Word Count: 2285
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Request(s): None
Warning(s): Mentions of drug use
A/N: Nothing much to say other than enjoy!
It was a fine night in the city of London, or rather, a fine morning. Three in the morning to be exact. You couldn't sleep and walking the dark streets and alleys seemed to calm your nerves on nights like this. For some reason, unbeknownst to you, you were different from most people. Walking alone at night, especially in the most abandoned part of the city, was a nightmare for most girls but a dreamland for you. You really were strange.
While out walking the town, you had expected to be alone. Who would be out and about at three am, anyways? Surely no sane person would be caught dead in the streets past eleven. Thus why you were so startled to find a man sitting alone in a dark alleyway. Sure, you had seen homeless people and drunks running along the sidewalk, but this man was different in a way you couldn't explain, but just knew.
"Mrs Ricoletti!" The strange man shouted out, attempting to stand up against the alley wall. You approached cautiously and grabbed his arm before he fell down.
"Sir? Do you need help?" You asked, gripping onto him. He turned to look at you, his cerulean eyes piercing into you, looking you up and down.
"Mrs Ricoletti, she-she wasn't dead. Sh-she faked it, she faked it! Ricoletti, Ricoletti, Ricoletti! I get it! I need to get to her grave. Graveyard, dead bride. Amelia Rocoletti. Amelia? Are you Amelia?" The man shouted out, turning away and running his hand through his thick curls while leaning his other arm into you.
"No, sir. I'm not Amelia," you said. He looked at you, inquisitive.
"Sir, who are you? What's your name?" You asked.
"Sher ... Sherlock," he said softly as if trying to remember his own name.
"Sherlock Holmes? The detective guy? Is that you?" You asked. You pulled out your mobile and googled the name to get the information you needed. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Featured on the blog of John H. Watson.
"Yes, that's me," he said, trying to balance himself. You let go of his arm to continue scrolling through the search.
"Where do you live, Mister Sherlock Holmes?" You asked.
"Uh ... 382 Barts Street," he sputtered out after a second of thought. "Wait, no! 291 Baker Avenue! No, that's not right either."
"221B Baker Street. Says right here," you said, smiling at your phone. A little bit of research never did any harm.
"Yes! That's it," he mumbled.
"What did you take tonight?" You asked, knowing he had to have taken something to be in the state.
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled a piece of paper and handed it to you.
"Dear God, how are you still living Holmes?" You breathed, reading the long list of drugs and pain medications. You handed him back his sheet of paper, not wanting to look at it anymore.
"Evading death is my favourite hobby," he chuckled, trying to take a step forward but stumbling a bit.
"You should be getting home," you said, grabbing his arm again. With a quick google search, you had the right directions to his flat.
You started walking out of the alley, practically dragging the detective with you.
"Hey, hey you. Name, what's your name?" Sherlock asked, still dazed.
"(Y/N)," you replied.
"(Y/N)," he repeated slowly as if seeing how the name felt on his tongue. It tasted sweet on his lips.
"Yeah, in the flesh" you chuckled, leading him out into the light.
"What are you doing out this late?" Sherlock asked, seeming to grasp control of himself once again. You loosened your grip but let your hand rest on his forearm just in case.
"I could ask you the same thing, Mister Holmes," you replied.
"Well played," he muttered.
"So, are you going to answer me?" You asked.
"It's for a case," he said from memory as if he said it often.
"Hmm, okay then," you said.
"Do you want to get some chips? I'm starving," he asked. You thought for a second before replying.
"Yeah sure, I don't see why not. Maybe it will give you some time to sober up."
"Great, I know a 24/7 place just up the road," Sherlock said. You nodded. He walked ahead of you, fully regaining his balance and his steps becoming more solid.
"Slow down Roadrunner. Calm yourself, we'll get there when we get there," you laughed as he walked faster.
"Alright. Just wondering, has anyone ever told you how impossible it is to read you? I'm trying to deduce you but there's nothing to deduce, are you real?" Sherlock asked.
"Um, no, but ... thanks?" You said, tilting your head in confusion.
"No, no, it isn't a compliment, it's quite frustrating," Sherlock corrected.
"Oh," you replied, glumly.
"It's wasn't meant as an insult, either. It was just an observation," Sherlock added quickly.
"Alright smarty, has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible conversationalist?" You asked.
"Oh yes, it's all they ever seem to say," he chuckled. You laughed.
"No, you can't possibly be that bad," you said. He shook his head.
"You can think that," he mumbled.
"Is this it?" You asked, pointing up to the lit sign above you.
"Oh, yeah," he said, opening the door for you. The man at the counter eyes you suspiciously as you ordered you chips.
"So, you say you can't 'deduce' me? What does that mean?" You asked as you took a seat in the far corner of the little cafe.
"I can read people like books. I notice little things that show the hidden character of a person. The way they speak or look or act makes everything blatantly obvious for me," he explained. You were fairly certain that he was mostly sober now, though you had your doubts.
"Can you do it to anybody?"
"Everybody," he confirmed.
"Except me."
"Yes. Except you, for some reason."
"Prove it," you challenged.
"Hmm, alright," Sherlock glanced around the room before stopping to gaze at the man behind the counter. He smirked. "That man over there. You can see it in the way he looks around, he's upset we're here. He wants to leave, he keeps looking at his watch. He's eager to meet someone, you can tell because he keeps checking his phone for texts. He is wearing a wedding ring, but it is in disrepair, that alone shows the state of his marriage. So obviously, he is hiding that he is cheating. He wants us to leave so he can go and visit his mistress without his wife becoming suspicious of his whereabouts, it's probably why he chose to work at night."
