Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

"What Are You Looking At?" (Part 1)

"Not until you ask her out."

Sherlock choked on his tea. "What?!"

John merely fractionally inclined his shoulders.

"Don't you realize how strange that would be? Casually sidling up to someone and---and what? What exactly do you say in such a circumstance? I can't ask her to accompany me to a cafe, we're already in one! And we've just met, that's way too early for a full meal at a restaurant. And besides, it's not like I'm interested in her at all, let alone in that way. And she may not even want to," Sherlock gushed in a cascading waterfall to no one in particular.

John drained his mug, grimacing because he had accidentally allowed the beverage to cool to a tepid pool of concentrated tea dregs. He placed the now empty china to the side and gave his flatmate a look that could be seen as caring---or at least mildly benign, and stated in a patient tone: "Please. Just ask her for her number, or give her yours. Just do something. It'll be good for you; have someone else to amuse you."

"I don't want her number," Sherlock tried half-heartedly. But he seemed smaller now; unsure.

"Mate, we both know that's not true."

Sherlock stared at the man in front of him for a long time. Maybe John had a point. He'd struggled with friendship in the past, eventually giving up on it altogether (a decision that lead to a lonesome and boring existence). Then he'd met John, which had proven to be worth his time. Maybe people weren't so bad? It would be nice to have another person to socialize with, discuss ideas and thoughts, etcetera. And it's not like having friends had caused him any harm. How many times had John saved his life? Proved invaluable on a case?

Sherlock leaned over to sneak another look at the woman by the window. A weak trickle of January sunlight was seeping through the glass, causing her hair to lighten by a few hues at the edges. It looked soft to touch. Sherlock felt himself wavering. He moved closer to the table to ask John quietly (feeling his face heat with shame) "Even... even if I did... think of her in that way...what do you propose I do about it?"

John looked momentarily surprised, then offered a kind smile. "Just as I said. Go up to her and ask for her number."

"But what do I---oh." Sherlock seemed to wilt all of a sudden with disappointment, and slumped back in his chair.

The woman was packing up her things and putting on her coat to leave.

"Go catch her, quick!" John prompted, standing too and motioning for Sherlock to follow the woman who was nearing the door.

"There's no use now, there was never any use anyway, it's not like--"

Before Sherlock could protest, John had grabbed his arm and pulled him into a standing position almost roughly and was practically dragging him towards the cafe door which had just swung shut behind his flatmate's crush. 

"John! Get off! What are you doing?" Sherlock hissed desperately, but that only caused John's pace to double.

"Come on! We're losing her!" He shoved the doors open, ignoring the slam of frostbitten air that greeted his face, and scanned the busy London streets. "Where'd she go?"

"There," the small (yet subtly hopeful) voice of his friend sounded next to him, and they were off again, speed walking after the woman, keeping the back of her coat in sight as they weaved through the mass of commuting bodies. "John!" Sherlock whined pitifully, trying one last time to slow him down, leaning backwards and digging the heels of his dress shoes into the uneven cobble of the street.

It did nothing, however, and soon they were right behind the woman, and Sherlock made a little squeaking noise as John tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"