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cai-nnoisseur · 2 years

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𝐣𝐢𝐠𝐬𝐚𝐰

pairing ~ sherlock holmes x f!reader

word count ~ 7k

summary ~ as you wonder what it would be like for him to return your affections, sherlock finally understands what he would sacrifice to fit within your world.

warnings ~ angst, sappy fluff, happy ending i promise, crying, friends to lovers, mentions of reader wearing a dress, mutual pining but they're idiots, sherlock is tall (reference to height difference), yearning.

a/n ~ yay!! sherlock is back on the blog!! this one was a request by my dear @donutloverxo , but i'd be lying if i said this wasn't also a bit of a birthday week present for myself hehe, i do hope you all enjoy this one!! i had a whole bunch of fun writing some pining so without further ado, enjoy!!

It began with a smile.

You hated how cliche the thought sounded, but it was true, it did.

Though, didn't it always?

You cursed yourself for falling so hard, so quickly, but even more so for allowing the concept of your affections to haunt you the way that it did. Every time you believed you were surely over it, over him, the man who seemed perpetually unavailable due to cases or traveling the world or other duties you quite understood, that was just the exact moment he would smile again.

His bright, shining, kind smile. It was the sort of smile that filled one with hope, false hope, you supposed. The kind of hope that made you believe that a man as indifferent as him could love, but beyond that, that a man like him could love you.

In a city filled with so much history, the kind that either made you want to plug your ears and squirm in your seat or the kind that made you take a bit more pride in humanity, you were often told of the ghosts that lurked around every corner. Ever since you were small you could remember the tales, the idea that shadows of the past would always find a way to return. Then, you had never particularly put much weight behind the notion, but now a days, you found yourself being absolutely haunted, though your ghost was more of the present kind.

And it's name was Sherlock Holmes.

You never intended to get so entangled with a man like him, did anyone really ever? You thought. With the exception of his brother and sister, you wondered if anyone truly ever meant to get caught in his general vicinity.

Caught, yes, that was the best way to put it, you'd maybe dare to even say trapped, doomed maybe, destined to continue the same disheartening, bleak cycle until he finally decided he had had his fill of you.

The both of you sat in chairs opposite of each other, your tormenting thoughts not allowing you to read a single word on the faded pages of the book you had thoughtlessly picked off of his bookshelves. You wondered at what point in your friendship you had stopped putting so much thought into your choice of novel when you would visit. You used to be friends, you thought, and though as harsh as it sounded, you missed the time when you two were nothing but companions, when afternoon visits were just that, visits. You found yourself almost longing for the times when you simply read and enjoyed each other's company, now though, you thought, sighing as you finally closed your book, placing it gently on your lap as you looked across to see him, now, it seemed you visited to pine.

You wondered what sort of thoughts were going through his head, if the strain on your relationship was even noticed by him, or if it was just you. There seemed to be no more friendship, at least through your eyes. The only thing lying in the shallow grave of kinship the two of you had developed over the years, was hopeless optimism.

Beyond all of yout typical conversation and occasional kind gestures, you couldn't help but resent yourself for even wandering into his path, because now, all that you felt with him, was possibility.

Every movement, every glance your way, it pained you even more, not because of what was, an enduring friendship, but because of what it wasn't.

"Finished already?" He muttered from behind his newspaper, and you instantly snapped your head up to face him.

You hummed, glancing down again at your book before smiling. He was looking at you fully now, a sly, strangely knowing half smile on his lips.

"If I knew you any better I'd say you've started getting bored of me." He smirked, folding his newspaper and placing it on the small table that sat beside him.

"Who says you know me that well?" You counter, despising how your confident tone wavered just in the slightest as you raised a teasing eyebrow at him. You discovered that as of late, your only way to communicate with him during those moments when your already fragile resolve threatened to turn to dust under the weight of his intoxicating gaze, was from behind a veil of friendly banter and sarcasm.

Because in truth, he did know you that well, and with every moment that passed while in the Holmes estate, surrounded by his knick knacks and books and that undeniable feeling of home that flooded you every time you entered his space, you feared that you'd end up blurting out something that could ruin everything you had built together.

