The Exception // SHERLOCK x READER //

Chapter 7

She faltered under his gaze. 'He knows something; he acts like he does,' she thought, heart beating within her ribcage. (Y/n) nearly squeaked out a reply. "Well, what would you say of me?" Then, his smile disappeared and his demeanor changed in an instant. Sherlock turned to face (Y/n) completely from where he sat, scooting over to the edge of his seat while leaning forward with a glare. Suddenly, (Y/n) regretted even asking.

"Well, lets see," he started with his hands intertwined. "You lack confidence; it's your weakness. You are filled with determination and positivity but only because you're trying to hide something; a secret perhaps?" He looked on, trying to pick physical attributes that could say a thing or two. "Your clothes are worn, second hand maybe, and you're barely able to make it by with the rent; you also only wear sleeves long enough to cover your arms with tall collars, leading me to believe, again, that you're hiding something." He paused before adding his final comment, causing (Y/n) to feel her own pulse in suspense. "So, (Y/n), why are you trying to be so secretive; where did all that confidence go?"

(Y/n) hadn't realized it, but tears began to pour from her eyes. It was too much. He had called her weak, a pitiful being that won't last on her own. He called out her terrible state of being so easily as if it was obviously tiresome to witness each time she was in the room. Wasn't she adapting to her new surrounding so well? Didn't the neighbors like her after only treating them with kindness and sincerity? Was that not enough to get by in this world, being sincere and compassionate?

"I, um..." (Y/n) looked down to her lap and noticed her long sleeve sweater, worn and thinned from use. She wiped her tears and drew in a sharp breath. "I think I have to be leaving now," she said with a smile and glossy eyes.

As she stood up, and briskly walked over to the door to exit. "I'd say to enjoy the cake but, you know..." she chuckled while turning the knob, "you're not interested in sweets." She walked through the door and down the hall. Sherlock watched without saying a word. Soon after, he could hear the door across the hall close and lock, too.

He blinked once and then again, realizing what had just happened but not completely understanding why it did. The apartment suddenly felt so lonely once again. There was no giggles, no smiles, or warm presence that left him neutrally content. Now, the silence filled the room as the clock on the wall continued to tick away.

Sherlock looked down at the partially eaten cake across from him. "What did I do...?" he asked aloud. He was conscious of the shaky beating of his heart and it filled him with a feeling of uncertainty. 'Did I say something wrong?' he thought, running a hand through his messy curls. 'I only said what was obvious! How was I supposed to know she'd react in such a way?'

But then, he closed his eyes and fell back into the couch. "I don't want to start feeling," he grumbled under his breath. "I shouldn't have to deal with this neighbor business."

'I blame John for making the point to associate with the neighbor.' He laid out on the couch and began to drift to sleep. 'Talking to her has done nothing but cause me headache and .... And....' He fell more and more asleep until he could not think anymore.

The guilt was too much to bear.

* * *

The next day, Sherlock woke up unsettled.

The last he had seen (Y/n) was earlier in the morning while she walked out the door and into her shop downstairs. He had curiously watched her pull out her keys, fumble a bit, and drop them, just before picking them back up to open the door.

As he watched, Sherlock tried to name the expression she wore, but it was more difficult to figure than all the cases he had done in the past. He wondered how she felt after speaking with him the day before, if she was still upset. Since then, Sherlock had been trying to keep his mind occupied and entertained, but nothing seemed to work. He tried reading the paper, watching the news, and even conducting chemical experiments in the kitchen, but nothing seemed to make him feel any better. He soon became conscious to every little noise he heard. Every now and then, he'd pause and listen to the noise in the hallways.

He could hear Mrs. Hudson humming to herself and doors closing every now and then, but that was it. It was only until late that evening did Sherlock hear a different set of footsteps scuffing the floors and up the stairs. Dropping the beaker that was in his hand, Sherlock hurried over to press his ear against the door. It was, of course, no one other than (Y/n) returning home from an exhausting day of work.

(Y/n) was practically dragging her feet up the stairs. Her hair that was once tied into a neatly done bun was now messy with a few strays poking out here and there. Still, she tried her best to remain calm and unbothered – that is, until her stomach let out a growl; she hadn't eaten all day.

"Great," she said to herself, placing a hand over her stomach. 'At least no one was here to hear that,' she thought.

"You're hungry, hm?"

(Y/n) spun herself around to see with widened eyes. As she had suspected it was, indeed, her confusing Neighbor, Sherlock, wearing a coat and scarf as if ready to leave. "Uh, no, I'm just – "

"Don't be daft; everyone could hear your stomach from a mile away," he interjected. "Dinner is on me, come." He then turned around, locked his door, and walked down the stairs.

But, feeling embarrassed and like a burden, (Y/n) held back. She nearly stumbled while trying to stop him, but stopped in her tracks after he left the first step. "Oh, thank you, but I look a mess –"

"You're fine; you look the same as you always do," he said without looking back.

Slightly taken aback, (Y/n) raised her brows in retaliation. "Well my hair is just a mess! It's sticking out at all angles – "

Sherlock rolled his eyes after reaching the bottom of the stairs only to turn on his heel around and hurry back up. "You look as average as ever," he said, reaching over to quickly fix the loose strands of her hair, stuffing some strands back into her bun. "There, you look fine!" Sherlock gave another one of his cynical smiles before turning around to get back down the stairs once more. "Now, come. I'm starving and, evidently, so are you."

(Y/n) could tell she was in need of a good rest, but her hurting stomach pushed her to make her way down the stairs to join Sherlock for dinner. 'He might be a tad rude, but he's trying at least, yeah? She thought. Eventually, (Y/n) made it by his side, smiling at him as a sign of acceptance. "Alright then, where to?"