Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

What Happened In Room 32 (Part 1)

Y/N turned that information over in her mind. "That's sad."

Sherlock had finished tuning his violin and placed it in one smooth motion under his chin, getting ready to play. "Yeah. But I didn't mind so much. I didn't know him very well, so I probably wouldn't have felt comfortable opening up with him anyway."

...

Presently, Y/N waited for the taxi to come to a stop before stepping out of it, gravel crunching under the soles of her feet. Every wedding party started like this, she mused as Sherlock paid the driver. Weddings always start with a wide gravel driveway leading to a countryside manor house, guests flocking to the doors like ants into a nest. Very smartly-dressed ants, in this case. The invitations had specified formal attire, which, actually had been one of the only reasons Y/N had agreed to attend. As soon as Sherlock's invitation had slid through the mailbox he'd asked Y/N to come with him as his plus-one. Y/N had agreed, mainly because she was his best friend and didn't want him to have to face a social event alone, and also because of the opportunity to see him in suit and tie.

The wedding party hadn't even started yet and Y/N had already firmly made up her mind that agreeing to come had been worth it. Sherlock looked...dashing? Gorgeous? Breathtakingly attractive? Since he'd emerged from his bedroom this morning, every time Y/N had looked at her best friend she hadn't been able to help but notice how his perfectly-tailored suit clung neatly to his slender, sinewy body. She'd be wrenching her mind away from mental images of him in it for the rest of her life, she just knew it.

Yes, Y/N was very strongly attracted to Sherlock Holmes, but, she reassured herself, so was anyone who set eyes on him. The fact that he had the power to make her knees weak just by uttering her name doesn't mean anything, and wouldn't affect their relationship at all, she'd decided.

"We'll only stay for a bit," Sherlock said, breaking her stupor. "Just long enough so we can say we went."

"Why did you agree to go if you didn't want to?" Y/N asked as they joined the flow of people slowly being consumed by the venue at the end of the driveway. It had surprised her that he'd agreed to go at all; Sherlock is far from a social person, infinitely preferring quiet nights in reading a book or watching a film to going to a club with friends. In fact, spending his time doing anything of the sort just didn't seem to occur to him. True, this was a wedding party, not a club, but even those seemed far from Sherlock's usual habitat. Not that he looked it; he looked more than at home. Like a wedding-guest stock-photo model. But prettier.

"I'm a groomsman, I could hardly say no."

"I don't think he would have minded you not coming to the party, you just had to turn up at the church."

Their conversation was interrupted as they reached the entrance, John and his hew wife, Amy, flushing excitedly and shaking their guest's hands as they went inside. The venue looked magnificent up close, and even more magnificent inside, towering windows flooding the airy space with sunny June daylight and picturesque views of the surrounding countryside. Bunches of white and purple balloons billowed in pillars like bubbles from a fizzy drink, confetti strategically strewn over the expansive table barley supporting a mountain of gifts addressed to the new couple. Y/N couldn't' help giggling to herself at the memory of Sherlock purchasing the gravy boat they'd registered for. "Why would anyone waste an opportunity for free gifts on a gravy boat?!" He'd exclaimed, apparently appalled.

The main hall of the manor house was exceedingly large, the majority of it set up as a dining area and the rest not set up as anything because it was clearly a dance floor. An elaborate buffet was spread out over several narrow tables along one side of the room, which Y/N knew Sherlock would be pleased about, being famously somewhat choosy about what he eats. He was also obviously pleased when they located where they'd be sitting; a small round table nestled in the corner of the room with only two chairs.

"I don't understand weddings like this," Sherlock said, pale eyes surveying the room, passing over the lacey table clothes and frilly centrepieces with obvious contempt. "I think there comes a point where a wedding stops being about celebrating two people's dedication to one another and starts being about throwing an impressive party." 

Y/N gave him a teasing smirk, nudging his foot with hers under the table. "So Sherlock Holmes has a bit of romance tucked away in that logic-driven head of his?"

He quickly tried to disguise the dusting of pink his cheekbones had acquired with nonchalance as he replied: "I have a bit of everything tucked away in my well-balanced head. I just think that if it was my wedding, I wouldn't care about the groomsmen's ties matching the flowers, or the bridesmaids all having their hair in that same twisty plait thing. Colour coordination and hairstyles would be the last thing on my mind." He'd started absently making a little pile out of the violet sequin hearts that decorated their table, keeping his gaze fixed on it as if preferring not to make eye contact while spilling something so personal. 

"Would you ever get married?" Y/N asked, trying to sound casual---although she felt anything but. Maybe it was because the thought of her crush marrying someone that wasn't her caused a hot flush to creep up the back of her neck. Maybe it was because she'd just never heard Sherlock talk about anything like this before, and she didn't want to scare him off now that he was.

Sherlock had collected all the sequins from his side of the table and began picking them up between his delicate finger and thumb, letting them run through his grip and back onto the tablecloth. "I don't know. Maybe. If I was with someone I wanted to marry---and she wanted to marry me too, obviously. I didn't use to think I'd ever want to be in a relationship, but now I don't think they look so bad, so who knows." He pushed out a bitter laugh, "I'd have to have someone want to date me first, so I have all the time in the world to make up my mind."

Failing to hold back her bewilderment, Y/N chuckled as if he'd said something very very stupid (because he had). "You talk like someone wanting to date you is impossible."

"Well isn't it?" He said back indifferently. As if it was just a fact he knew to be indisputably true, as if he'd been asked if the sea is made of water, or if gravity is what keeps us on the planet's surface.

"'Course it's not, you idiot."

Sherlock's serene expression turned to mild shock.

Y/N didn't know if it was at her tone, the idea she'd posited, or the fact that she'd called him an idiot, and she didn't care. "You're intelligent, sensitive, kind, compassionate---"

The pink flush Sherlock had gained when his love-life had been metaphorically examined under the metaphorical microscope deepened to an embarrassed red, and he tipped his head forwards, hiding his eyes with his fringe. "I didn't ask for pity---"

"I'm not pitying you, I'm just saying you're blind."

What could be mistaken as a shy smile playing on his perfectly curved lips. "I appreciate the effort, Y/N, but really, there's no need. I don't know why I said anything; I'm not the kind of person to get mixed up in all that...dating, etcetera, anyway. Forget it."

Y/N didn't know if it was the dejected undertone slipping into his voice, or the tired acceptance in which he said it: she suddenly felt slightly sorrowful. Yes, the thought of him dating anyone that was not her was painful, but seeing him like this was even worse. She didn't want to forget it, she wanted to take his slender hand now resting on the table and tell him people do want to be in a relationship with him, they do, and she knows because she is one of them, a living, breathing example. But she didn't. He's already uncomfortable enough in this room full of people, he'd probably just get up and leave if his flatmate confessed her undying love for him as well. Sherlock is the closest friend she'd ever had, their home-life the happiest she'd ever been. Risking tipping such a perfectly balanced scale was not worth it.

Oh, dear. She's in love.