Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

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I peered out curiously from behind my shelves, the man was tall, with curly locks of hair. His eyes were cold and logical, scanning my apartment with precise concentration. I stepped out cautiously, gazing at the young man. His gaze flicked to me.
"Oh." Was all he said. I noticed his partner behind him, a flash of surprise in his eyes.
"You remind me of a book character." My voice came out small, smaller than usual. This stranger was far more interesting than any of the psychiatrists mother brought.
"Do I?" His sharp gaze pierced through my thoughts, leaving me feeling bare under his watch.
"Yes, you're like Auguste Dupin-" I lifted the book 'The Murders in Rue Morgue'. "He was brilliant."
"You figured out who I was by seeing me once and matching me to a book character?" Sherlock asked, as he began to pace around me.
"Yes, just some simple observations and an old book character. It's easy to figure out someone, once you've learned to see them through the pages of books." I answered, putting my book back on its shelf.
"You observe people and match them with book characters?" Sherlock's partner spoke up.
"Yes." I turned and peered at him. He was so much more simple than Sherlock, fewer places to read between the lines. "You're a typical side kick to a much brighter person, people see him before they see you. Your life is fairly normal without him, you probably have a family, normal holidays, normal outings without him, you're a side character." My voice had grown more monotone over the conversation, I was now used to these two strangers, and had them figured out.
"She's good." Sherlock commented, looking at his slightly offended partner. "I thought you'd be boring, but no, you're so interesting." His pacing stopped, his eyes scanned my face, reading me, analyzing me.
"As are you, I say Auguste Dupin lightly, he was a brilliant detective, but he does not suit your... well you." I explained, smiling tightly at him. He chuckled, skimming his fingers over my book shelves.
"You're very organized." He turned his back to me, fixating on the books themselves.
"As are you." I gazed firmly at him, feeling a slight unfamiliar confidence in my chest.
"Wrong." He smirked, strutting around me curiously. I flinched, turning after him and until he was face to face with me. I felt uncomfortable with the close proximity but didn't back down.
"I'm not a book character (Y/N), though they do aid in your deductions, I'm different." His eyes flashed with something deep and complicated, something I couldn't comprehend. My breath hitched in my throat, he was so intelligent. Sherlock paused, scanning me, before turning and walking towards the shelves.
"Brunch." He muttered.
"What about it?" I shot him a curious glance.
"Tomorrow at the coffee shop down the street, the owner is a drug addict and her wife is cheating but we can ignore that." Sherlock shrugged causally, skimming through the books.
"I'll be there then." I nodded, feeling anxiety in my chest.
"Good, I will see you then." Sherlock smiled firmly, and exited the flat without another word. I stared after the strange man, watching his partner scramble out the door behind him. Mother stared at me, her eyes wide with confusion.
"I paid that bloody detective to come here, and he doesn't give me an answer!" She shouted, glaring at the door.
"He's taking me to brunch mother, I believe he's still on my case." I shrugged, grabbing a poetry book from my shelf and sitting in a comfy black leather chair, ready to spend the rest of my day inside other worlds.
"Like hell he is-" She rambled on angrily for a few hours, but I ignored it, scanning the beautiful lines of poetry and blocking out the ferocious nature of my mother.

~Timeskip~

Morning came quick, and I found myself getting ready to meet the strange man, Sherlock Holmes. I showered, relaxing myself before hand and preparing to come face to face over coffee with the only man who had ever acted like I do. Anxiety clawed at my belly like raging felines, but I did my best to ignore it. I put on a yellow shirt with a white Saturn cartoon on it and black ripped jeans, before stepping out the door. I gazed hesitantly around my hallway. It had been a while since I dared to leave my cozy, safe flat. The outside world was too much for a bookworm. Cautiously I crept down the stairs, and out onto the street. The noise was overwhelming, sending my heart skittering through my chest. I inhaled deeply, and walked awkwardly down the street. My thoughts went a mile a minute, taking in every person and pinpointing what kind of life they have. While doing this, I almost passed the coffee shop, but luckily I noticed a man fixing the sign. I pushed the heavy door open, and gazed around curiously until I saw Sherlock seated in a far corner. I moved quickly towards him, avoiding the people and objects around me. His eyes were fixed on my figure, observing my every movement. I sat down, and was surprised to find coffee and a (Favourite/pastry) in front of me.
"How'd you know?" I looked up at him.
"There were 7 books bookmarked on baking (Favourite/pastry)." Sherlock said simply, making me feel a little stupid for asking. On his plate was a plain croissant with butter, and a black coffee. I took a bite of my (F/P), feeling a slight contentment creep over my anxiety.
"This scares you." Sherlock shot me a curious look. I froze and glanced up at him.
"Yes." I whispered, turning my face to the table.
"Why?"
"You already know don't you?" I muttered, lifting my head to meet his eyes. He looked slightly taken aback, but I could feel the shame, hurt, and anger burning in my eyes.
"Yes I do." His voice was softer, less monotone than it was originally.
"Then please don't make me say it." I turned my gaze back to the table, and sipped the coffee.
"I won't. I just wanted coffee, not to examine you." He explained. I was surprised, I raised my eyes to him.
"Why?"
"Because you understand what it's like to think like me."