No Shit, Sherlock

Nervous

Timothée smiles back then leaves, bumping into Sherlock along the way. Enola gives me a weird look, "I thought you said you didn't like Timothée?"

Sherlock watches me closely, I look away nervously. "I don't."

"Then why go on a date with him? It wouldn't be fair to lead him on," says Sherlock.

Tewkesbury covers his mouth, his eyes as wide as a dinner plate. I look back to Sherlock, tilting my head. "I don't remember anyone saying it's a date."

Enola grabs Tewkesbury's arm, "We'll meet you at the office."

She pushes the boy out the door and gives me a thumbs up. I roll my eyes as she slams the door shut.

"He's older than you."

"And you're older than him."

He stiffens, "I don't trust him."

"You don't have to."

He gives me a nod, "I need to change my clothes."

He walks to his bedroom, the door shutting loudly behind him. I let out a breath and fall back onto the couch. I've never seen him act so cold to a stranger before, not even me when we first met. So what is it about Timothée that he doesn't like?

The door behind me opens, I look back to see Sherlock walking out. His shirt is completely unbuttoned.

"Holy shit."

He looks up at me in surprise, but looks back down to his shirt. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Sorry, I forgot you were here."

My eyes trail up his chest, admiring his muscular build. Why the fuck has he been hiding those abs? He sits on the couch next to me, tying his shoes, but leaving his shirt unbuttoned. I'm respectful, I really am, but how do you expect me to not stare?

"You're staring-"

"Can you blame me?!"

He leans back against the couch, an amused smile on his face. I try to keep my eyes from drifting down, but I am not as strong as I thought. "You should button your shirt."

"I thought you were enjoying the view."

The smirk on his face makes my legs shake, there's no denying the effect he has over me now, and he knows it.

I stand up quickly, tripping over the coffee table. "I'll wait outside."

My feet feel like they're glued to the ground as I drag myself to the door and out into the hallway. I close the door behind me, leaning against it, as I try to catch my breath.

"What the fuck just happened?" I whisper.

Just a few days ago I had sworn that I was over him, and that I actually hated him. The two of us ignored each other for days, not even sparing a passing glance at each other. Now, I've spent the night with him twice, and my self respect vanishes anytime I'm near him.

The door behind me opens, I stumble back, almost falling to the floor. Sherlock grabs my arm and helps me steady myself. "You alright?"

I pull myself away from him, and walk down the stairs. Trying to put distance between us, but he catches up to me within seconds.

"What is it that you wish to speak to me about?" I ask, as we step onto the street.

He looks at me in surprise, "I forgot."

"The great Sherlock Holmes has forgotten what he wanted to talk about?"

He nods, "I'm not perfect."

"Yeah right," I mumble.