"You'd do better than to challenge him to something like that," The sneering voice of Mycroft entered the room with the abruptness of a nearby mirror shattering, "Lest you want the entirety of your past, present, and quite possibly, your future exposed to the world."

You watched Sherlock's expression falter for a moment, a slight twitch in his jaw as he looked back at his brother.

There was a strange, undeniable tension that suddenly filled the room as the pair continued to glare at each other. A self assured smirk tugging at the corners of Mycroft's lips as Sherlock continued to scowl at him.

You quickly turned to the window, not even bothering to really look at the world outside, using it as more of an opportunity to escape the strange atmosphere that had befell the library.

"It's getting late," You smiled, placing your long forgotten reading material on the nearby coffee table as you stood, "Thank you for having me," You turned to Sherlock, your throat going just a tad drier as he stood to his full height. "As always." You finished, clearing your throat.

"It's my pleasure," He replied, that damned, kind smile flashing once again, "As always." He added.

You sighed, running your palms down the front of your dress as you began your way towards the exit, throwing a quick, thankful nod to Mycroft before Sherlock joined you on your way through the home.

"Until next time." He breathed, opening the door for you.

The spring breeze that suddenly flew through the entryway shocked you both, Sherlock's deep chuckle rumbling through him as you failed to stifle the amused gasp that escaped you.

It was strange to see him like this sometimes, you often forgot that such a world famous detective could be like this, his curls gently tousled by the wind as he gently runs a hand through it, doing his best to keep them under control to no avail against the persistent wind. A light smile on his lips as his head tilted back just a little when he laughed.

"You know, one of these days, you're going to get sick of me visiting you all the time." You suddenly quipped with a smirk, attempting to salvage the rest of your dignity before you entirely revealed yourself.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow at you, his head tilting slightly as he scanned your features. It was in moments like these when you realized that not even you were immune to his inquisitive stare.

"And just when I thought you truly knew me..." He mumbled, the corners of his lips turning into the shadow of a sly grin before retreating into something more genuine as he continued, "I could never tire of your visits."

There was a moment of silence between the both of you, the sort of lingering, spring-haze, romantic quiet in which a confession could surely debut, and so a quiet in which you found no solace in. Thus, you did nothing to prolong it, clearing your throat just as quickly as the silence had settled.

"Then I will be seeing you very soon." You turned, not daring to spend another moment staring into his eyes, in fear that if you waited a second longer, you may have just thrown yourself at him.

You threw a quick wave behind you without even turning to face him.

"I look forward to it!" You heard him call, and you couldn't help how your steps faltered at the sound of his voice behind you.

Sherlock was your friend, one of your closest in fact, and yet, now it seemed you couldn't even bare to spend another moment with him, the entirety of your visits spent torturing yourself with thoughts of what else could be instead of what you already had.

You two were an unlikely pair, with him being so critical and even cynical at times, it was a surprise he had so quickly taken to you in the way that he did when the both of you had first been introduced. During the time you had come to know him, Sherlock had taught you how to sift through the evidence and clues and opinions of others to only leave behind the absolute truths.

As you walked through the winding path that led out of the estate, you thought for a moment, knowing that in some strange, dismal way, maybe Sherlock would be proud of you for the absolute truth you had now just uncovered within yourself.

You were in love with Sherlock Holmes.

And that was exactly why your friendship had to end.

Sherlock wasn't a stupid man by any means, but for a man who had made his entire career by exploiting other people's weaknesses, it was a wonder that you had even made it this far in hiding your true feelings for the man.

You'd visit him today as one last time to enjoy yourself, you thought, before you ultimately robbed yourself of his company.

You took another glance up at the ivy covered stone that you had grown to love so much, the unkempt shrubbery adding a sense of character to the home that you so cherished.

Just as you were about to knock on the door, the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you had you turning on your heels instantly.

An immediate wave of relief washed over you when you saw him, even though you knew of the doomed fate that soon awaited your relationship, it seemed that you couldn't help the way your mind and body reacted to his presence.

