Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

There's A Dog In This One ((Final) Part 7)

Y/N opened her mouth and several little words wobbled their way off of her tongue: "You want to?"

Sherlock was staring at her. "Yes. Very much."

A drop of rain landed in Y/N's eye. She blinked.

Suddenly, it was pouring down. Literally pouring, so much so that Y/N was almost tempted to tilt her head up, to check that they hadn't somehow stopped under a fountain. Does Regent's Park even have fountains? Y/N wondered.

The man she has secretly been in love with for an embarrassing amount of time had just confessed that he might have feelings for her, and she's thinking about local water features.

Because of that word.

Might.

He wants to be in a relationship with her, but that doesn't necessarily mean he wants to be in a relationship with her. He might just want to be in a relationship. He might just want everything that comes with a relationship, the cuddling, the kissing, sex, sharing your life with someone---

Might.

Y/N's clothes are sticking to her, already drenched. She should have grabbed her coat. The rain is throwing itself from the heavens, cold and unforgiving, as if each drop thinks it's a meteorite whose sole purpose in life is to hit Earth with such force it causes the next mass extinction event. It wakes Y/N from her stupor like a bucket of water rather than droplets and she realises Sherlock has moved. He's no longer watching her, waiting for her to say something, anything---why hasn't she said anything?---he's taking off his coat, squinting to see through the sheet of raindrops that hung all around them like a violent beaded curtain. Before Y/N even had time to be surprised, he was hurriedly draping the material around her shoulders.

He had to get close to her to do so, leaning over her a little as he reached around quickly, bringing the collar to meet under her chin. Dark spots had started to flower all over his now unprotected purple shirt, wet, rich violets blossoming and merging and multiplying. Despite his metaphorically exposed heart, despite the rain, despite everything, the corner of Sherlock's lip was twitching into a smile. He liked how Y/N looked wearing his clothes.

It was difficult to run for shelter in Sherlock's coat. Mainly because it was too big for Y/N. It weighed a ton just as it was, but the wool was now so thick with moisture it flapped heavily around her ankles, her arms grabbing bunches of it to prevent the hem from scraping on the floor. It was warm, though, still warm from Sherlock's body, and it kept the rain off Y/N's goose-flesh-freckled skin. Sherlock's hand was at her back, warming her too, guiding them to the bandstand Y/N could just about make out in the distance. She knew it was there from memory more than the fact that she could see it. Usually, it's full of people, so naturally, her crowd-averse companion avoids it like two magnets repelling each other, but now it's pleasingly empty. The park is empty, patrons having fled for home under umbrellas or portable shelters they'd devised from their jackets.

In a way, the rain was almost beautiful. It made a nice sound as it pierced the puddles growing rapidly in little hollows in the lawn that had been pressed into the grass by thousands of feet. It made Sherlock and Y/N's own footsteps loud, the soles of their shoes slapping the ground, Y/N's rapid, Sherlock's strides longer and further between.

Their footfalls changed from wet spatters to the solid echo of trending on concrete as they finally entered the band stand, panting between huffed-out giggles. There's just something about being caught in a storm, something about the comradery of trying to outrun it that makes your blood suddenly flush with adrenaline.