Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Fruit Punch (Part 2)

The rec hall is teaming with people.

Lestrade must have invited everyone from the precinct, each department clumped together in tight-knit throngs; the officers at the heart of the room partaking in a rowdy drinking game, then the more socially awkward, slightly uncomfortable-looking lab techs milling about the edges.

It's the fraying fringes of the crowd that Sherlock instinctively combs for Y/N---his eyes taking through the tangle of bad Christmas jumpers and Santa hats. 

A man dressed as Buddy the elf steps aside to fetch some punch from the buffet table, and Sherlock's steps falter.

There she is.

She's wearing a holly-berry red strapless dress, the disco lights spinning a colourful dance on her bare shoulders.

It's strange seeing her without her lab coat.

Nice strange. 

Very nice.

She's chatting to a small group of people Sherlock recognises from her department (although it takes him a moment to recognise them without computer monitors hiding half their faces).

Sighing, he approaches them, knowing that---even if Y/N were not here---this rag-tag group of outcasts is where he belongs.

He has met two of them before, and the other is new to him, but the rectangular pages of a well-thumbed pocket novel poke out of her bobbly snowman cardigan, which works instantly in her favour.

Sherlock doesn't trust people whose books are pristine. Unbroken spines means they're untouched, and therefore unread, and therefore only for decorative, vein purposes. A tidy bookshelf says 'I am so clever, look upon my collection'. 

Like his brother's. 

Sherlock had known he liked Y/N as soon as he saw her because she had been reading the most dog-eared book he had ever set eyes on.

She'd been shovelling a hasty lunch from a Tupperware tub into her mouth, a battered novel spread on the lab bench with her free hand. The pages were yellowing and the edges soft, and she'd been so absorbed in the smudged, inky letters she hadn't heard Sherlock come in.

When he'd greeted her, her cheeks had glowed with two red circles, and he'd been so taken by it he'd forgotten why he was borrowing the lab in the first place.

Y/N blushes as he greets her now, and his cheekbones heat.

He wonders if she can tell he spent half an hour getting ready earlier. He wouldn't usually. He wouldn't, ever. He'd wear pyjamas to CoOp if it were socially acceptable. 

Today, however, he'd taken his time choosing his best shirt, tucking it in neatly--even fluffing up his hair in the bathroom mirror.

For reasons he doesn't quite want to explore yet, he'd like Y/N to think he looks nice.

She looks nice.

(Trying to keep his eyes from lingering on the smooth line of her collarbones) he tells her, and she turns a deeper shade of pink, the colour dribbling all the way down into the front of her dress. 

He'd like to tell her other things---that he likes what she's done with her hair, and he hopes she's having a good time---

But the man to his left pipes up:

"I'm surprised to see you here." The man's name is Elliot, Sherlock remembers vaguely (or maybe Evan) and if anything, Sherlock is more surprised to see him here. He's several inches taller than Sherlock, but the same width, making him look as if he'd been squeezed through a Playdough playset.