"Sherlock," You smiled, "I hope I didn't come at a bad-"

"It's never a bad time," He quickly replied, a peaceful, at-ease smile etched onto his features as he spoke to you, "In fact, I believe that the only times that I would consider dreadful are the moments when you aren't gracing us with your company." He smirked, outstretching his hand to you. "I was hoping you could join me in the garden?"

You suddenly became unsure if the abrupt feeling of heat was due to the unobstructed rays of the noon sun, or his swift, quick witted suavity that always seemed to have you melting.

"Of course" You replied, quickly taking his arm and following his steps beside you as he led you around the grounds.

A peaceful calm settled between the two of you as you walked, the world only being filled with the pleasant chirping of the afternoon birds and the hushed sound of your footsteps the ground beneath you.

You looked at the man beside you, a mixture of melancholy as well as a ill-fated feeling of hope falling over you. He would never be yours, but it didn't hurt to pretend for just a moment, would it?

"You know, I have been meaning to ask you of something." Sherlock finally spoke, turning to you with a smile.

You only smiled in response, cheerfully waiting for him to continue as you absorbed the moment you found yourself in. You almost knew for certain that it wouldn't be the question you so longed to hear, but you would enjoy the brief flicker of hope while you could.

"I was wondering if you would..."

You watched as he trailed off, a sudden puzzling expression falling onto his face before it returned to the same, casual smile he had been wearing.

"...If you would assist me in the library? I've been meaning to better organize the books, though I can't seem to get the system quite right." He chuckled, turning from you to look around him once again.

You hummed, doing your best to hide your almost anticipated ache that materialized within you once he completed his question.

No matter the situation, whether it was government officials or bakery owners, he had always seemed to know just what to say, though now, the bleak realization that he would never say the right thing to you finally came to pass within you.

"The great Mr. Holmes needing my help in a library? I'll alert the press." You teased, cursing yourself for the slight tremble in your tone that even you hadn't noticed until the words left your lips.

"I would believe you, it's only that I know far too much about you for you to even dare." He smirked, squinting his eyes at you in mock challenge.

You hadn't at all been keeping track of how much time had passed, it felt as if every time you were with him, time became a foreign concept, passing you by before you could even count a second. All you did know, was that you had begun to remember passing the same twisted tree trunk a few too many times.

You sighed as you turned the familiar corner, the entrance of the large home beckoning you to enter, begging you to indulge yourself in it's comforts one final time.

Sherlock seemed to have the same idea, turning to you with furrowed brows when he noticed you had stopped, your arm falling from his.

"Are you not coming in-"

"I think I should be heading home," You feigned a gentle smile as you continued, "I didn't sleep much last night," You stammered, "But thank you as always, for having me."

You saw how he tilted his head, the shadow of a question already creeping onto his expression. His suspicion seemingly faded just as it came to him though, a timid smile replacing his concern almost instantly. "I'll see you soon then?"

What were you to even say? That you had already made the plan to never see him again? Or that you were too hopelessly in love with him to even spend a minute more alone with him?

You only nodded, not having the strength to lie to him so directly.

"I appreciate you." He suddenly blurted, and your eyes widened at his sudden exclamation. "Your company, I mean," He clarified, "I know I'm often not the most...Amiable... So thank you, for always joining me."

"Sherlock," You sighed, shaking your head, "I appreciate you for not yet getting tired of me."

He let out a soft, amused huff before replying, "I could never."

For once, you decided to spare yourself from any more pain, deciding to only smile before quickly turning to begin your journey home.

Sherlock was nothing if not logical, and now, you suddenly feared that some of his critical, almost pessimistic rationale had rubbed off on you. As you tramped through the dust covered path, you wondered if some feelings were meant to be felt, only to be let go.

Maybe feelings like this were never meant to be lingered on, that was why crimes of passion happened, wasn't it? Because someone, somewhere, decided to feel just a little too much.

Maybe feelings like this were only meant to be temporary things, or maybe, you thought, you had left your last sliver of sanity at the Holmes' doorstep.

