Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

•12•

I must have paced around my room for 30 minutes after John had left. Why was I so nervous to face him, he should mean nothing to me after what happened.
But he does The little voice in the back of my mind replied. I glanced at the books I had been reading, most of which were love stories of those who overcame some kind of tragedy, or mistake.
"This isn't like me." I muttered. "He's in my head all the time." I sat down on my bed and took a deep breath.
I didn't leave my room for the following hours, although I heard Sherlock get home at some point. Slowly I stood up, I was wearing a dress shirt and a skirt. I left my room slowly, trying not to be heard at first, but once I reached the living room, I saw him. His eyes were closed, completely intune with his thoughts, his fingers were pressed gingerly against his lips, as he tried to map out whatever case he had taken in his head.
"John could you-" His eyes opened, and he froze. I stared back at him, but my eyes lacked the malice they normally contained when he saw me.
"Sorry to bother you." I murmured, looking down at the floor.
"You haven't bothered me at all, (Y/N)." His voice came out softer than usual.
"I just wanted to tell you I'll be joining you and John for dinner tonight." I informed him, feeling vulnerable under his gaze.
"Good, that's good, I haven't seen more than toast taken from the cupboard in a while, you need a real meal." Sherlock's brow lowered with concern.
"Your worry is appreciated, but not necessary." I replied, straightening myself.
"No, it's not necessary for me to worry about you, but I do it anyways." Sherlock shrugged, standing up, but keeping his distance.
"Thank you." I nodded.
"And just to inform you, that blouse doesn't match that skirt." He shot me a sly wink and turned back to the window. I couldn't help but let out a short laugh, and walked back to my room.
John arrived almost immediately after I finished changing, and came to retrieve me from my room.
"Dress nice, we'll be going to a restaurant!" John called through the door.
I got changed again, this time into a black dress, with laced shoulders and chest. (Shown at the beginning)
I came out of my room, feeling butterflies tickle the inside of my stomach. I entered the living room, seeing the boys dressed up and ready to go, they looked surprisingly dapper, making me wonder what kind of dinner this would be.
"You look nice, (Y/N)." John smiles, being the first to acknowledge me.
"Thank you."
"Yes, you look very nice." Sherlock nods calmly, seeming much less vulnerable since when we talked earlier.
"Thanks, Sherlock." I smile softly, walking to the door.
"The dinner will be taking place not too far from here, so I suppose we can walk." John explained, descending down the stairs.
"I should remind you, you two are in suits, I'm in a dress." I frowned, following them anyways.
"No one told you to wear a dress." John smirked, a common 'man phrase'. I glared playfully at him and walked onto the street, it was a bit chilly as I suspected. This is London after all.
Sherlock strutted by my side, closest to the street, a gentlemanly gesture I suppose. I was angry with him, I felt it in my soul, but I must admit there was so much care for such a bizarre man. I glanced up at him, his sharp cheekbones looked sharper under the streetlights, his eyes glistened with something new, something alive.
"You're staring." His eyes shifted to me, a smirk playing across his lips. I jumped, looking down as my face heated immensely.
"I was looking at you, Sherlock. I forgot how stupid you looked with your collar up all the time." I retorted teasingly, smiling as a frown crossed his face.
"Oh sure." He chuckled, speeding his walk to pace a few paces in front of me.
The restaurant arrived just up ahead, it stood out amongst the old buildings with gorgeous modern architecture.
"You two were going on a fancy date." I murmured, catching John's threatening stare.
"It was a celebration for catching a poisoner and saving a building of people." John explained, shrugging simply.
We seated ourselves at the farthest table from everyone, Sherlock sitting across from me and John beside him.
We ordered a bottle of fine wine, and drank ourselves into blissful conversation, laughing and teasing happily, like old times. Even though it was so normal, the familiar ache in my heart cried out every time I looked at Sherlock.
John was in the bathroom when we finally got to talk directly.
"I haven't seen you smile like that in a long time." Sherlock observed.
"You haven't seen me in a long time." I glanced at him, noticing the regret in his eyes.
"(Y/N) I'm-"
"I'm sorry." I cut him off.
"What?" He looked up at me, his eyes wide with confusion.
"All you've done these past few hours is try to make me feel comfortable and  happy and I've just kept trying to do the opposite. We weren't together when you kissed that woman, so I think its time I let it go." I explained, smiling gently at him.
"You forgive me?" He stared at me with surprise and confusion.
"Yes, I do."
"Well... I wasn't expecting this." Sherlock commented. "Thank you, (Y/N)." A smile crossed his face.
"Not a problem, Sherlock."
We both smiled, and the evening continued as normal.