Exception || Sherlock Holmes x Reader

➳ Chapter Eight

"This case will be the death of me," Sherlock groans.

"You're not the only one. There is no way someone could've stabbed Bainbridge," you complain as you pace the room with Sherlock.

"The shower was locked from the inside and the doors are too tall for anyone to climb over or under. It's simply impossible."

"How about The Mayfly Man? Have we gotten any further with that case?" you question frustratingly.

"Nope. There aren't any connections with the women he was with. It's as if he's really a ghost," Sherlock replies while ruffling his curls.

"Have you guys been up all night?" John's voice suddenly flutters into the room.

"Yes," you sigh. "This whole thing is bloody ridiculous. It's not like either of us to not be able conjure up a theory at the least."

"Well, I need to ask Sherlock something," John says, hinting at you to give them some privacy.

"Oh, for God's sake. I'll sit on the couch and you guys go in the kitchen. I need to think, anyway," you say, walking over and plopping down on the sofa, leaning back and closing your eyes.

You drift into your own personal version of a Mind Palace as you hear Sherlock and John shuffle off to the kitchen. It's not as detailed and extensive as Sherlock's, but it gets the job done. You try to sort through the information on both cases to find a connection, but turn up empty like always.

You don't know how much time passes before hearing the door close and your eyes flip open to see Sherlock slowly walking out of the kitchen with an odd look on his face.

"What happened?" you ask, standing and going to move in front of him.

"John... asked me to be his best man," he says.

"That's great, isn't it?" you chuckle.

"I just... never thought I'd be anybody's best friend, let alone best man," he mumbles.

"Well, you are. You're the best man I know and you'll do a fantastic job. I know it," you say, patting him on the chest.

Sherlock gazes into your eyes. "(Y/N)..." he trails. "I'm sorry. I've been selfish. I guess I let it kind of slip my mind that you don't really have anyone, and here I am complaining about being alone when you're the one who's truly alone."

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me," you whisper.

"No," Sherlock shakes his head. "Not anymore. You're too..." he fumbles, trying to find the right word. "You're too you."

"What does that even mean?"

Sherlock grumbles and paces across the room before stopping in front of you again. "You're brilliant, caring, honest, clever, and... just a beautiful person. I hate thinking you're always helping and saving others when you yourself need saving the most."

You bite your lip and tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"I guess I didn't either," Sherlock admits. "I'm not sure how these things work, but I would very much like to be there for you."

"You mean..."

"Yes."

Sherlock's face is blank, but you can see the emotion in the eyes that seem to hold endless galaxies in their depths. You reach up and bring his head down to yours with your hands tangling in the surprisingly soft curls. Sherlock doesn't hesitate to kiss back and even pulls your body closer to his.

Once you pull away, you're left a little breathless, but manage to find your voice. "I figured we could relax and watch a movie to get our minds off the cases."

"Sounds like a plan," Sherlock agrees with an adoring grin.

You peck his lips once more before going to your room to change into pajamas as Sherlock does the same. You then throw some popcorn in the microwave and go set up the television in the living room, popping in an old black and white movie.

"I hope you like old movies because that's all I have," you say, walking back to the kitchen just as the timer goes off.

"They're my favorite," Sherlock replies, walking passed you and slouching on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

You smile and put the popcorn into a bowl before walking out and sitting down but with your back on the armrest and feet sprawled over his thighs. You set the popcorn at an equal distance between the two of you and focus your attention on the movie.

Five minutes into it, you look over at Sherlock who has his sole focus on the television while unconsciously grabbing a handful of popcorn every once in a while. You grab a piece and nonchalantly flick it in his hair and it sticks.

Sherlock whips his head to yours while reaching up to find the kernel. "Did you just throw popcorn at me?"

"Wow, you're quick," you sarcastically reply. "Open up."

You grab another piece as Sherlock tosses the one from his hair into his mouth, then leaving it open for you to expertly throw a piece between his lips.

"Goal!" you shout dramatically.

Sherlock's baritone laughter echoes in the room and you sigh wistfully. After finishing the bowl of popcorn, you set it on the table and lean against the armrest. You and Sherlock laugh and make jokes about the movie and point out the things wrong with it for the rest of the night.

Sherlock has never felt such a carefree feeling with anyone. Sure, John is his best friend, but he still questions the things Sherlock does. But you just understand the way he thinks and goes about things. Not even when he was constantly drugged up did he feel this light and serene.

You're different. You have never tried to change Sherlock and have never asked him for anything. You just accept who he is and what he has done, but you see something in him that is purely beautiful, maybe even poetic.

Sherlock has no doubt anymore of how much you mean to him. He knows he would never sit here while work needed to be done with anyone else except you. No one has come close to making him feel anything, but you have awakened every emotion within him.

Human error? Perhaps. But Sherlock knows to never walk away from someone who is willing to stand by him through everything, and you most definitely would never allow him to face any battle alone.