Regardless if feelings like this were truly temporary, you knew you would have the initials of Sherlock Holmes perpetually etched into the memory of your heart.

Dear Friend,

I hope you are able to visit us in the coming week, the library is in desperate need of your expertise.

S.H

You knew he would question the fact that you had sent a letter to notify him of your lack of a visit this week, but you hoped he wouldn't think too much about it, you had always prided yourself on the fact that Sherlock could never quite seem to break you open they way you had so often seen him do to others.

You tried to recall a week that had gone by without you visiting him, and with a huff, quickly reminded yourself that this was precisely what you were supposed to not be doing.

You should have been excited, to finally have all the time in the world entirely to yourself. No worries of rushing off to read in someone else's home, or to assist anyone with whatever horrific crime that had landed at their doorstep that week.

Though as you glanced around your quiet living area, the only sound being the muted ticking of the clock, it took you less than a second to understand that whatever you did, you could most certainly not stay here. It was almost silent, much too quiet for your own liking, and though there were benefits to living alone, you couldn't help but think that your space needed some sort of life other than your own, more movement, more books, more...

Less thinking, you quickly decided, swiftly grabbing your gloves from the small table sitting beside your entryway before leaving with a frustrated huff.

You found that the park was not much different, but with the absence of quiet, you found the presence of people.

Which brought entirely new problems.

Like seeing.

It seemed that everywhere you turned, you found cheerful pairs wherever you looked.

And as it often did, with the looking, came the thinking.

Him in that brown vest and coat he always seemed to be sporting in the spring, always paired with that deep blue tie that always brought out his eyes. As much as he tried to keep his curls under control, they'd always manage to fly about every time even the gentlest of winds blew his way. Would he hold your hand? Or would he intertwine your arm with his to keep you closer?

A young boy called out across the park, holding out a single flower, outstretching it to any couple that happened to pass him by. He must have noticed you staring from the way he tipped his cap at you.

Would he buy you one? A part of you wondered if he would find such gestures cliche, but on the other hand, you could already hear his voice in your head, explaining the cultural significance and meaning of each of the blossoms. Maybe he'd even buy one for Enola, he's always adored her.

What would she think of you and him? You two wouldn't go without teasing at first, that was for certain. Though in the end, she probably wouldn't mind, you always enjoyed your time with her whenever you managed to catch her before she left for whatever adventure she had planned for herself that day.

You hummed, swallowing back the sudden lump that formed in your throat. Home, you decided, home would definitely be much better than this.

You hadn't made any more plans to step beyond your doorway this week, only dressing yourself to quickly grab the newspaper you had heard thump against your door this morning.

It was only by complete chance you had seen them, if it had been any other day, if the news hadn't been delivered this morning, you would have never even been aware of them.

But the news had been delivered today, and now you were very aware of them.

A dozen orange Tulips, wrapped neatly in burlap and brown paper, sitting on your doorstep.

You looked out into the street, searching both ways for any sign of any flower vendor or any distraught suitors that may have accidentally thrown their flowers onto your doorstep.

Flower vendor. You thought, a quiet 'hmm' escaping you as you thought of the possibility, swiftly grabbing the unexpected gift before shutting the door behind you.

Even as you told yourself, promised yourself that you wouldn't find yourself back at the park again, or at least not so soon, here you were, sat on the same bench as the day previous.

From this vantage point, you could see nearly everything, the carousel, the various walking trails, even your own apartment, but more importantly, the barking flower seller that sat right in the middle of everything.

You suddenly wished you had listened more to Sherlock's impromptu detective lessons he would often share with you, how did he always stay so discreet?

And just as you glanced his way again, the younger boy spotted you once again, quickly flashing a salesman-worth smile your way before tipping his cap once again.

His suavity was of no importance to you though, when you noticed just what type of flowers he was selling. Orange Tulips.

He'd be proud.

You raised a suspicious eyebrow as you scanned the park's crowd once again. Mistakes happen, you thought, things get delivered to incorrect addresses constantly, you were certain your situation was no different.

