sherlock darting to the kitchen to explain to John how he just ruined the greatest scientific breakthrough since Newton discovered gravity. But this time there was no stampeed nothing but silence. John peered curiously over to Sherlock's chair, expecting to find the genius entangled in his own web of thought, but instead, he found no sherlock and... no chair?

The doctor turned to find Sherlock's chair pushed up all the way to the window, the back pressing against the glass as he was perched in it, holding up a telescope to the building across the street from them. It was pointed down towards the entrance. John paused, closing his eyes and taking a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before he made his way over to the window and peered over his shoulder. "So, is there another murderer outside of our flat I should know about?" He questioned before his brows furrowed, eyes following the direction of Sherlock's telescope to find the familiar face of a member of Anderson's forensic crew chatting with a group of people. She lived in the flats across the street from them, always was kind to them whenever they showed up at the scene and was the first to move the yellow tape despite the numerous complaints from Anderson and Donovan.

"What did she do?" John tilted his head, hands in his pockets as he watched her as well, feeling rather creepy. "Should we call Lestrade? He should know."

"She cut her hair." Sherlock responded, never breaking away from his telescope.

"... I'm not sure how that's illegal Sherlock." John hummed, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not John. I didn't think I would have to tell you out of all people that." Sherlock dismissed.

"Then why are we watching her through the window?" John questioned.

Sherlock didn't answer, but the way he zoomed in when she specifically started talking to a man seemed to be all John needed and snatched the telescope right out of his hands and whacked him (lightly) on the head with it. "Sherlock Holmes you are not spying on innocent women from our window."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "I wasn't spying John. I was... observing." 

"Sherlock. That was downright stalkerish. Imagine how Greg would feel to know you watched his sister with a telescope in the window." He crossed his arms but noted how Sherlock's glance always seemed to move back to the window. His hands fidgeting a bit in his lap, and it was in that moment John realized that Sherlock was actually nervous. He couldn't help his smirk, she was a very attractive woman and bright too. "Sherlock, if you like her then go tell her that."

"I don't like her. Like I said, observing. 'Like' in the way you people seem to refer to it in a way that contradicts the word I might add, which means nearly satisfactory or find agreeable, yet you have seemed to assign such a deeper meaning which's whole point is to not have any deep feelings-" Sherlock rambled, watching her disappear into the building before he stood to move his chair back into its original position and plopped on it. He rolled over, tossing his gown over him to signal the end of the conversation.

"Are you saying there are deeper feelings towards her?" John grinned as he pressed on, crossing his arms. 

"Don't you have a gossip column or something? I'm sure millions of people are waiting for you to publish what I had for breakfast." Sherlock huffed.

John shook his head, "I'm just saying Sherlock, you may be content with waiting forever, but a girl like that will be snatched up pretty easily." He chuckled as he headed into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock glancing back towards the window, for once without words.

You don't want somebody telling you the way to stay in someone's soul

"Y'know, in all my years of police work I never thought I'd see the day when pigs would actually fly." Greg hummed, shaking his head as the bright lights of police cars flashed through the heavy London rain. It pelted down onto the umbrella John attempted to hold over his and Sherlock's head, stretching a bit to do so but was lost when Sherlock kneeled at the corpse. Curls soaking through and hanging around his face almost immediately, he tilted his head as he looked over the corpse. 

"I still don't understand why the pig was on the roof." Greg looked up at the barn with confusion, "How do you even get a pig on the roof?"

Before Sherlock could answer, he felt the rain above him suddenly stop and the sweet smell of perfume overcame him as he stiffened, eyes briefly darting beside him before right back at the dead pig before him. "I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that pigs eat everything right? There was a famous case of a pig farmer that would kill sex workers and feed them to his pigs. But I'm sure you already thought of that." The woman beside him chuckled, nudging Sherlock with her elbow as she held the umbrella over his head in an attempt to shield him from the gloomy weather. "Messed up. Like an Uno reverse when you really think about it."

"Only you would be joking about feeding dead bodies to an animal." Anderson rolled his eyes, waddling over with his large kit. "Well, you and the freak over there. A perfect pair if you ask me, I can hear the bells now."

"Shut up Anderson. You're just mad Sally's out of town for the weekend." She sneered before looking back at the still frozen detective. "What do you think happened?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, staring so hard at the pig that it started to blur and he had to refocus, still unable to cause words to come out of his mouth.

"Sorry, you're probably deep in thought." She chuckled and scratched the back of her neck. 

"You cut your hair." Sherlock said.

"uh.. yeah. a whole inch. split ends." She hummed, raising an eyebrow.

Greg bit his lip to contain his laughter, looking over at John whose face rested in his hand as he shook his head. 

"(y/n), do me a favor and get your camera. I promise he won't melt. Well, probably won't melt." Greg nodded towards the car, stepping forward towards the detective as she nodded with a "yes sir" and quickly made her way to the flashing car.

Greg kneeled down beside the detective who had yet to look up from the bloodied pig. "Listen, as great as that was, I can help you come up with better words than 'you cut your hair', you should really tell her, y'know? Do something special, make an impression. I don't really like the idea of anyone dating my little sister, but.. well I-"

"It wasn't the farmer, it was the nephew," Sherlock said quickly, dusting off his pants before ducking under the tape so hard he stumbled as he made his way out towards the police car and closed himself inside.

