The Sign of Three: A Reader's Journey

We Were Road-Testing

The morning of John and Mary's wedding commenced as any other day would with you in the kitchen having breakfast by yourself.

Over three months have passed since you've moved into the 221B residence and you were still not used to how little eating was actually done on the dining table. Understandable, as on most days much of the dining space was jam-packed with beakers and animal/human remains.

While you have been sharing a flat with Sherlock for a while now, you have been friends with him and John for much longer. You met the detective and his blogger on an intriguing murder case and repetitively after that due to the nature of your work with Scotland Yard. Since then, you've had a blossoming friendship with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Getting up to place the empty plate in the sink, you scowled at the sight of it in front of you.

You knew what you were roping yourself into when you moved into your current abode. It was only after your best friend moved out of your old flat to move in with her boyfriend that John suggested you move in to his old, vacant room when he found out you were looking for a new flatmate to share rent with. After much deliberation, you decided to move in, well-aware of the eccentric lifestyle and habits of the famous detective. Some days you wished you hadn't, but on most days you were too caught up tagging along to the enthralling life of Sherlock Holmes to give it much thought. You've forgotten what it felt like to be bored.

You proceeded to wash your plate and placed it on the rack to dry when the sound of a violin playing a gentle waltz broke your train of thought. Drying your hands, you made your way out of the kitchen and found Sherlock in his tan coloured dressing gown adjusting his phone over the speakers in the living room.

"Thought that was you."

"It is," he said with his back still turned away from you.

"Sounds beautiful," you smiled. You often wondered how a man as hard-hearted as Sherlock Holmes could compose such beautiful music.

"Mmm," he hummed, turning around to find you leaning against the door frame and moved to walk towards you.

"Hopefully my dance classes haven't been a complete waste of time," he stopped in front of you and held out both of his hands.

You shook your head but before you could say no, he had already taken both of your hands in his and dragged you towards the centre of the living room.

You groaned. There was no denying the man when he wanted something.

You placed your left hand on his shoulder as he placed his right on your shoulder blade, while your other remained grasped in his. For someone with such a cold demeanour, his hands were always surprisingly warm.

Sherlock took the lead and moved the both of you to the sound of the waltz. His movements were graceful and effortless as always. Trying to follow his movements, your eyes automatically darted down to look at your feet, making sure you were not stepping on his.

"Ah yes, the top of your head is lovely as always Y/N," he drawled out.

You snapped your neck up to glare at him and plastered a sickly, sweet smile on your face. "Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"Even John is a better dancer than you are," he winced as you 'accidentally' stepped on his toes

"With all the practice you two have had, I wouldn't be surprised. Apparently Mrs. Turner next door thought it was the two of you getting married."

"And I made the mistake of assuming you were well above the idle chatter of our neighbours," he said with a slight raise of his eyebrow and hushed you when you opened your mouth to speak.