The Exception // SHERLOCK x READER //

Chapter 2

Sherlock rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly vexed. "For what reason? To boost 'morale' between neighbors?" He got up from the chair to stand beside his friend. "Why would you deliberately invite someone over after I specifically told you that I don't want to be bothered with this 'friendly neighbor' nonsense?"

"Because of just that. It's time for you to finally experience being a 'friendly neighbor' for once." John then placed the final plate on the counter, rinsed his hand, and flicked the remaining water droplets onto Sherlock's face. "Get over yourself, Sherlock."

Sherlock scoffed as he wiped off the sprinkled water from his face. "Fine. If you really want to make friends with the neighbor, invite her over then. This Thursday, 6pm, not a second earlier nor later." He smiled smugly as if he had won the argument.

"Alright, sounds good."

"Good!"

"Now you go tell her."

Sherlock nearly choked on air. "Wait, what? No, no, no, John, this was your idea."

"I already offered her to come for dinner, she agreed, now it's your part to tell her the details."

Sherlock paused in thought as he stared into the wall. Then the lightbulb flashed in his head. "Okay, John, I'll tell her...eventually."

John, who was fixing up a draft from his blog, snapped his head from the laptop screen to his roommate. "Sherlock, what are you scheming?"

"Nothing, it's just that, if I'm the one that has to invite (Y/n), I can just tell her whenever I want," Sherlock stated with a smile. "This is on you, John, remember that."

John sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "You know what, whatever. You're just going to have to learn things the hard way, I guess."

* * * 

1st Person POV

It had been days and I still hadn't heard a thing from John about meeting up for dinner. I supposed it could have been a front, you know, just to sound polite. I mean, it did work in a way, but still, though I'm a little weary of them, I was actually excited to maybe make genuine friends. Well, I did talk with Ms. Hudson from time to time, but not for too long; she and I are both busy ladies it seems.

But, today was especially busy. I began to move furniture around into the apartment along with organizing the books, baking ingredients, and other stock supplies for my small business all into categories. Though this all proved to be tiresome, there was another chore that still had to be done: getting the mattress I ordered upstairs.

The furniture store's delivery truck had stopped in front of the building. As I rushed down stairs to get the door two men hoisted the mattress down the ramp and plopped it onto the pavement.

"Oh, good, you're here," I said while catching my breath. I briefly smiled to the two men until realizing they were packing up to leave. "Wait, where are you going off to?"

The man half-way in the passenger side of the truck paused to explain. "Look ma'am, we're just the delivery men, not movers. If you wanted us to haul the mattress inside, you should have paid the extra €190." He then hopped in the truck, buckled up, and the two were off.

I couldn't believe the bad luck I had been receiving for the past several days that I had been there. It had been a tiring experience trying to get a new life going on my own, but I had to persevere. This was my chance of finally breaking out of an endless loop. So, without much choice, I got to it and began to push the mattress through the door.

It was a struggle, I had to admit. There was little to no budge once inside the building. It was as if all the strength I had mustered up to push it through the entrance was already deplenished. Maybe I was a bit tired after moving furniture around back in the apartment?

But, just then, I heard a door open upstairs followed by a deep voice, one that I have not heard before.

"John, once we get to the station, make sure to ask the front desk while I go around the back to check the evidence from the crime scene," the man said as he tied his blue scarf around his neck.

John straightened his coat as he made his way down the stairs. "Yes, yes, I know; you've explained it a dozen times already – (Y/n)?" he said, stopping at the last step. "What's this? Are you trying to move this upstairs all yourself?"

I felt embarrassed to say it, but there was no point in lying. "Yes, it appears so. The delivery service refused to help carry it up, so here I am." I gave a weak smile along with a chuckle. It was not the least convincing that all was going well.

"Well, I'm sure Sherlock would be more than willing to help you – "

"Would I now?" asked his tall, curly-headed friend. He cocked his head in irritation, almost in an accusatory manner. But, John was unphased.

"Yes, you would," said John. "I have a bad leg and I'm not physically able to do any heavy lifting like I used to," he smugly looked to Sherlock, patted his back, and walked out the door. "Be a gentleman, will you? I'll hail a cabbie."

I watched the scene play out in surprise. It was obvious Sherlock was in no mood to help lift a mattress over to an upstairs apartment; his icy-blue eyes scornfully locked onto John as he left the building. Then, his cold glare settled onto me, making me nearly flinch on the spot.

It was quiet for a moment. It felt as though his eyes froze time, dragging the uncomfortable silence longer than necessary. I had to speak up.

"Look, I'm sorry about this, really, but I would very much appreciate the help."

I waited for a response, but he gave nothing in return. Instead, he broke away his eye contact to grab the other end of the mattress and lifted it off the ground, starting for the stairs without any word of warning. He was definitely not having any of it.

I quickly lifted my end and tried to keep up with his pace up the stairs. "Whoa! Okay, uh, guess we're picking it up right now," I yelped. "I'm sorry if this is such an inconvenience to you! It'd just be impossible to carry this myself and – "

"Stop apologizing and keep walking!" he yelled as he neared the top step.

"Alright, alright, I got it!" I replied. "It's just you seem a bit – " He poked his head out and furrowed his brows into a glare. "Be quiet, yep, I understand."

Soon enough, the mattress was on the second floor. I then dusted my hands and rested them on my hips as I caught my breath again. I turned to see Sherlock also attempting to do the same. This was the first time I was actually able to get a better glimpse of my other neighbor. He had such messy dark chocolate curls and striking eyes, fair skin, and prominent cheek bones that narrowed his facial structure's frame. As for his form, he was taller than most and possessed a lean build, dressed in a dress shirt, navy blue coat, and neatly pressed dark trousers. He seemed to be on the serious side of things so far.

Then, he turned his attention back to me, causing a tremor to run up my spine out of fear. I could sense his annoyance through the air. Not wanting to start with a poor impression, I offered my hand to shake. "Don't think we've met before! I'm (Y/n) (L/n) and I'm assuming you must be Sherlock, yes?"

He only glanced down at my hand, not bothering to touch it with his own. "Yes, that's correct. Now, if you're done wasting my time with trivialities, I'd best be on my way." He flashed a cynical smile and brushed passed me to rush down the stairs.

"Well, thank you, it was nice meeting you!" I shouted right before he could pass through the door. I hoped he had heard me, but I couldn't really tell if he had.

'Did I do something wrong?' I thought, 'What have I ever done to him? I had to know, otherwise, I might feel more self-conscious than I felt when I got here.

Without knowing the reason, unjustified guilt began to cloud my mind.