Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

A Picture Speaks A Thousand Words ((Final) Part 8) (WARNING: EXPLICIT)

"Haha, very smooth," she teased delicately, causing his blush to deepen by a few shades.

It was making him dizzy, his blood rushing up to his face, and then pouring downstairs, only to clamber exhaustedly back up to his cheeks again. "Sorry. I don't know how to...be sexy. Or do any of that stuff."

Y/N's shoulders rose and fell in a shrug, her bare skin sliding against the sleek material of Sherlock's shirt-covered arm. She mentally cursed the fabric, that stupid little barrier between his firm knots of muscles and her prickling nerve endings. How long had she laid there daydreaming about those arms looped tight about her body? Too long. "You're already sexy. You don't need to know how to do any of that stuff. I love you for you, Sherlock."

Eyes widening: "...Love?" He choked it out, a shocked little cough rather than a question, and he felt Y/N stiffen beside him.

She loves him? Someone is in love with---? With him?

Sherlock had turned to meet Y/N's eyes searchingly. The effect was startling, so crystalline, so pure, so transparent, it was almost as if she was staring right at Sherlock's open, unprotected soul.

Heating under his inquisitive gaze. "...I mean..." What's the use in denying it? Of course, there is the horrible chance that her forwardness might utterly startle the poor man, and subsequently blown her chances at any kind of romantic relationship with him---

But he hasn't run away yet. He hadn't even run away when she'd found his pictures. He's just looking at her, pupils all swelled up, two large wells of ink, his long legs tucked almost to his chin.

How many people have told him they love him?

"Of course I love you." She'd said it purposefully, firmly, as though she's pressing it hard onto his memory to make it stick.

When Y/N had kissed him earlier, she hadn't really said anything, she's just...kissed him. At the time, afterwards, and even now, Sherlock hadn't actually thought about what it meant. This is down to one simple reason: fear.

Because Y/N kissing him could have meant anything. She could have wanted him for the night, for the month, forever, or not at all. She might have just...pitied him, so gifted him with his first kiss just so she didn't have to live with the depressing knowledge that he'd never had one.

Preferring to live in ignorance, Sherlock just allowed it to happen, for once just going with the flow. He let life guide him along like a leaf adrift a lazy river and skirted around any doubts and questions that popped up along the way. Because even if Y/N only wants him for his body, for a fling, for the night, at least that's something.

But she doesn't want it for a fling. She...

"You love me?" He just muttered again stupidly. Not because he hadn't heard her, but because he was testing out how the syllables felt rolling off his tongue.

They felt good. His face split open into a radiant smile.

Y/N mirrored it unsteadily. "Couldn't you tell? I'd swoon every time you stood too close to me."

"...No."

Y/N gave him another nudge, teasing him gently. "Told you you're not a detective."

Sherlock nudged her back, both of them swaying like a misshapen newton's cradle. "...Sometimes it's hard to tell. Like, I'd put your widened pupils down to low light, or your gentle touches as just...something you do to be friendly. You smile at everyone, you're kind to everyone, I just assumed you were just being those things with me too."