It was strange coming home that night, the stars seemed a little brighter, the faint yellow streetlights illuminating our path seemed a little warmer, the faded grey buildings of London had a certain shine tonight, almost like they were out of a book. I stared ahead at the back of the taxi, Sherlock on my right, his distant gaze fixated on something I couldn't see but I looked all the same. I looked into what I thought he could be pondering in his wistful little mind, all those murders and villains muddled up into one human, so human Sherlock was, even if he'd deny it for the rest of his days he was so human.
I breathed the cool night air as the cabbie opened my door for me, and slipped out into the night, my dress flowed behind me like water, everything felt slower to me, I was savouring this calm, this heat of happiness that lingered within my chest.
Neither of us spoke on our way into the flat, but we shared a deep relief between us, our frustration and annoyance had faded, and now all that was left was this. I pushed open our door, feeling the stale air flow out of it to greet us. And I smiled. As soon as my body met the couch I was out, and just like that, the night ended.
"(Y/N)'s been out cold since last night?" John chuckled, I could hear him placing his teacup on the counter.
"I checked for fever and any sign of illness, I diagnosed she is simply tired." Sherlock answered. I opened my eyes to peer at them through drooping lids.
"I am tired you buffoons, leave me be!" I cried, rolling back over and curling into the blanket that someone, probably Sherlock had left for me.
"Sorry (Y/N), just making sure you're healthy." I could practically hear John smirking. I groaned and rolled back over, dragging myself to a stand and wrapping my blanket around my stiff body.
"Who let me sleep in my dress?" I muttered, looking at the rumpled fabric that clung to me.
"You did." Sherlock grinned smart-assedly at me. I rolled my eyes and smiled a little, before moving to the kitchen.
"We're out of Earl Grey, hope you like Orange Pekoe." He called after me. I let out an extremely over-exaggerated groan, grabbing the tea from its jar. I heard John mock my groan from the living room. How rude. I took one of the tea bags and chucked it at his head, and hit with perfect precision.
"Bloody hell, (Y/N)!" He yelped, jumping out of his seat.
"You're lucky I didn't throw the water with it." I grinned an evil grin and plopped the tea into it's cup before heading to my bedroom to change.
I changed into a simple band tee and high waisted ripped jeans, pulling on some mismatched fuzzy socks, and snatched the murder mystery book off my end table on the way out.
"So who's the killer?" Sherlock inquired, watching me cross the sitting room to the couch.
"I'm not on chapter 12 yet, relax." I waved him off, leaning back into the cushions. He smirked at me with knowing eyes and went back to sipping his tea. I bore my attention into the pages of my book, gripping onto every single detail of all the characters in question. Chapter 11 luckily gave me an interrogation that helped me narrow it down to two characters, and by the end, I was stuck on either.
"Moris and Jerrison both had chances to kill him, both had a motive, and both were wearing the black hoodie spotted on the tapes the night of Horace's murder." I sighed, looking over at Sherlock with an exasperated gaze.
"And your conclusion is?"
"Give me a minute Mr. Impatient." I stuck my tongue out at him, skimming the last page again. "WAIT!" I jumped up from the couch. "Oh so obvious! They were both there to kill him, but they weren't working together, it was just a coincidence that they both came on the same night." Sherlock gave an approving nod, and sunk into his chair.
"But who killed Horace?" He asked.
"Moris, he was the one on the security tapes and the only one who had access to the house." I went on a whim there, but I had a 50/50 chance of getting this right and if I did-
"Look like I can continue teaching you about deductions." Sherlock said calmly, but I could see his underlying excitement to guide me further through his mind. I grinned wildly, waiting for him to give me my next objective.
"Now it's time to solve a real murder." I grinned excitedly, hardly hearing what he said and then paused.
"Wait what?"
YOU ARE READING
Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)
Random(Y/N) is an avid bookworm, with her head stuck in the shelves that cover her home. Her mother calls a detective to see if anything is wrong with her, after so many failed therapist attempts, but there's a change of plans, and instead of diagnosing h...