"Mm, impressive," you said.
"Yes, I know," Sherlock smiled. You laughed.
"Self-assured, are we?" You teased.
"You could say that," he replied, resting his hands in a prayer position under his chin.
"These chips are really good," you said, attempting to make small talk, his eyes never leaving your form.
"Yes, they are, aren't they?" Sherlock muttered, observing your movement as you ate. He took a few as well, stuffing them in his mouth to occupy himself.
"You alright?" You asked, noticing his dazed look.
"What?" he asked before processing what you'd said. You giggled softly at his unawareness. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just thinking."
"C'mon, Mister Holmes. Let's get you back to your flat already," you smiled, standing up and throwing the empty basket into the rubbish bin. He sighed and followed you out the door.
"221B Baker Street," he reminded.
"I remember it, don't worry," you said, running a hand through your hair and looking at the directions to the flat on your mobile. It wasn't all that far away.
The detective followed closely behind you before catching up as you made your way down the street. He tried making small talk but was in too fuzzy a state to hold up a normal conversation. He gave up and resorted to just looking at you silently as you walked. You noticed but tried to ignore it.
"Here we are," you said a few minutes later, arriving at a door with the right address labelled in bright gold lettering.
"Home sweet home," he said, taking his hand out of his jacket pocket to retrieve a key from his jeans. He unlocked the door and walked in. You stayed on the street.
"Well, this has been wonderful Mister Sherlock Holmes, but I should be getting home," you said, waving awkwardly.
"Yeah, bye," he said, smiling just a bit.
You blushed, looking down. You let yourself linger just a bit longer, not wanting to leave.
"I wish to see you again," he stated suddenly.
"Are you being serious? " you asked sceptically, looking back up at him.
"Mhm, of course, I am. Give me your phone," he demanded.
"Er ... yeah, okay," you said, slowly handing over the mobile.
After a moment of him typing something, he handed you back the device. You looked at the screen and saw that he had put his number in your phone and texted himself so he had yours.
"Okay," you mumbled.
"You're interesting. Unlike everyone, I've ever met. I like it," he said. You smiled.
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," you said.
"Good, that's what I was going for," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Sherlock? Is that you?" A male voice shouted from farther back in the flat. Sherlock sighed.
"Yes, John. Didn't know you were awake," he shouted back. A pair of footsteps could be heard plundering down the hallway and a short man with blond hair appeared in your vision.
"What the hell were you doing out so bloody late? It's past midnight! And where were you?" John demanded. Sherlock sighed again, ignoring the questions to turn back to you.
"You seem to be in trouble with your flatmate," you joked. He laughed dryly.
"Yeah," he said.
"Who is that?" John asked, walking closer to look at you.
"John, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is John," Sherlock introduced.
"Oh, hello. Do you want to come inside?" John asked.
"No thank you, sir. I should really be going now. I was just helping him get home before he did something even more stupid than the list he has in his pocket," you said. "It was nice meeting you."
"Yeah, you too," John said, stepping back to search Sherlock's jacket pockets. He grabbed the list and began to read it, leaving Sherlock time to say his goodbyes.
"Farewell, Sherlock," you smiled
"Good day, (Y/N)," he said. "I'll text you."
"I'd like that," you replied. He smiled again. You liked it when he smiled.
"Alright, Sherlock, now you need to explain to me why you thought this was okay," John interrupted, pulling the detective by the arm. You laughed and shook your head as you walked away, pulling the door shut as you left. He had a lot to answer for and he knew it.
You felt your heart soar as you went over everything that had occurred in the past hour or so. You had just met the most genius man you had ever seen. And he was attractive, too. An added bonus. You were shocked that he wanted to see you again. You were just an ordinary person, in your mind. But. if you really think about it, what normal person is out so late at night? None you knew.
You sighed as you realised how far you were from your flat. It would take the rest of the night to get back, you figured.
Your stomach filled with butterflies as you heard your name being shouted down the street. You turned to look and saw Sherlock half hanging out his doorframe, calling you back. You made your way down the street.
"Stay the night. It's late and you're alone," Sherlock said as you made it back. You blushed as he pulled you into his flat.
"Don't you have to deal with John?" You asked.
"He can wait until the morning for explanations. You need a place to stay, and I have a bed for you to sleep on. There should be some pyjamas in the wardrobe that will fit you," Sherlock explained.
"I can sleep on the sofa," you offered.
"Nonsense. Use my bedroom, I'm not going to sleep anytime soon," Sherlock argued.
"Alright, fine. But only for a little while. I'll leave first thing in the morning," you said, shaking your head.
"If you insist," he said. You smiled as he led you back through the apartment to the bedroom.
"Here you go," he said, opening the door for you.
"Thank you, Sherlock, really," you said.
"I should be thanking you. Who knows what I would have done if you hadn't brought me back home. Probably something illegal," Sherlock joked. You smiled.
Just then, a wave of courage rushed through you and you reached up on your tiptoes to place a light kiss on his cheek. His face flushed red and he smiled before giving a little bow as he closed the door behind him when he left you to yourself.
"Goodnight, (Y/N)," you heard him mumble before he disappeared behind the heavy door.