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...
How did you end up in this situation? Your heart is on fire, and your eyes are trailing from the tip of Sherlock's hair to the shine of his freshly polished shoes. His stoic look under the evening light had hit his cheekbones in such a specific way that you assumed he was an oil painting.
You always admired his features, even from the beginning, in a general way. You would never think your body would react like a magnet towards him. That admiration turned to fondness, and you hated to admit maybe that admiration went beyond platonic.
John was busy fixing his tie while Sherlock typed up a recent post for his blog. The two listened to the gentle music from the stereo, unaware of your quiet steps.
"You two clean up nice," you comment, dropping your coat and hanging it over the couch. Both men look up, and you wish you could have saved the look on Sherlock's face. His lips parted before sealing as he gulped gently, looking at you from head to toe in shock.
"You alright there, Sherlock?" John muses, causing the detective to snap out of the trance you had put him in.
"Perfectly fine," he stands up and walks to the kitchen for a glass of water.
"Told you," John looks at you.
"Shut up," you glare, "there's probably another reason why he reacted like that,"
"Like what?" John folds his arms, waiting for your response.
"How the hell should I know? I'm not Sherlock Holmes," you whisper. Soon enough, Sherlock had returned to the living room, looking at you with a more collected and not-so-flustered face.
"You look very nice," he says gently, "should we head off then?" Your coat was taken off the couch and placed over your shoulders, his skin running along your collar with a spark. Goosebumps started to appear along your arms, igniting all over your body as you looked over your shoulder to see a glint of sentiment in Sherlock's eyes.
"Thank you," you adjust the coat before taking his arm, which he instantly offers. Without another word, you both descended the stairs in comfortable silence.
John simply stood there in disbelief. "It's like living in a romance novel," he shakes his head. "I can't believe this is what I have to deal with,"
~~~
An institution of luxury held itself grand and clear as cars turned into the drop-off section of the vast front lawn. It could have been mistaken for a castle in fantasy books, with the fountain statue spewing illuminated water and roses blossoming from tall bushes. The venue was at least three stories high with gothic cathedral carvings depicting century-old stories while the point of the room glinted as sharp as a dagger.
Leading to the ballroom seemed to be the richest maroon carpet, bulb floor lights leading the way to a heavenly-lit hallway. It was the most beautiful sight for miles, possibly the grandest view you'd ever have the pleasure to see.
Sherlock got out of the car first, jogging around to open the door for you. With your hand placed in his, he was quick to shut the door on John, who simply grumbled. Greg could be seen at the top of the velvet staircase, watching in delight as Sherlock started comfortable small talk with you, watching you in such a way he could only describe as true love.
While Sherlock would say otherwise, his body betrayed him as the hold your hand on his arm sent a shiver through him. His face could feel a blush every time you looked his way, eyes always falling deep into yours. Yet again, the world just stopped, breath hitching at the feel of your skin against him, the smell of your perfume in his system and grip gently reminding him you were right there.
He wasn't dreaming. You really were here.
Greg couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he greeted the two of you. Soon enough, John would join. "This reminds me of our second year," he notes, hands in his pocket, "at least you have a date this time,"
You remember your second year of University when you had convinced Greg to tag along with you to the ball. It was a core memory for you, one of the only friends you had during your tertiary education. Greg had always played a large role in your life.
But enough reminiscing.
You scoff, "It was hard as fancy, and Sherlock is not my date,"
"I invited Y/n as I invited you two," Sherlock leads you away. "Can you believe them?"
"Honestly," you tug at his arm, "so, before we start exploring the possibility of a murder taking place, we need to get right to the buffet table,"
"If that's what you want to do, then yes," he says softly, unable to hold back his smile when you take his hand and tug him a little more towards the table.
You were sure to keep an eye out for Jim and the target he was keen on getting rid of. In no way did you know how he was going to execute it all, but you had hope for it to be clean and precise.
Just as you had finished grabbing foods of all sorts, your thoughts of Jim must have summoned him. Sebastian was by his side, both in pristine suits, which was an odd sight when it came to Seb.
"Is that Moriarty?" You point out, wanting to at least say hi once during the night.
Just as you say that, Jim looks in your direction and grins. He starts to make his way over, causing Sherlock to grab your waist and pull you closer, almost acting like a barrier between you and your friend. "Ah, didn't expect to see you here,"
"Yes, you did," Sherlock scowls.
"Yes, I did," he admits with a laugh. He then looks at you with a tilted head. Knowing him, this means he had his opinions locked and loaded. "Y/n, correct? I would just like to say thank you for your advice on those paintings,"
"It's my job, Mr Moriarty,"
"Come now, Y/n, Jim is just fine," he says, making you roll your eyes internally. "May I have a word, though?"
"I don't see why not," you try to move, but Sherlock's grip holds you tight, his eyes looking to you in concern. "I'll be fine. You'll be able to see me," giving his arm a small rub and squeeze, he reluctantly let go.
By this point, Sebastian had walked to John and Greg, who were watching in amusement. "Any updates on the whole Y/n Sherlock situation, Captain?" He stands beside both men and watches.
"None that would be big news, Colonel," John sighs, "enjoying your night?"
"Just about," he then looks to Greg, "Detective inspector," he nods.
"Colonel," Greg hesitantly nods back.
~~~
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OOo what's gonna happennnn~ (I actually forgot for a second and had to reread the future chapters lol)
