Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

Thunder (Part 2)

The rain had ceased, finally, but when Sherlock hunted for the moon upon drawing the bathroom blind he found the sky as blank and dark as ink. The storm had long since advanced, and was now settled directly over London, Canada Square, the Shard, and BT Tower stabbing into its underbelly as if trying to ward it off.

They were unsuccessful, however, because as Sherlock lay in bed, a tremendous light illuminated the room to such an extent he could see it through his eyelids.

He hadn't achieved sleep yet, and doubted he would for a while, his best friend's earlier expression still haunting him. That desire to find her wherever she is in the apartment and just...be with her was still just as persistent and unwavering as it had been when he'd left her in the hallway.

And the pad of his thumb remembered the touch of her lip from when he'd freed it from her teeth; the soft slip of her skin below his. He'd liked it, and he couldn't put his finger on why, but it was keeping him from achieving unconsciousness.

Glad for a distraction, and overcome with childish curiosity, Sherlock swung his legs out of bed and crossed the room quickly to the window, pulling back the curtains. He'd been counting in his head---that old trick used to estimate the distance of the storm---and barley got to three before that inevitable roll of thunder rippled its way across the city.

Sherlock grinned as it barrelled into him, the magnificence of its unbridled force still just as fascinating and exciting as the first time his parents had permitted him to stay up to watch a storm.

He caught the next flash of lightning this time; a prickly white beam slicing the horizon in two as though God herself had taken the inky fabric of the sky and ripped it violently to shreds. It left an imprint on the backs of Sherlock's eyes, a lingering mirage that he couldn't blink away.

It was awesome.

Then there was a different noise, and it hadn't come from the turbulent heavens. This one sounded more like bare feet landing rapidly on wooden boards. Someone is running in the directions of Sherlock's room.

Before he had a chance to be surprised, or even wonder how Y/N managed to descend the stairs at such a speed without ending up a bloody and splintered heap on the floor, Sherlock's door was thrown open and something collided with his middle.

"Y/N?"  The force of her embrace violently shoved the word from his lungs, and he stumbled backwards before managing to right himself. Quickly, he found her shoulders and peeling her back from his body, trying to make out her face in the fuzzy light of the street lamps.

To his horror, it was written with terror.

"I lied earlier," the words weren't even words, just air, all rushed and high and riddled with panic.

Sherlock hated it. His hands subconsciously tightened their grasp on her shoulders.

"When I said nothing's the matter."

Another burst of lightning lit up the city, and Y/N made a startled little yelp, leaping back up against Sherlock's chest. You'd think the lighting had prickled down her spine as if it were an umbrella in an empty field, judging by the way her every muscle went rigid as if electrified; but she loosened when Sherlock's arms came about her instinctively, bundling her closer.

"Well obviously," he almost growled, frustration at his helplessness nudging him closer and closer to the end of his tether. Y/N wouldn't be in this state had she just told him what was wrong earlier---

He'd be lying if he claimed not to enjoy her embrace, though; her body all pressed up against his front. The contact made his chest do that warm and tingly thing again, stronger this time---but he'd think about that later.