A/N: So....been a while, huh?
Yes I know I know. It's been almost a year. But I'm trying to get back into the groove of things.
Quick Key for this one shot:
(E/C) = Eye color
(S/N) = Sister's name
Thank you to Avengers__ASSEMBLE for requesting #28 (I'm sorry it took so long)
#28: "God, you don't know what you fucking do to me."
Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: Swearing, Mention of sex
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You hated Sherlock Holmes.
Of course, a lot of people did. You were just one of the many who wished he could just disappear in the most painful way imaginable.
Unfortunately, you also lived with the man. That was probably where the hatred for him started. You hated his three am performances of Kreisler violin pieces. You loathed how you would come home to him shooting the wall as well as driving you up it. You despised whenever you wanted to find or put something in the fridge you had to move some strange frozen body parts. You detested the messes that he left everywhere for others to clean.
Most of all, you hated his damn smirk that he saved for the common occasion that he knew something you didn't. It aggravated you to the point in which you wanted to rip it off and smash it with a hammer.
So it was completely understandable that you were glaring at that exact expression as Sherlock had deduced something about your sister having sex with your ex-boyfriend.
"She wanted him from the start. You were just too daft or, more plausibly, too sentimental to notice," Sherlock informed you.
"You know what, Sherlock?" You spat at the curly haired man. "Go fuck yourself, since no one else wants to."
The smirk on Sherlock's face was stuck there on his face as you huffed out of the room. John just so happened to go past you with all your angry glory with wide eyes. As soon as the army doctor entered the sitting room, he looked at Sherlock for an explanation.
"What did you do this time?" John asked, obviously irritated.
"Her sister and her ex are hooking up. Thought she should know," Sherlock replied casually, picking up a book before flipping through it.
"God...Sherlock, why the hell don't you just tell her?"
"What do you mean? I just did."
"That's not what I meant." John gave him the 'you know what I mean now just agree with me' look.
The detective chose to ignore this look before returning to his book. John informed him that they would be going to dinner with everyone tomorrow night, but he wasn't paying attention. His mind was distracted by a pair of deep (E/C) eyes that danced across his memories.
When you'd stormed out of the flat, you knew you'd need to find a place to stay. You would usually call up your sister, but you weren't too keen to do that after the previous conversation with Sherlock.
God! That man made you want to scream. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut for once in his life? Then again, at least you knew about (S/N)'s relationship... Maybe Sherlock wasn't too bad, however poor his news delivery was.
Snap out of it! You need a place to stay so you didn't become a murderer of handsome consulting detectives tonight. Maybe James could help...
You called up your old friend James. Fortunately, he said that he had a spare room you could stay in for the night and asked no questions. You were lucky to have him.
When you'd appeared at the doorsteps of James' house, he led you to your bedroom and said he'd make dinner soon.
"You don't have to do that," you told him. "I'm pretty tired. I'll probably just go to bed. Thanks, though." Not a lie. You were exhausted.
"Suit yourself," James replied, before leaving you to do your own thing.
You smiled a little before changing and plopping on the bed. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were fast asleep.
Sherlock missed you so much that night.
He knew he screwed up badly. He'd pressed all the right buttons to drive you crazy. Then again, it was better that you knew rather than to find out in a dramatic fashion later.
The entire night he thought you'd come back and he'd be able to apologize for once. But you never did. And that made him worry.
He would pace and mutter and tug on his perfect curly locks. At one point he even considered looking for the drug stash, but he knew that you wouldn't like that.
Then again, you didn't like him at all. For good reason, too. He was an ass and every time he talked to her he just...couldn't help it. He needed some way to push away the *shudder* sentimental feelings he was getting whenever he would see your beautiful smile or when your eyes would light up whenever your favorite show was on or--
And there go the feelings again, dammit. The fluttering and giddiness that filled him up. It could almost make him sick.
The door opened and he nearly touched the ceiling with his head. He looked over with wide eyes to see none other than...
John. How disappointing.
Sherlock slumped back into his chair of sorrow and John rolled his eyes. "(Y/N)it's at a friend's house so you can stop worrying."
"Who said I was worrying?" The curly haired detective then proceeded to chew off a bit of nail from his thumb that he had missed before.
"Please, Sherlock, it's written all over your face! Just...tell her you like her already, dear God."
Sherlock didn't respond. Instead, he clasped his hands together in prayer position and ignored all of space, time, and reality (all we need now is power, soul, and mind, right?). He entered his Mind Palace...
You tromped up the stairs, soaking wet. Damn that puddle...and that bloody cab that couldn't watch the road. The flat was silent, thankfully, so you entered to see Sherlock sitting in prayer position on his chair. Seeing him made your blood boil, head spin, and stomach flutter.
