Warnings: Fluff, me not proofreading + this probably sucking idk
Summary: Just a soft ol' time with Sherlock under a tree. He's like a Greek god, beauty gracing his face and body, and Y/n can never resist the urge to draw him. Only this time, he catches her.
Note: So this is honestly just a thought I attempted to turn into a story. Anyhow, I've wanted to write for Henry for a while now, so while I have a draft for Benedict's Sherlock, I thought I'd write for Henry's... Also please be nice this is my first Henry fic lmao
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The air was chilled, but also held just enough warmth to not be considered unbearable. Y/n seemed content with the weather, and she was, but it was the wind she couldn't stand. It rustled through her papers as she drew, a groan escaping her parted lips every time she lifted her utensil and readjusted the sheets.
Sherlock only chuckled. He had told her before, sitting in the tree wouldn't help her situation with the wind, yet she found her usual spot anyways. Stubborn as she was, he thought the frustrated knitting of her brows followed by agitated groans was cute. The man did not comment, however, with the knowledge that his teasing would only upset her more.
"Bloody wind." Y/n muttered bitterly before continuing her sketch as if the wind disrupting her focus had never even happened. Sherlock leaned forward, tilting his head at the tree with a grin. The sight of his Y/n ever so focused, smudges of ink slightly littered among her face, was one he could look at forever.
He returned to his position against the base of the wood, redirecting his attention to his pipe again. Unbeknownst to him, Y/n did as he was only previously doing. Sneaking peaks at the detective as he smoked his pipe, a warm feeling of admiration and other feelings making home in her belly as she did so.
Her own artwork made her heart race and her palms grow sweaty at times. She drew a variety of things; humans, creatures, inanimate objects and more. But of all her muse's, the unknowing Sherlock was her favorite.
Not only was he fun to draw, but every portrait served as reminders of her favorite thing in life, the thing she loved the most in the world. Moments captured as if time was frozen and spread over a canvas or paper. They held her favorite memories with the love of her life; ones she knew she absolutely loathed the thought of forgetting.
The time he fell asleep by the fire. She happily began the work, stopping from time to time to admire the way his beauty shined even through a resting state. Then there was when he and Enola were catching up with each other in the library, the smile on their faces immediately sparking inspiration. She even drew him without reference, his face the one thing she never grew tired of looking at nor drawing.
Y/n herself got lost in the euphoric bliss, ceasing all movement in her drawing hand and reclining back against the wood. Her arms lifted off the paper at such unfortunate timing. The wind attacked her papers for what felt like the thousandth time, releasing her from her lovestruck reminiscence as panic flooded through her body.
"No!" She collected all but one last sheet, not realizing her lack until the very last second. Counting the pages, she noticed one was missing, the sheet falling in the air seen in her peripheral vision.
As Sherlock snatched the falling paper, Y/n's eyes doubled in size. She felt herself swallow thickly, silently pleading for him to just hand it back up without taking a single look. It wasn't anything she should've been ashamed of, they were together after all, but the thought of him figuring out she'd been at it for so long was a little scarier than if he found out at the first work.
But his reaction wasn't entirely what she'd imagined. He held it by the the bottom and straightened it with a flick of his wrist before furrowing his eyebrows as he inspected it. A smirk was quick to grace his lips and replace the inspecting expression.
Y/n's face scrunched and her eyes snapped shut, her entire form tensed with fear. "Did you draw this?" She took a second, slowly calming as she registered his inquiry.
"Yes..."
"You're quite skilled, Y/n. Why didn't you tell me sooner? I would've willingly modelled for these, you know?"
"I..." Her entire fear seamed just as meaningless as it originally had been. Now that Sherlock had asked, she found her reasons to be silly. "I'm not sure. I suppose I was a little embarrassed."
"Embarrassed? Of what? Your art? Your love for me? Darling, there's nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, you should embrace your passion." He stood up, pipe set aside sometime ago, and handed the paper to his lover. "Don't be afraid to ask, I'll gladly do anything for you, beloved."
"It's- I- I can explain-"
"There's nothing to explain." He didn't move, arm still extended. "I've already told you my thoughts."
She looked down at the paper, taking it with a shy smile. "...Do you mean it?"
Sherlock chuckled. "As long as my heart should beat and my lungs breathe, I would go to the ends of the world for you."
"I- ...And I, you." Y/n hopped out of the tree, finding Sherlock's arms a comfortable and safe landing spot. She returned her supplies to the bag beside the tree, lifting it over head and resting it safely on her hip before turning to Holmes. "I love you, Sherlock."
"And I you, Y/n." He grinned once again. The couple walked away, heading towards the home with clasped hands and starting on discussing Sherlock's new model occupation.
Enola would soon hear of his side-career and the detective would never hear the end of it. Nevertheless, he wouldn't hate the teasing; the same smirk appearing on his face as the one he wore upon discovering Y/n's hobby, each poke of playful mockery a reminder of the very day he swore he'd marry Y/n L/n, and a reminder of the day he finally followed through with the promise he made to himself.
