Exception || Sherlock Holmes x Reader

➳ Chapter Nine

You yawn as you grab a drink from the kitchen and peer over at Sherlock's bedroom door that's left slightly ajar. You chug your drink before putting the glass in the sink and walking down the small corridor.

You lightly push open his door and flip on the light switch. You're not surpsied when you see the room incredibly tidy without so much as a wrinkle in the bed sheet.

You examine the room thoroughly as you've never been in it when it was in its original state without boxes. You smirk evily and jump onto Sherlock's mattress, slipping under the covers in the process.

You inhale the scent that is identical to that of Sherlock and your body relaxes against the impossibly soft bed, almost instantly drifting off to sleep.

Not two hours later, the door downstairs slams shut and you hear stumbling then a loud thud that jolts you from your slumber. You throw the sheets from your body before your feet touch the ground and you lazily make your way through the flat. You saunter across the cold wood flooring and down the steps until you reach the bottom where you find Sherlock and John nearly passed out.

"Guys," you say, trying to gain their attention.

"John, look! It's my lovely (Y/N)," Sherlock slurs, slowly scrambling to his feet while pulling his equally as intoxicated best friend with him.

"(Y/N), Sherlock is drunk," John says, holding onto Sherlock's jacket so he doesn't fall.

"Come upstairs. You can't sleep on the stairs," you say, walking up the steps and gesturing them to follow as if directing traffic.

The two men laugh and drunkenly climb up the staircase. You move aside to let them walk into the living room with John going first with Sherlock behind him.

"Hey, babe," Sherlock says with a goofy smile and brings his hands up to cup your face and give you a sloppy kiss, but you slap his hands away.

"You smell like a pub and your breath isn't any better." You push a disappointed Sherlock into the living room where John is already slouching in his chair.

Sherlock throws his coat and scarf off and stumbles over to his chair. You bend down to pick them off the floor and go to put them in Sherlock's bedroom. When you come back out not three minutes later, Sherlock and John have started a game with pieces of paper taped to their foreheads.

"Am I a vegetable?" John asks.

"You are the-" Sherlock cuts himself off as they both giggle over nothing.

You cross your arms and stand by the desk and see that Sherlock has 'Sherlock Holmes' written on his paper while John has 'Madonna.'

"You're funny," John says.

"Thank you."

"Okay, come on."

"No, you're not a vegetable."

John sighs. "It's your go."

"Um... Am I human?" Sherlock asks.

"Sometimes."

Accurate, you think.

"Can't have sometimes. Has to be, um..." Sherlock trails off.

"Yes, you're human."

"Yes, I know. Am I man?"

"Yep."

"Tall?"

"Not as tall as people think."

"Nice?"

"Ish," John debates with himself.

"Clever?"

"I'd say so."

"You would. Am I important?"

"To some people."

Sherlock leans forward. "Do people like me?"

"Er, no, they don't. You tend to rub them up the wrong way."

That's for sure.

"Okay. Am I the current King of England?"

"We-" John laughs. "You know we don't have a king."

"Don't we?" Sherlock questions with a puzzled expression.

"No."

"Your go."

"Am I a woman?" John asks.

"Yes."

"Am I pretty?"

"Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models. Except if it's (Y/N) because damn." Sherlock winks and you laugh while rolling your eyes at his out of character flirtatiousness.

"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?"

Sherlock moves to the edge of his seat and squints at the paper on John's forehead. "I don't know who you are. I don't know who you're supposed to be."

"You picked the name!" John exclaims.

"Yeah, but I picked it at random from the papers."

"You're not really getting the hang of this game, are you, Sherlock?"

"So I am human, I'm not as tall as people think I am, I'm nice-ish, clever, important to some people, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way." Sherlock lets out a laugh. "Got it."

"Go on then."

Sherlock points a finger at his friend. "I'm you, aren't I?"

You chuckle at the pair again and clap your hands. "That's enough games, boys. Time to go to sleep."

You grab both Sherlock and John's arms and drag them to Sherlock's bedroom. You push them inside and onto the bed where they reluctantly lay down and you throw the sheets over their bodies.

"Sweet dreams," you wish, flipping off the light and leaving them in the dark.