When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
Sherlock stood in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at his disoriented reflection. Darkness started to creep under his eyes the longer he stayed awake, but it seemed he just... couldn't sleep. Something was telling him you weren't okay every 10 minutes resulting in him making sure you were still sound asleep in his childhood bedroom.
"Sherlock," his mother knocks gently on the door.
"I'll be right out," he puts away the pack of cigarettes he had been eyeing for the past 5 minutes, hiding them in a secret compartment under the sink. "Sorry," he unlocks the door, looking down to his worried mother.
"What's wrong, my boy," she pats his cheek, "you've been in and out, around and about this entire house since you've got here,"
"I know. I'm fine," he moves towards his bedroom again, peaking through the slightly ajar door.
Seeing you just the same, a constant breath in and out your lungs, he felt the weight lift from his shoulders. This was becoming repetitive, manic, drastic. Over and over, and yet not one change.
You should be fine.
You will be fine.
Mrs Holmes took his arm, "have some tea, the kettles still hot," she led him away, his reluctance shown by the lingering fingers along the doorframe.
~~~
"So... who is she?"
"Y/n L/n," he mutters, "she used to live in the flat above John and I..."
"And now she's in danger why?" Mrs Holmes sipped at her tea.
"Because some criminal organisation wants to kill her," he says way too causally.
She chokes on her tea, staring wide eyed at him. "Why- what did she do??"
"The one thing you don't do to criminal organisations, mother," he deadpans, "double cross them..."
~~~
When night rolled over to make room for day, the sky laid out sunrise hues. Sherlock had passed out on the downstairs couch, drained from the events the night before. John had regained all and offered to help Mrs Holmes and Mr Holmes with breakfast.
When bacon grease started to sweep across the cottage environment Sherlock was up. Feeling as though it was Christmas morning like every year, he then realised why the house lacked such festive decor.
Instead of going forward to breakfast he hurried up the stairs to see if you were still asleep. Nothing but the slight breeze through the window moving the curtain was changed from last night. He crept closer, bit by bit until he was able to pull the covers back over your slightly shivering body.
Doing a once over, shutting the window and leaving, Sherlock trudges down to the kitchen. "Morning," Mrs Holmes greets.
"Morning, mum," he kisses her cheek, "eggs? Bacon?"
"And pancakes on the way!" His father raises the pan, "and berries on the way," he says with the biggest smile.
"I'll take a few upstairs," he piles a plate with all sorts, a cup of tea and water plus a few slices of fruit included.
~~~
Flashes of panic set through you, your body shooting upright and nearly tumbling over the edge of the bed. Confusion then took over like a dizzy spell, the room unfamiliar and daunting to no end. You fiddle with the soft and obviously cheap jumper, climbing out to the window.
Rural county views, what holiday homes yearn for, all in front of you. Doesn't dismiss the fact you had no idea where you were.
"You're awake," Sherlock's voice made you jump; In his hands was a tray filled with the most appealing foods. "Hungry?"
"Where am I?"
"You should eat," he places it on his desk, pushing aside the bronze sundial model.
"Where am I?" You persist with a stricter tone.
Sherlock's side glance to the door and sigh worried you, but his words were more shocking. "A safe house... which is my parent's house,"
"Your WHAT?!" He rushes forward and clasps a hand over your mouth. "Get off!" You push him back and start to pace, "why in the hell did you think it was a good idea to bring me here??"
"Because it's safe, and you're being hunted down," Sherlock's frustration seemed to surface so much quicker this time around. "Eat, then we can talk,"
"I'm not hungry," you turn away from him in spite, walking to the window and mindlessly peering out.
Sherlock's eyes flicker down along the wooden floors and carpet. His heart race calming, mind finally aligning to think clearly. "We're doing this for your safety, alright?" he stuffs his hands in his sweatpants pockets, "so please just... eat," he turns to the door for his quick getaway.
~~~
You weren't willing to leave the confines of your new room- or rather, Sherlock's old one. It was almost adorable seeing all the trinkets on shelves, brass scopes and compass. He was one to mix and match to create, surely.
Sat on the ledge of the window, you simply stare at the distant town, nerves building. So when the door clicks, your head snaps over, grabbing the nearest object; a sharp pen knife once standing on a wood block.
"Just me," Sherlock holds his hands up. "Bathroom's down the hall, I brought you a towel- we don't exactly have your clothes," he pries open his closet, taking out an old shirt from his University days and sweatpants in a smaller size—possibly from when he was younger. "I've grown a little, so hopefully it fits you," he lays the purple button up on top.
"You just have three of the same shirt, don't you?"
"What can I say? I'm a simple man," he finally felt relaxed, "didn't go snooping around my things, did you?"
"Hm... no, only the embarrassing stuff," taking the clothes and towel, a small nudge was given to him, "nice shirt, nerd,"
Sherlock glances down to his shirt from University as well; it was a stupid shirt, a small formula plus the word 'be greater than average'. "I thought it was funny,"
"It's adorable,"
~~~
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This is the equation ^^
Get it? Be greater than average? ha ha... it's funny okay??
