No Shit, Sherlock

Snooping Sherlock

Great.

~~°°••°°~~

The four of us make it to the office, Enola and I sit at our desks, while the two men look around.

"Your desk is a mess," Sherlock says to me.

I roll my eyes, "It's no worse than your own."

He grabs a stack of papers off my desk and looks through them.

"Hey!" I yell, trying to take them back.

He holds them up higher so I can't reach.

"Really? Aren't you too old to be acting like this?" I ask.

He ignores me and reads the papers, "Are these for your new book?"

He hands the papers back to me and I nod. "Yes, I'll be turning them in tomorrow."

"Sherlock tells me you two have an interesting case," says Dr. Watson.

Enola nods, "Yes we do, but I think we'll be finishing it soon."

"Yeah we thought it'd be fun but the scammer is boring," I say with a shrug.

"So you'll be moving on then?" Sherlock asks.

"Yep."

He nods at me, "Good."

"It was nice seeing you two, but we must work on our own case now," Dr. Watson says.

Enola and I walk them out of the office, and once they're far enough away we immediately begin talking.

"Why does your brother insist on randomly dropping by and snooping around our office?"

"Probably because he's socially awkward and only has one friend," Enola replies.

She walks back to her desk, but I stand in the doorway, watching Sherlock walk away.

He even walks beautifully.

I shake my head and step away from the door.

Why must this man plague my thoughts? It seems that the more I try not to think of him, the more I end up thinking about him.

"You okay?"

I look up to see Enola smirking at me. She definitely saw me staring at her brother.

"Yeah, I'm good."

~~°°••°°~~

Tewkesbury had decided that it would be fun for the three of us to go get drinks. So, here we are, sitting in a fancy bar, surrounded by a bunch of rich men with weird beards.

"Is it a rule for rich men to look so stupid?"

Tewkesbury elbows me, "You can't just say stuff like that, someone could hear you."

Enola and I look at each other and shrug. Tewkesbury worries too much about his image.

Tewkesbury suddenly chokes on his drink, Enola begins to pat his back roughly, and I laugh. However, I notice that Tewkesbury's eyes are focused on something behind me.

I turn around to look and instantly regret it.

There sitting by the door is Sherlock Holmes and a woman in an expensive gown. She's staring at him with adoring eyes, and he's resting his arm on the back of her chair.

I turn back around and see Tewkesbury and Enola looking at me with sad eyes.

"What?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

Tewkesbury shakes his head, his eyes glaring at the man behind me. "He's obviously drunk, he probably doesn't even know the woman sitting with him."

"It's none of our business."

"I'm so sorry, (Y/n)."

I roll my eyes, "Why? You think I care who your brother sits with?"

"Enola!"

"Shit," Enola mumbles.

A very drunk Sherlock stumbles over to our table, "What are you doing here?"

"Having a drink," Enola responds.

Sherlock looks at Tewkesbury, then at me. His blue eyes soften the second our eyes meet, it looks as though he's regretful. But, as I've said before. I do not care.

He pulls his arm away from the giggling woman, causing her to frown before storming off. Sherlock drops himself into the empty seat beside me, I try my hardest not to look at him, but of course I fail.

"Nice lipstick, Sherlock. Although I didn't think you'd be fond of pink," I say, gesturing to the smeared lipstick all over his face and neck.

It's almost as if all the alcohol had left his body, because he instantly began wiping the lipstick off and apologizing.

"Wild night?" Enola asks.

"I don't even remember drinking," Sherlock says.

"Men," I mumble, before downing the rest of my beer.

Tewkesbury's eyes widen at me, "How on Earth did you do that? That was a lot of beer!"

"Just one of the many things I've learned while having an alcoholic father."

I gather my stuff and stand up, "I had fun, but I am exhausted. I'll see you guys later."

They nod and we say our goodbyes, then I quickly make my way out of the bar.

Tears build up in my eyes and I laugh to myself. Here I am, crying over Sherlock Holmes again. When will this shit end?