Dear Friend,

I am sorry to hear you are feeling ill, please do not hesitate to phone if you so need anything.

S.H

As much as you disdained lying to him, you determined that your small deception this week would be less painful than the truth.

You really only meant to check the temperature outside, quickly cracking your door open when you saw the flash of color peeking out from under the door.

Orange Tulips.

You bent down to swiftly grab them from your doorway, you stood, opening the door further to take a better look around the street. Though you couldn't bring yourself to truly care about searching for any suspects, the only thoughts managing to cross your mind being of the Tulips you now clutched to your chest.

Maybe it wasn't a mistake? What were the chances of the same flowers winding up on the same doorstep again?

You smiled, looking down at the bouquet. When was the last time someone had gotten you flowers? This was precisely what you needed to begin to move on, something new, someone new.

You turned your back to the street as you slipped back inside, still holding the tulips close to your chest as if they were the most precious thing in the world to you. You closed the door, sighing with a smile as you made your way into the kitchen, finding a small vase and filling it with water from your sink.

He'd probably know just what they were called, he'd probably know just where they were from as well, not just from some park vendor, but some specific garden just a little south of the London, all by looking at the leftover soil on their leaves.

You groaned as you sat the vase on your table, he truly was a ghost wasn't he? Following you around as if some archaic witch had cursed you, shackling him to you for the rest of your days. You supposed there were worse demons to manage.

Dear Friend,

Should we be expecting you for dinner this coming Friday? Ferndell Hall has grown incredibly dull without you.

S.H

You continued to read the letter over and over again until you felt you could recite the few words by memory.

It had been sent to you two weeks ago, and you had received no letter since, the only mail gracing your doorstep to be the orange tulips that never failed to appear every Tuesday now.

Possibility used to excite you, the idea of something new coming into your life used to fill you with joy, but now, the notion of something unfamiliar only filled you with a strange, dreary feeling.

It felt as if the sun filled the sky, though your mind could only focus on the scattering of clouds that would occasionally block it's shine. Whoever this unknown admirer was, you almost felt bad for accepting their gifts knowing that it was him you wished for them to be from.

It had been six weeks since you last saw him, a mere flash of time in the grand scheme of things, though you'd have to admit that the most arduous portion of your time alone was the time since he had sent his last letter.

You supposed you couldn't be upset with him, for it was you who had stopped writing him in the first place, believing it would be less agonizing to cease all communication rather than to continue lying to him.

Though now, it was painfully clear to you how wrong you had been. He had now given up on you, and in a solemn moment of clarity, you supposed that's what you had always wanted.

Wasn't it the natural progression of things anyway? Even the strongest of chain links eventually fall to rust and decay, ultimately separating from each other when their bonds become damaged enough.

Reasons, seasons, or lifetimes, you could recall the lesson being told to you early on in your childhood. You would always discover why someone had fallen into your life's path some way or another. This time was different though, you supposed Sherlock fell into your life for all three.

He was your only reason for staying in this god-forsaken city to begin with, and you supposed that now, he would be the reason you would never leave. The seasons you spent in the Holmes's estate were some of your most cherished memories, memories that, despite your situation, you would continue to hold on to regardless. And no matter how bitterly or abruptly your friendship had ended, you knew that he would remain with you for a lifetime.

You looked down, suddenly noticing the iron grip you had suddenly developed around the now slightly wilted tulip you had been holding.

You wondered where else in the world flowers like this would grow, surely there were other flower sellers in the world, surely there were other cities, right?

You hummed, your fingers now fidgeting with the few fallen petals that rested in your hand as you thought, certainly other towns grew orange Tulips?

You almost felt hysterical, pondering a question so pointless, knowing there was no use in even wondering. The thought killed you and calmed you all at once, for you knew right then, that no corner on Earth would relieve you of Sherlock Holmes.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, and you instantly turned to the window.

The harsh droplets of rain almost carpeted your window and you wondered how you had not noticed the building sound of the storm outside all this time.

