Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

A Holmes Family Reunion (Part 8)

"So, what shall we do today?" Y/N asks, wringing out the sopping tea towel over the sink. When it's moist rather than dripping, Mrs Holmes takes it from her and tosses it into a heaped laundry basket.

"If you two are bored you could help me catch up with some laundry?"

"We're not bored, Mum," Sherlock corrects, hurrying over to help her heft the burdened basket off the ground.

She manages without him, and supports it with one strong arm, flapping him away with the other. "Are you sure? I'm getting out the tub."

Y/N could have sworn Sherlock's ears pricked, and she hurries after him as he follows his mother out onto the patio. "What's the tub?" She asks, blinking in the bright sunlight.

A washing line is tied tight to a pole protruding from the daisy-flecked lawn, the line itself running from the guttering of the cottage to the weather vein atop the greenhouse, and back to the guttering as though a giant spider had strung it up in a disorganised, messy web.

Mrs Holmes has begun fastening several socks to it with wooden pegs like colourful bunting. "The washing tub, dear," she explains, gesturing to a wide, shallow barrel sat squatly among the grass.

A hosepipe has slithered like a rubber serpent across the garden and droops over the lip of the tub, gushing cool water into its depths with a satisfying roaring sound.

Sherlock is already barefoot, hopping on one leg to roll up his trousers.

Y/N picks her way over to him, having to be careful not to tread on several bees. Peering into the tub, she finds it full of water and cloth; bedsheets, blankets, duvets and---judging by the metal eyelets---several curtains. "You want to do laundry?" She asks, unable to flatten the slight note of disbelief.

He shrugs, stepping into the tub. The water almost comes up to his knees. "It's fun." Holding out a hand:

"Come on, you'll enjoy it."

Copying him, Y/N rolls her trousers up over her knees and takes his outstretched palm.

The cool water envelops her ankles, the wet cotton soft between her toes.

Mrs Holmes smiles at them gratefully, bustling over with a basket of brightly coloured bottles. "Thank you, you two. It's so nice to have some help around here." Leaving them with the box of detergents, she squeezes a healthy dollop of Fairy gel into the tub. "Here's a little something to get you started."

Y/N and Sherlock watch in childlike delight as a mound of bubbles begins growing under the strong jet of the hose.

Sherlock begins slowly stamping the cloth below his feet, generating more bubbles to form as the detergent mingles and mixes with the fabric.

Unsteadily, Y/N holds his arm as she tentatively does the same. The bedsheets in particular keep capturing bubbles of air and floating to the surface, and Y/N squishes them back down with her feet, unable to help a smile twitch her lip.

Sherlock notices, because of course he does. "See. Fun."

"It is quite satisfying," she concedes. "I didn't know anyone still washed things by hand."

"The house doesn't have a washing machine," Sherlock explains, leaning over the tub to reach the caddy of detergents.

Mrs Holmes seems to have purposely placed it out of his reach, but he manages to hook the handle with one finger, Y/N grabbing the back of his t-shirt for fear he'll fall out altogether.

Righting himself, he finds a tall purple bottle and tips some of that in amongst his feet, then something blue---like a wizard concocting a potion. "I keep offering to buy them one but they refused. They won't get a dishwasher either."