Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Biscuits (Part 5)

Y/N doesn't know how she got there, but she finds herself standing behind Sherlock as he perches on the narrow lip of the bathtub.

Their bath is lined with raised bobbly bits of plastic—to prevent falls—and Sherlock's socked feet knead them distractedly as Y/N bites her lip.

Experimentally, she takes a curl, pulling it gently until it's straight. She lets it go and it springs back. She sighs. "Sherlock, this is stupid. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Sure, you do."

"I don't."

He shrugs. "So pretend you do."

"When people say 'Fake it 'til you make it' I think they're talking about self-confidence, or bravery or something—not barbery. "

"You can fake anything, I do it all the time."

"What? Like when?"

"Fixing that leak we had from the tap, filing taxes, that time I had to give CPR—"

"Okay, okay, don't tell me any more, I'd rather live in ignorance." Sucking her bottom lip, Y/N cautiously takes another curl between finger and thumb.

The very end bit has gotten a little frayed, a split slicing the last centimetre in two.

Angling the scissors, Y/N winces as she snips it off.

The blades slide past each other with a satisfying clip.

She waits, expecting Sherlock to yelp as if she's severed a limb.

He doesn't.

"Okay...?"

"Yes. But maybe you could cut some of the other strands too? I mean, I love what you've done with it, the style is just brilliant, but—"

"Okay, okay, okay, shut up, I'm doing it." 

...

Several minutes pass, Y/N working her way slowly and carefully around the back of Sherlock's head with the scissors.

Their bathroom is a narrow rectangle of a space wedged between Sherlock's bedroom and the staircase like a bookmark, the farthest wall looking out over the back of the property. A thick, frosted window mars the less-than-picturesque view, and several shade-loving pot plants mar the glass.

Y/N had turned on the main light to compensate for the lack of sun, which had activated the bathroom fan.

Unable to turn it off, it hums quietly somewhere in the ceiling, breaking Y/N's thoughtful, concentrated silence. 

After another five minutes, something else breaks her thoughtful, concentrated silence.

"Y/N, you still haven't answered me," Sherlock says.

He seems to like saying Y/N's name a lot when he's talking to her.

Maybe he likes the way it sounds.

Maybe it makes him happy to remember she's there.

"About what?"

She can't see his face but she knows what it's doing. His lip will be doing that smirky thing where it twitches just at one side. 

"About you thinking I meant something else. When I asked where you wanted me."

Y/N pulls another curl straight. "Shh. I'm trying to concentrate."