Why'd he have to be so bloody handsome?
Actually, better question: Why couldn't he treat you nicely?
You usually spent this glorious time of peace by having some personal time in the living room. This time, however, you crept towards the man and stared at him.
Staring at him and his peaceful gave you closure, probably. On your hatred. Maybe it was never hatred at all. Just denial.
"Why can't we just be friends? I know you don't feel the same, but..." You trailed off in a soft whisper. You paused for a moment before starting to walk away.
Something grabbed your wrist and you froze.
"You're back," the smooth low voice said.
You nodded, not daring look down at the detective lest you die of mortification.
"Do you...really want to be friends?"
You nodded again.
"What if..." Sherlock trailed off, leaving a million possibilities to that sentence.
What if I detest you?
What if I don't want to?
What if I have Mrs. Hudson kick you out?
What if...
You could hardly take it anymore as you pulled your hand away and walked away.
He didn't stop you.
You kept ignoring Sherlock, but this time for a different reason. You couldn't stand looking at him because you feared the inevitable rejection. Because you couldn't take him not tolerating your existence.
It made your chest ache every time you saw him. But you looked away and kept walking as if he didn't even exist. He did the same.
But it couldn't last forever. You would have to face him at some point. However, it wasn't up to you.
"(Y/N)!" you heard John yell from outside your bedroom door. You trudged toward the door before yanking it open.
"Yes?" Your throat felt hoarse.
"I'm having tea in a bit. Wondered if you wanted to join me."
"Will he be there?" The implication was plain as day.
"No, he's off somewhere doing whatever he does. Doesn't tell me anything, of course."
You contemplated for a moment, debating whether or not the tea was worth it before nodded weakly.
John smiled. "Alright. I'll give you a minute to..." his eyes gazed at your stained pajama pants and frizzy hair. "Freshen up."
He left and I quickly brushed my hair and changed into decent clothes. You went downstairs and into the flat to see that Sherlock was sitting at his usual spot, wearing his infamous purple button up. You turned to walk out of the flat when you saw that the door was closed. Trying it anyway, you felt a ping of disappointment and dread hit when it was locked.
Damn you, John...
Turning around, you saw that Sherlock's eyes hadn't left you the entire time. Face burning, you walked towards him and sat across from him, staring him down.
"Tea?" You asked, beginning to stand before the consulting detective reached out towards you and grabbed your wrist. A clear signal as any. You lowered yourself back down.
"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" Sherlock leaned back into his chair. "John set you up, didn't he?"
"Yes," you replied.
"Mrs. Hudson did the same for me. I should've known. She seemed unusually friendly. I think they might've noticed that our...animosity has decreased tenfold."
"Some might say that's a good thing."
"Some, perhaps. But I think our situation deserves a special look at, don't you?"
"Listen, Sherlock," you interrupted him before he could go off on a neverending tangent that neither of you really wanted to endure. "I get it. You don't like me. That's fine. I'll just--"
"Wait." Sherlock's expression was that of shock. "You think...you think I don't like you?"
My eyebrows crinkled together. "Uh, yeah? I mean, you don't seem to ever want me around and always seem pleased to piss me off, so I just assumed--"
"I don't hate you," Sherlock interjected, "Actually, far from it. You...you. God, you don't know what you fucking do to me, (Y/N). I can't sleep because I worry what you're doing or if you'll ever feel the same way as I do about you. I can barely breathe when I see the sight of your face. Hell, I can barely think straight when I'm around you and you know how I feel about not being able to think. Whenever I enter my Mind Palace, I see your face and hear your words and I can't seem to get you out no matter how hard I try." Sherlock's face was that of desperation and vulnerability.
You were taken aback by his words. Your head spun just trying to grasp the concept of his words. He...didn't hate you?
"I understand you don't feel the same," Sherlock continued. "But what if..." Those same, cursed words that made your head run rampant. "What if I don't want to be friends? What if I want more?"
His impossibly colored eyes searched yours as you tried clear your head. He...liked you. Not just in a friendly way either but...he liked you, liked you. A smile broke out on your face at the thought. You couldn't help but jumped out of your seat to smash your mouth against his.
Sherlock couldn't move for a moment but slowly got into it as the two of you kissed long and passionately. He was the first to pull away as he stared into your eyes.
"I'll take it you want the same?" He asked with that damned smirk of his.
"Took you long enough." You smiled and leaned in again for another mind-blowing kiss.
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A/N: FINALLY FINISHED! MY LIFE CAN BE COMPLETE.
Not really but still.
Anywho, hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!!
--Kris