Greg watched and looked over at John, "You ever seen him this nervous?"

"No, but it's a mixture of painful and hilarious." John hummed, watching the detective sneak glances as she took pictures of the scene. "But, it's an improvement from a telescope in the window."

"A what?" 

Though you may not have done anything will that be a consolation when she's gone?

Needless to say, your ideal morning was not waking up at 2 am to your phone vibrating so loudly it knocked itself right off your bedside table with a loud thud. 

You forced your eyes open, despite them feeling heavy and as if they were glued together, and reached for the glowing device. Your vision blurred and with the bright blue light scorching your eyes, you were finally able to squint and make out the screen. 

(2) Missed Calls from Sherlock.

17 Message Notifications.

You instantly shot straight up in bed, the inner workings of your stomach beginning to tie themselves into knots as you immediately tapped the notification to call him back. Sherlock doesn't call, ever. It's always a text, even if he had been stabbed and was lying bleeding out on the floor he would still text you. As the number dialed, you scrolled through the texts he'd sent you.

221b. Now.

It's important.

Hurry.

SH

You flung yourself out of bed, pulling on your hello kitty pajama pants and sliding on some shoes. You grabbed the knife Greg had given you from the drawer, it traveled with you everywhere before you took off out of the front door and across the street, dodging the cars that flew past even in the dark hours. Path lit by a crescent moon, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed out a text for Greg in case you were in danger, but you weren't quite sure because you were the sister of a cop, not an actual cop. The only reasoning you could come to was perhaps a medical situation?  Although other than mandatory cpr training you weren't as qualified for that either, and John's a doctor. Bewildered, as well as concerned, you walked up to the door to find it unlocked. You watched it swing open and gulped, looking up at the dark stairs. The thought to wait for Greg crossed your mind, but then it was replaced by the image of Sherlock bleeding out, or perhaps something had happened to John and that's why he called you? With shaking hands flicked out the blade of your knife and slowly crept up the stairs, you opened their front door and slowly stepped inside. You walked in, peering around the living room that was illuminated by a lamp. You scanned your surroundings, the silence deafening as you slowly backed towards the kitchen and kept your eyes on any places someone could hide before you ran into something surprisingly solid. 

Naturally, a scream erupted before you whirled around and jabbed a knife in whatever it was's direction. A hand caught your wrist with a surprised grunt and you twisted before completely flipping them over as Greg had taught you and placing your foot on their chest, aiming the blade at them before you realized the very man who called you was underneath you. 

"SHERLOCK." You huffed, pulling back and offering your hand to help him up. "What the hell is going on here?!"

Sherlock blinked, dusting off his suit and fixing the jacket before looking at you and then at the kitchen table.

"I made you tea."

"I...." You looked at him before the table then the table again. "You... You called me at 2am... because you made tea?"

"I thought that was obvious." He shrugged.

 "NO Sherlock, it was NOT obvious." You crossed your arms, "You never call. 'It's a waste of oxygen (your name)'" You mimicked, deepening your voice. "You had me scared to death!"

"It was important." Sherlock shrugged before walking over to the table. "I'm not quite sure why you're so upset. You tried to stab me."

You pushed your hair back out of your face, taking a deep breath. "Y'know what, you're right. I'm sorry I almost stabbed you while you stood in a dark corner after calling me for help."

"I didn't call you for help." The detective's brows furrowed. "I called you for tea."

"As much as I appreciate the gesture, may I ask what is so important about tea?" You questioned, looking up at him as you walked over to the table.

"Well, George said I should make an impression." Sherlock cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his curls. 

"An impression? Why do you need to make an im-" You started, but paused when you took note of the detective's body language. He looked away, pushing curls out of his face and looking.. nervous? You looked back at the table to find it clear of lab equipment, and a kettle and two mugs sat in the center, as well as a flower on the table.

"Oh." You said softly, tilting your head with a gentle smile. "This is about more than tea, isn't it?"

Sherlock's cheeks turned bright red as he suddenly found his shoes very fascinating, staring down at them. "As of recently, it seems I have become quite... enamored, with you. This is quite a surprise because that feeling is really just that, a feeling. Caused by a chain of chemical reactions in the brain but I suppose your presence causes that particular chain to go off in my rather busy mind so." He shrugged. He picked up the (favorite flower) from the table. "You bought some of these at the market."

"Sherlock.. this is very sweet." You smiled gently, leaning in to sniff the flower before rocking up on your toes to place a kiss on his cheek. "I'm quite enamored with you too."

The detective's eyes widened but before he could say anything the front door smacked open, sirens beginning to wail outside as your brother followed by several officers ran into the flat. "Is everyone alright? What happened?" Greg questioned, rushing over to you and looking you over. "Are you hurt? Did some- is that a flower?" 

You bit your lip, your turn to blush as you awkwardly rocked on your heels. "Yes, it is. It's my favor-." You paused before you placed your hand on your hip and looked up at Sherlock. 

"How do you know what I bought at the market?"

a/n

well there you have it, the first original oneshot in forever. sorry it was so long, took the idea and ran with it.

this line's comments is exclusively reserved for my fellow moon knight besties, let's talk about it.

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august