Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

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After coffee, we went for a walk, discussing his cases, and my books.
"You're intelligent, but you know that don't you?" He gazed curiously at me.
"Of course, I'm far superior when it comes to intelligence." I smiled firmly at him.
"Not to me."
"Why not?" I stopped, gazing at him with confusion.
"Because I'm far superior in intelligence." Sherlock said simply, peering at me like there were snakes crawling out of my eyes.
"I must disagree." I retorted, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly.
"Why? It's a known fact." Sherlock argued, sitting on the bench. I sat down next to him, gazing out over the water.
"I read more." I explained, watching the boats float aimlessly around.
"I examine more." Sherlock glared at me, as if he was challenged by someone else's intelligence for the first time. The thought of this made me smile.
"You're afraid I'm smarter than you." I chuckled softly. He flinched, turning to look at the water.
"I'm afraid you're overconfident in your thought process, you see people like books, I see people like objects." He explained.
"Is that not the same thing?"
"No, you see the contents, their personalities, but you can't see their lives." I gazed firmly at him, but I knew he was right, he knew more about people than I could ever hope to.
"Can you teach me?" I asked, earning a look of confusion from the detective.
"Teach you?" He repeated, the words rolling off his tongue, like he was checking if they were toxic. "Why?"
"Because you're an amazing detective, and I'm a bookworm." I shrugged, leaning forward, to gaze out at the water. The waves burbled quietly, splitting the silence between us.
"It's not something I can teach." His stare hardened, as if I had insulted his talents.
"Well your older brother taught you." I argued, leaning against the side of the bench.
"How did you-"
"We all learn from someone, and you are not the type of character to be close to their parents, so, older sibling, and from your lack of interest in a female companionship, you weren't close to a mother or a sister, alas, older brother." I concluded, feeling pride bubble up in my chest. He stared at me, his eyes filled with curiosity.
"Maybe I misjudged you, Ms. (L/N)." A tight smile formed on his face. Amusement glittered in my eyes, but I simply bowed my head in thanks. "I can try to teach you, but you'll have to come to my flat, not your own." At that moment, I knew I was his new experiment, he wanted to test me, push me to my limits and further, and for some reason, I didn't mind. I enjoyed my quiet sheltered life, running a charity from a distance, and keeping up with new books, yet this fork in the road left me curious. Continue down my normal path? Or run off learning new things with this strange man? Yesterday I would have chose the first one; but that was yesterday.
"I think I can do that." My voice come out shrill and small, I felt the anxiety clenching up in my throat, screeching at me to turn back and go to my flat, and read for a few days. Sherlock flashed a tight smile, and stood. I gazed cautiously at him, before standing with him.
"I'll walk you home." He spoke gently, before starting towards my home. I hesitated, before following him.
The walk home was fairly silent, other than the humming noises of the city around us. Street lights split the darkened streets, giving off a looming glow. Sherlock's features seemed amplified in the low light, his cheekbones looked sharper, his eyes were more enchanting, and his tall thin figure was almost a beacon of hope that I would escape the darkness, and return to my comfortable flat soon enough. He must have noticed me staring, because he stopped and turned to face me.
"Why are you afraid of leaving your flat?" He asked suddenly, his firm gaze planted on my trembling form.
"I'm not afraid-"
"You're lying." His tone hardened, making me flinch.
"Outside is dangerous." I whispered, pushing past him.
"Why?"
"You can be killed."
"You can be killed at home too. What if someone blows up your flat? Or comes in and shoots you and your mother? You can't run from death,
(Y/N)." Sherlock pointed out, leaning against the lamppost.
"I can try." I retorted, turning to face him.
"What are you scared of, what will kill you?"
"My brother." I growled, glaring harshly at Sherlock. "My brother will kill me." Sherlock hesitated, staring at me from under the light. The contrast between us grew, I stood in the dark, and he stood in the light. I would run from danger, and he'd face it with an iron fist.
"What's your brother's name?" He stepped out of the light. I flinched, looking away.
"Lets go back to my flat." I muttered, walking away before he could reply.

How could I tell him?