A thorn by any other name would hurt just as deep, or whatever the saying is.
~~~
Greg Lestrade would say Sherlock Holmes was always the smartest in the room. Whether at 221B or Scotland Yard, no ordinary person ever came close to compete with his...
Sherlock watched from afar as you showed Jim different paintings. You could feel his never-ending stare, whether that was for you or Jim, would be something only Sherlock could answer.
"Have you heard from Rockwell?" Jim suddenly brings up while you both admire an original work restored from the 1850s.
Rockwell, or Ryan Brockwell as some people would know, is one of London's highest-ranking crime lords besides Jim. He ran one of the most exclusive criminal clubs in Europe, based in central Soho. Everyone feared him, but no one scared him more than you and Jim.
Every few months, Rockwell would invite the world's most dangerous and deranged elites to his club for a meeting. In no way was it formal, but it certainly wasn't a night to dance away. Ten crime lords and their plus one would sit at a large table and discuss any threats that may arise.
For the past year, you hadn't been able to attend, but since your return to central London, you had been counting on him to hold one for you to attend finally. Yes, you weren't exactly a crime lord, but your infamy had always put you on top of the government's most-wanted list.
"Is he asking for me?" You inquire, knowing the importance of attending.
"He's heard you're back and wants your input on the shipments down south," Jim hasn't ever enjoyed the meeting due to the rowdy acts of the other lords. You found it enjoyable, like a mad tea party held by toddlers.
"Great," you drop your head.
"I'll take this one," he points to the painting, "and those four there," he gestures to a whole wall before walking back with you. "I will call you closer to the date about any arrangements needed,"
"I need more vials; we've been on a rampage," you note, "Seb, can you get more supplies? I'll probably come over within the week,"
Seb nods and starts to order shipments. "I'll order extra for stock,"
"This is why you're my favourite," you give him a pat on the back before returning to Sherlock's side. "Thank you for your time, Mr Moriarty,"
"Jim, please," he insists, giving Sherlock a smirk. Both men soon leave the gallery without a second look, and Greg soon meets your side.
"Before any of you bombard me with questions, yes, I'm okay. No, he didn't say anything except that he wanted more paintings for his house. Yes, I just got the biggest sale of the night," you put a hand on Sherlock's arm. "So don't worry,"
Greg was still unsure, but Sherlock could tell you weren't too on edge from the interaction, which was all he needed to know. He trusted you to tell him if anything went wrong.
Anna then appears by your side, "Head home, I'll close up," she holds up a key to assure you. "But I need to know who that guy you were talking to, the one in the suit,"
"Anna!" You do a double take, "No way, that's-" You caught yourself before you could call Jim a friend, "he's a criminal," you whisper instead.
"As if that's ever stopped me," she scoffs, "I'll find his number eventually." Waving you off, she turns to find the information she wants while you slap your forehead.
"Shall we?" You gesture to the door while the group watches in shock. "Ignore her, let's just go,"
~~~
"I don't think I complimented you tonight," Sherlock walks with you down the street while the others walk a few feet behind. "You looked gorgeous, well you look gorgeous," he stammers, "before and now, not that- oh never mind,"
"I know what you mean," you take his arm and squeeze it, "you look handsome too, by the way,"
"It's just what I usually wear," he looks at you in confusion.
"I know what I said," you reassure, smiling as you walk but not daring to meet his eye.
His blush rose up; his face tinged just enough for you to catch it under the illuminating street light. "Thank you," he mumbles, pulling you a little closer as subtly as he could
"You're welcome," 221b eventually came into view. "I may just head back to my flat, I'm pretty tired,"
"Oh, Goodnight then, dear," Mrs Hudson kisses your cheek while the other two hug you.
"Would you like me to walk you home?" Sherlock asks.
"That would be nice," you look at him with the sweetest smile, his mind taking into account every detail.
The two men watch as you both walk away, exchanging a bit of money. "Ten quid says they kiss," Greg bets.
"Ten says it's a kiss on the cheek," John counters with a confident smile. "This isn't like Janine, he really likes Y/n,"
That wasn't hard to spot. Sherlock felt a new version of him arise around you, more warm and willing to take into account his feelings. He didn't want to divorce them with you; he wanted to share it all. He wanted to show his human side. The side that cared, the wide that cared for you.
The beginnings were a test of his patience, but seeing what was beneath that surface of professional snark, he could feel himself falling from grace.
You were a drug in his system, the high from your laugh relaxing his body to a state he couldn't get enough of. Had he never met someone like you, or was everyone else not doing it right? Were they lacking what you did?
Were they lacking the intelligence you held or the spark in your eyes when the puzzle pieces fell into place? You had turned his life upside down. His body, heart and mind were sacred and locked up like a treasure in the deepest oceans. But you stumbled along with the key, keeping his hand in yours while you unlocked every fear, caring for it like he never knew anyone could.
He could feel his walls burn down the moment you opened that lock. Like an effortless waltz, you knew each step closer towards his heart. Even amidst the mess that was the world you both lived in, you made it seem like an oasis, a paradise he could hardly imagine without your help.
You could say his name, and the world would stop. His eyes focused on you and you alone, every anxious thought fading out of his mind when your hands grazed and instead filled it with a sense of contentment.
This was what he wanted.
You were who he wanted.
"Thank you for tonight, Sherlock," you snapped him out of his thoughts, stepping out of the doorway you had just unlocked to place a sweet kiss on his cheek, "you mean- it means a lot to me,"
If only you knew how much you truly meant to him.
~~~
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