I wake up to see Sherlock reading a book, my head still laying on his chest. I reach my hand out and place it on the book, he sets it down and looks at me. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"
"Slept like a queen, and you?"
"Slept like a king."
The front door opens, revealing Watson, who drops a bag by the door. "Good morning, Sherlock. Did you miss me?"
His eyes land on us, darting back and forth between us. He clears his throat, "Although, it looks like you didn't need my company."
"Shit, I have to go meet Timothée," I say standing up.
My blouse is wrinkled, and I can feel that my hair is knotted. Sherlock stands up behind me, holding his shirt closed. "You're still going to meet him?"
I tie my shoes and straighten my back, the couch was way too uncomfortable. "He's my friend."
I walk to the door, turning back to smirk at Sherlock, "I'll see you later."
"Good morning, Watson," I say, smiling to the man.
I shut the door behind me, giggling to myself, as I skip down the hall.
~~°°••°°~~
"Sorry I'm late!"
Timothée looks down at me in confusion, "You look like you've been through a tornado."
"I feel like it too," I say.
He stares at me, and pushes my hair behind my shoulder. "Are those hickeys?"
I push his hand away, pulling my hair back over my shoulder, "Mind your own damn business."
"Oh my God. You spent the night with someone!"
I slap my hand over his mouth, "Not a word."
He pulls my hand away, a smirk on his face. "So, who was the lucky guy?"
"Can we not talk about this?"
I walk away, but he follows me, leaning down to whisper, "Did you enjoy yourself?"
"I'm not answering that."
We continue walking, every time he looked at me he'd laugh. Much to my disapproval, I don't appreciate being laughed at.
"Are you shaming me for this?" I finally ask.
His eyes widen, "Absolutely not! I'm just happy you've found someone."
We've only known each other for around two weeks, but he quickly became a good friend.
"You sound like my mother," I say, sighing.
"Can you at least tell me what he looks like?" Timothée says.
I smile to myself, "He's handsome, the most attractive person I've ever seen. And he's got the body of a God."
"You really like him, don't you?"
"More than anything."
We stop at the pond, and sit on a bench together. I watch as a group of kids push each other into the water. Oh, to be young again.
"Good afternoon," Timothée says.
I look up to see Sherlock and John standing in front of us, Sherlock's eyes staring right at me. I squirm under his intense gaze, refusing to make eye contact.
"Beautiful day for a walk," says John.
I finally meet Sherlock's gaze, and he smirks.
"No way," Timothée whispers.
I turn to see him staring at me in shock. His green eyes moving between Sherlock and I. My eyes widen, and I stomp his foot to get him to stop staring. He lets out a wince, but says nothing else.
"Shouldn't you be at the office?" Sherlock asks.
"I'm sure Enola can wait."
He narrows his eyes at me, "I'll come by the office later, I need to discuss something with Enola."
"I'll see you then."
He gives me one last look before him and John walk off. As soon as they're gone Timothée hits my shoulder, "Sherlock?!"
"What are you talking-"
"Don't play dumb with me," he says.
"It's none of your business."
~~°°••°°~~
"Honey, I'm home!" I call out, entering the mine and Enola's office.
I walk in to see Sherlock sitting at my desk.
"I thought you said you were coming tonight?" I ask.
He leans back in the chair, his eyes following me as I walk over to him. I sit on the edge of my desk, my leg brushing against his.
"I decided to come by earlier."
I look behind me, no one else is in the room. When I turn back around I see that he's smirking, "Enola and Tewkesbury left to go get more paper."
"I told her we should've bought more the other day," I mumble.
His hands rest on my knees as he stares up at me, "You changed your clothes."
"You didn't expect me to continue wearing yesterday's clothes did you?"
He stands up, now towering over me. I hold my breath as he leans in, his lips grazing mine. He kisses me but pulls away, "They should be back soon."
He steps away, and sits in the chair across from my desk. I slide off the desk and sit in my own chair. "You look nice, Sherlock. But I prefer you without the shirt on."
He tilts his head, "You shouldn't be saying that in public."
"No one's around."
The office door open, Enola walks in with a stack of paper, along with Tewkesbury. She gives me a smile, "How was your date with Timothée?"
Sherlock coughs, I give him a sly smile and turn back to Enola. "It was wonderful."
He glares at me, his blue eyes staring right into my own. The tension between us grows, until I finally let out a laugh.
"It wasn't a date, just a friendly walk around the park."
Enola steps closer to me, a smirk on her face. "Then what's all over your neck?"
I freeze, my eyes slowly drifting over to Sherlock. He raises an eyebrow and gives me a cocky grin.
"Nothing."
She practically climbs in my lap as she pulls my hair back to look at my neck. I try to push her away, but she doesn't budge. "Oh my God!"
"It's not from Timothée," I say, finally pushing her away.
I readjust my blouse and pull my hair back over my shoulder, trying not to look at Sherlock. Enola gives me a weird look, her eyes slowly drifting to her brother. He doesn't notice her gaze, as he's focused on adjusting the collar of his shirt.
"No," she mutters to herself.
She pulls Sherlock's collar away from his neck, "No way."
He pushes her away, an annoyed look on his face. "What are you doing, Enola?"
"You and (Y/n)!"
She sits back in her chair, running a hand down her face. "You left hickeys on my brother's neck."
My face turns red, Tewkesbury is coughing, trying to cover his laugh. Sherlock stands up, and walks over to the mirror. He examines his neck then turns back to me, I give him a sheepish smile. He makes his way back over to me, and leans over me to get his coat off my desk. His lips graze my ear as he whispers, "Why on Earth would you leave hickeys on my neck?"
I point to my own neck and he sighs. He awkwardly faces his sister and nods, "I'll talk to you tomorrow."
He walks around Tewkesbury and leaves. When he's down the stairs, Enola finally faces me, "I'm disgusted, but I know how much you two like each other. So, that makes it less gross, but only by a little."
"Can we change the subject?" I ask, my voice cracking in the process.
Tewkesbury sits in front of me, a wide grin on his face. He leans over my desk and whispers, "Bet you feel stupid for thinking he didn't like you."
"Shut up, Tewkesbury."