Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

That Date On The Motorcycle ((Final) Part 2)

It doesn't.

The hedge is so close she can make out an empty packet of Jelly Tots caught in the branches.

Giving up on any hope of dignity, she whines pathetically:

"Sherlock!" His lip doing that curling thing again, Y/N feels him lean around her to place his hands back over hers. "It will. Watch." They take control, instantly settling her nerves, his fingers squeezing about her own as he revs the bike faster, speeding towards the hedge.

Her nerves fray again in an instant, unravelling like wool caught on a thistle.

He waits until he's inches from it, Y/N's eyes clenching tight shut like a fist---

---then the bike leans over.

She peels one lid open.

They're facing the shopping trolley, one of its wheels turning in the wind, unbothered by their shenanigans.

Y/N blinks. "...How did you make it do that?"

"Hold the bike with your legs, not your hands. And it helps if you lead with your hips." To demonstrate, or, perhaps, simply to show off, he angles the front wheel as far around as it will go, whipping them around in a tight circle.

Sherlock's knee grazes the concrete and Y/N makes a small, high-pitched sound. He sighs, widening his spirals into a wide, sweeping figure-eight. "It would also help if you didn't have your eyes closed."

"I'm trying, but I'm scared you'll lose a kneecap!" She snaps, trying to force the handlebars back up right where they belong.

Easily, he overpowers her, tipping them left and then right with impressive, almost glacial, slowness. "We'll lose more than a knee if you don't learn to steer. Look."

She feels him push up closer behind her on the seat, his pelvis pressed firmly against the small of her back.

He grips her and the bike between the solid strength of his thighs and this time, as the hedge approaches once more, Y/N can feel his hips shoving the machine sideways, forcing it to the right.

She doesn't squeak this time, her breath suspended in her throat.

His body flexes to guide the bike where it needs to go, the muscles in his stomach shifting against Y/N's back. They force the machine down towards the ground and pin it there.

Y/N cowers between his biceps, pushing herself into the curve of his torso. She watches the tendons in his hands jump about, his palms swamping her feminine little hands with a dominant, manly sort of strength---

They round the corner and his pecks tense against her shoulder blades, dragging them upright again. As the bike slows, he releases Y/N's hands, the cold air rushing in like a bucket of cold water.

"...See?" He clears his throat. "You...you have to---sort of, use your whole....your whole body."

Y/N didn't notice. She moistens her lips, trying to focus less on the squeeze of his thighs and more on keeping the bike on two wheels. She feels him shift a little behind her on the seat, putting a little distance between their bodies.

They wobble and Sherlock's hand reaches out instinctively, steadying them. "Sorry, that was my fault," He admits, chuckling nervously and Y/N giggles.

"It's okay. Steer with my whole body. Okay."

Clumsily, she finds something else to fix her gaze on---mainly because she's avoiding the blue of his eyes in the wing mirror---and finds a red Vauxhall Astra. Pulling on the handlebars, she tries to copy Sherlock's movements, leaning her waist to the side.