Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

•6•

"Sherlock!" I banged on the bathroom door. "Open the door, you bloody-" The door swung open before I could finished, revealing Sherlock with a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Quit being impatient." He grumbled, exiting the bathroom.
"Quit hogging the only toilet." I called after him.
It had been only 2 weeks since I had moved my stuff into the flat, and I hadn't left the flat since.
Sherlock left often on cases, usually with John. I had gotten used to the sudden shouting and scrambling around the flat, throwing books, and knives, yelling about Christmas and murder.
"Morning, (Y/N)!" John entered the flat, carrying Rosmund, his 2 year old baby, who I could hear babbling from the toilet.
"I'll be out in a moment, John!" I shouted, washing my hands swiftly.
"It's alright, I'm just dropping Rosmaund off, Sherlock is watching her while I'm at work." I walked out of the bathroom, and waved to the small child, who stumbled around.
"Sherlock is good with kids? That's not like his character." I shot John a puzzled look.
"For the last time, (Y/N), Sherlock isn't a book character, so he's not going to act like your clichés!" John sighed, leaning against the wall.
"Personality traits, created by the human mind, to match the persona of a certain person, they're not cliché, they're fictional human personalities." I corrected him, jutting a hand out just as his baby began to fall.
"Impressive."
"My intellect has that affect on people-"
"I meant how you caught Rosmaund." John grinned, biting back a laugh as my face flushed with embarrasment.
"Oh, right." I brushed a stray hair behind my ear, and looked away.
"John, you're early." Sherlock commented as he entered the living room.
"Work needs me." He replied coolly, with a simple shrug.
"Thats surprising." Sherlock muttered, crouching beside Rosamund.
"My work is important!" John grumbled, obviously recalling an old spat.
"You two are like an old married couple, it fits your characters." I pointed out, not even in a joking manner, it seemed to match their characters.
"Not gay!" John shouted, storming out the door.
"John's a doctor, yes?" I glanced at Sherlock for approval.
"Yes, he works at a clinic, give me your deductions for figuring that out." Sherlock sat down in his chair, watching Rosmund play with a toy pony. I sat across from him, in John's chair.
"His fingers and nails are well kept and clean, his hands smell of sterilizer, and he obviously has enough money to buy nice sweaters." I explained, leaning back in the comfortable seat.
"Very good, now how did you figure out he was a doctor." Sherlock's eyes burned into my own, but I held his gaze. One of the rules of deductions was to sound confident in what you were saying.
"Steady hands, patient outward demeanor, obviously capable of dealing with irritating, paranoid people for a long period of time, he didn't even look startled when I said I was going to buy pads last week, so that subject must be normal for him." I furthered my deductions, watching Sherlock's face shift with each new point.
"Interesting, work on your delivery of the deduction if you want to impress people." Sherlock commented, kneeling down on the floor, and beside Rosmund, who galloped her pony across his head.
"My delivery was fine." I retorted, grabbing a book off the table.
"It was choppy-"
"It was-"
"Book!" Rosmund giggled, extending her hands towards the book I was reading. I gazed at her, her beady eyes gleaming with childish cheer.
"She wants you to read to her." Sherlock explained, sitting back up in his chair.
"Me? But she doesn't even know me." I turned to look at the small pigtailed child.
"Read for her." Sherlock shrugged, sitting back.
"O-okay." I felt surprised when she sat down beside me, eager to listen. As I peered at her, her face shifted to that of my younger brother's, when he was only 4.
"Please read to me, (Y/N), you're so good at it!" He begged, flopped down on his back, belly facing the ceiling.
"You wouldn't understand the book." I stuck my tongue out teasingly, mischief shining in my 7 year old eyes.
I stood, looking towards my bag.
"Here, I'll get a better book." I walked over to my bag, unzipping it, revealing a small compartment with a worn down children's book in it. I carried it back to our spot, and sat down next to Rosamund. I ran my fingers along the makeshift rings, looking at the cover.
Rhys and (Y/N)
My heart ached as I stared at the cardboard cover. I flipped open the book, seeing my brother's handwriting.
"My name is Rhys. My sister is (Y/N). We live in London, England." I began, smiling a little when Rosamund pointed to the little drawing I made of us at the top.
"London is big, and because me and (Y/N) are kids, we don't go away from mom and dad." His spelling was almost impossible to read, and I had to fill in a few words that he made up, but I couldn't help but feel happy reading the little book.
"Dad is away a lot, and mom likes to sleep, so me and (Y/N) make forts, and watch the tele! She draws good, and makes funny jokes. She says I write good, and make her laugh!" Rosamund giggled and smiled brightly, I didn't even notice I was crying.
"We'll always be together, she's my big sister! And I'm really cool." I laughed a little.
"Love, Rhys and (Y/N)." I closed the book slowly, feeling the tears in my eyes.
"I'm the best at writing, right (Y/N)!" Rhys cried proudly.
"Right!" I shouted excitedly.
"You'll read all my books right?"
"I'll read every book in the world, and when you make yours, I'll show them that my brother is cool!" I smiled excitedly.
Rosamund had run off to play with her ponies again.
"Your brother's name is Rhys?" Sherlock asked, but I barely heard him.
"I promised him I'd read every book, so when he made his, I'd show everyone how much better he was." I whispered, feeling Sherlock's gaze.
"And?"
"He still matters to me Sherlock, even if I'm scared of him, even if he hurt me, I love him, my baby brother, and I will never break a promise to him." I explained solemnly, but Sherlock's expression gave no hint of sympathy, instead he sank down to the floor beside me.
"I hate seeing you sad." He muttered, wiping my tears away. My face flushed red as he did so, I turned away, not wanting him to see my embarrassment.
"Why?"
"Because every beautiful piece of literature you've ever read, pales in comparison to the story that made you who you are." Sherlock smiled softly, making my face much darker.
"I'm not beautiful, nor do I pale in comparison." I smiled gently at him.
"If you can't see you for who you are, get a better mirror, look a little closer, stare a little longer." He said softly, this gentle side of Sherlock caught me off guard. "It's a quote, by Shane Koyczan, I thought it was appropriate." Sherlock explained. I couldn't help but chuckle.
"You ruined it!"
"Ruined what?"
"The sweet- Ugh never mind." I chuckled, he always knew how to cheer me up.

So I don't really like how I wrote this chapter, I mean I like the idea of the flashbacks with Rhys, but I feel like I could have done better ^^'