•°*~and They were Roommates- MultiFandom Oneshots ~•°*

{Sherlock} Stars (xReader)

The great detective made a decision when 11:58 came around, deciding to wait till the last minute to appear. The mystery figure in the grove refused to pack up their things till exactly twelve o’clock to leave, realizing the great detective loved the drama of others' habits, even the simple ones, such as packing up early.

He came round the corner at 11:59, just as Y/n suspected when he did not show first thing. They smiled softly at the  detective, standing from the black metal chair, he couldn’t place the look in their eyes, the softness something new to him. He felt like they were playing coy. Knowing he would ask a question first, speak up first.

“Hello Mr.Holmes.” They said, gesturing to the chair in front of them, offering him a seat. “I must admit I thought a great detective such as yourself would be more punctual. But then the world must wait for genius, must it not?”

They placed themself softly in their seat, examining the great detective as he took his infamous scarf and coat off, laying them on his arm neatly.

“You insult my intelligence.”
The figure seated in the chair gives a small huff of laughter, looking at the detective's pupils as he stares back, he notes the small stains on their hands from ink, and the nearly unnoticeable smell of graphite in the air.

“No, because we did not wait for genius, it fell into our laps, and here you stand with that very same genius, but honed so incredibly you are perceived as more than a genius, you are perceived as a god.”

The detective shakes his head, eyes unable to remove themselves from their gaze. The turmoil inside of him unnerving, and yet the utter brilliance in their words a calming sensation. He feels… seen, in a way noone could see him before.

“You look lost, Mr. Holmes.”

He is recalled to the present as he remembers the written letter, the ink on their hands, and finally, sitting on the table, the bag with a small notebook placed neatly inside of it. An author, not a visual artist.

“I am not a god.”

They cross one leg over the other, taking a sip with both hands clasped carefully on the ornate glass before speaking, a soft smile on their lips.

“No, but others see you as such.”

He listens to these words carefully, remaining attentivley silent, Y/n knows what is happening and leaves him in his mind for as long as needed.

“What do you perceive me as Mx. L/n?”

They sent him a smile yet again, they did that frequently. Smile. Their eyes lit with this particular smile. He simply stared. He felt intrigued, less bored than he was that morning. They seemed… equal to him, though he knew there was noone below or above him, but he felt he finally met his match.

“I perceive you as human.”

The detective shows shock for the first time during this conversation, and Y/n’s smile only grows, he doesn’t believe anyone has seen him as that, a human, in their first conversation. So his features go just the slightest bit slack and his posture grows tense. Causing a small and bubbly laugh to emerge from the figure at the table.

“You are shocked, Mr. Holmes.”

At their words he regains his composure, body growing slack and features turning back into the familiar stone that those around him were used too.