The Exception (sherlock x reader)

Chapter 19: Sentiment

~Sherlock's POV~

I still somewhat hated taking cabs, but it was the quickest way home. My mind was racing with the events of the last few hours. How I almost lost to The Woman, but I had prevailed, as always, because I did not let my heart rule my head.

Or do I?

I couldn't help but focus on the memories of The Woman and (y/n) that become intertwined when I was piecing things together back at Mycroft's. There were all the obvious signs, but it wasn't the same with (y/n) as The Woman. I tried shaking those thoughts away.

Feelings, are only good at one thing, causing the downfall of even the greatest. A sentiment found on the losing side, always, and I was never on the losing side. But still...

I had hardly noticed the cab pulling up to my building, I paid the driver and got out. As I rushed inside to avoid the rain pouring down, I found myself walking past the steps that led up to 221b, and in front of 221c, (y/n)'s flat. Why? I should leave, I knew I should. If anything I had taken away from tonight was to keep a healthy amount of distance as I always had with people, even those who were close to me.

I shook my head, I couldn't.

I turned and headed back towards my flat. At the base of the stairs, I noticed something I had missed in my initial confusion upon my arrival, (y/n), sitting at the top step asleep against the door. I quietly walked up the stairs and at first, I didn't want to wake her. She didn't look peaceful, I never found that people had peaceful looks while sleeping, but she seemed relieved to be asleep. I shook her shoulder with just enough force I thought it might wake her. She groaned and momentarily seemed to have forgotten where she had fallen asleep as had a confused look on her face as she gained consciousness.

"What are you doing?" I questioned, quite perplexed at why she would be here and not in her own bed in her apartment that was less than six meters away, or even in our apartment on the couch. Both options were undoubtedly more comfortable than the narrow wooden stairs.

(Y/n)s face flushed red as the blood flowed to her cheeks.

"Uh, I was going to wait inside, but I couldn't;t find the spare key and John is still out. I was waiting here and I guess I fell asleep it was a long day." She stumbled over her words as she pieced her story together, she was certainly choosing her words carefully, but too tired to mask it well.

"Here," I said as I unlocked the flat and swung the door open. (Y/n) quickly stood up. you had to resist the urge to offer her a hand up.

"Thanks." She mumbled and didn't meet my gaze as she entered the flat. I expected her to go for the sofa, but she didn't. She stood in the living room taking in the usual mess of papers from cases and other research John had done. She acted almost like a stranger, something she was far from in this space.

I broke the silence after a moment, though I usually wasn't uncomfortable with silence, I felt the need to say something.

"Did you need to talk to John?"

"...Yea, but it can wait. I'll just go." I looked at her as she spoke, trying to understand what was going on. Your gut told you she was lying, but you couldn't exactly place why and what the truth was. This usually happened because (y/n) was used to shielding her emotions from prying eyes and minds like mine or Moriarty's, but this was different. You weren't hiding, but I still couldn't see. Maybe I didn't want to see what was there. It turned around, this situation was giving me a headache, but I didn't want her to go. As I walked to the kitchen I simply replied with,

"Tea?" I kept my eyes away from hers, I felt she was trying to read me as well.

"Green." She replied, seemingly deciding to stay. The corner of my lip twitched into a small grin that I immediately repressed, returning to my normal blank and interested expression. I put the kettle on the stove and began heating the water. I rummaged through the cabinet, pushing past jars of preserved evidence I had borrowed from Scottland Yard, to get two mugs. When I turned back, (y/n) was in the kitchen a mere foot away from me. She caught me off guard and the surprise made heat rise to my cheeks.

"Are you feeling ok? You look flushed." She noted, staring at my face inquisitively. 

"No, I'm fine." Clearly she didn't buy this, she raised the back of her hand to my forehead, checking my temperature. The way her eyebrows scrunched together in concern captivated you. Few had looked at you that way. This wasn't the usual look of incredulous disbelief at his crime-solving abilities nor was it the look of disapproval he got from Anderson wither. Her face showed genuine concern for my well-being. I wasn't sure how I should respond. Human contact was not something I was used to receiving by any means. I felt I should move away, brush away her hand, but I couldn't. After a moment she let her hand fall down to her side, softly grazing my cheek as it fell.

"You're right, I should've expected that considering you're always right." Her words weren't mocking or jealous, she simple spoke as if stating a fact she believed wholeheartedly. 

"What?" (y/n) asked. I forgot I had been starring at her this whole time. 

"I was just wondering what you wanted to talk to John about." I lied.

"Actually," she hesitated, not sure if the next thing was the right thing to say. "I was waiting for you, I haven't seen much of you recently and I didn't really give you an explanation. It's just, the letters, they kept coming he won't stop-" tears began welling in her eyes. Seeing the despair and pain in (y/n)'s face made me feel terrible for not listening to her the other day when she decided to open up.

"You don't need to explain," I said, I wasn't thinking for the first time, just doing. "I should be the one apologizing." Somehow I had taken her hands in mine. I wasn't sure what I was doing anymore, but it felt right. "As long as I'm around you don't have to worry about him. He can't get to you, I promise." I brought my hand up to her face and cupped her cheek, wiping away a tear. 

If I hadn't been thinking before, I certainly wasn't now. 

I leaned down and softly pressed my lips against hers. They were soft and I could feel her warmth seep into my own lips as she kissed me back. I wrapped my other arm around her waist, pulling her closer. I never wanted to let her go.

Suddenly, the hissing of the teapot broke the silence. I blinked. I was standing alone in the kitchen, (y/n) was still in the living room. I silently cursed my mind palace, usually helpful, but right now it only made things worse. Even though (y/n) had never had her lips pressed against mine, I felt like I was missing something. How could I miss something that was never there?

"Are you ok, Sherlock?" (y/n) asked.

A sentiment found on the losing side...

"Yes, fine," I replied.