You furrowed your brow, setting the damaged flower on the table before making your way to the door. You sighed, almost groaning to yourself at the thought of whatever salesman or tax collector that was awaiting to torment you.

You quickly wiped your suddenly dampened cheeks, quickly flashing a soft smile to ready yourself turn down whatever useless product that awaited you on the opposite side of your door.

You closed your eyes for a moment as you began to open the door, "Hello-"

"Why have you stopped seeing me?"

You could do nothing to stifle the hushed gasp that left you at the sound of his voice. You snapped your eyes open, his hair was absolutely dripping, a soggy newspaper in hand that he had no doubt been using to shield himself from the storm at some point along his journey.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?-" Your words came out more as a plea rather than a question.

"To ask you a question." He replied simply, his tone determined and unwavering as he spoke, "Why have you stopped coming to visit?"

"Sherlock, I- It's pouring, you shouldn't-" You stammered before he interrupted you once again.

"Please. I just-" He ran a hand through his sopping hair before making a sound akin to something crossed between a sigh and a groan, "I needed to see you."

You noticed how his chest rose and fell rapidly, how his knuckles turned a lighter shade as he gripped the drenched paper.

Even in all the time you spent away from him, attempting with all of your heart to begin to despise him as best you could for whatever reason you could concoct, you couldn't help the way your heart leapt at the site of him at your doorstep.

You furrowed your brow, your lips drawing into a thin line of concern before you stepped aside the doorway, "Come in." You quickly muttered.

His large frame stepped into your space almost instantly, and you abhorred the way your heart warmed at the sight of him in your space.

You closed the door behind him, turning to face him just as quickly. In just a few moments, he would leave, you thought, and you'd be alone again, though despite what you had tried to convince yourself of over the last few weeks, you couldn't deny the familiar feeling of comfort that washed over you at the sight of him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your day, but I wished to speak with you immediately." He spoke firmly. "Is there a reason you've stopped seeing me- us." He suddenly corrected.

How could you ever explain what truly had happened between the two of you. The words sat the tip of your tonuge that you had been holding in your heart promised to relieve you of the ever growing weight you had been carrying, though you would sooner strangle yourself than allow them to slip with him still present.

"I've been busy." You spoke plainly, attempting to keep your tone as even as possible, even as the tightness in your throat slowly threatened to suffocate you. "I'm sorry."

"You could have-" He interrupted himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he began to pace, "Is there someone else?" He suddenly asked.

"Sherlock, I have no idea-"

"I thought you enjoyed my- our, company, I thought we were friends."

You sighed, your eyes darting back and forth as you watched him pace, the floorboards beginning to creak under the sudden stress. "We were, we are. I promise there's no reason-"

"Why have you stopped visiting then?" He almost spat, his face turning a lighter shade of red as he paused, now standing directly in front of you. "If nothing has happened, then why have you so seemingly abandoned us?"

If it were any one else standing in your foyer, you would have most likely cast them out already with his pacing and frantic tone, but as he stood before you now, a his dampened, stray curls plastered to his forehead, his breath becoming increasingly shallower as he spoke, you began to see the desperate little boy that Mycroft so often teased him of being.

"I know-" He swallowed, gathering himself before continuing, "That Mycroft isn't often the most welcoming, and I understand that even Enola can be a bit anarchic herself. Even I find myself to be a bit irritating at times, but please, I'm begging you, tell me what's happened."

You could only quietly whimper, finding yourself speechless, the beginnings of tears stinging the corners of your eyes offering him your wordless response.

There was a weighted pause that settled between the both of you, threatening to crush the both of you if it continued for any longer.

"Have you..." He took a deep, steadying breath, "Have you truly gotten tired of me?"

A muted gasp left you instantly at his question, and your response came as quickly as your initial reaction, "I could never." You offered him a melancholy, tearful smile. "I could never." You repeated, shaking your head as you tried to swallow back the barrage of tears that began to build within you.

You watched as his expression fell even more than it had before, his forlorn smile reflecting your own. "You know, I believed that the flowers might begin to apologize for whatever I had done to hurt you." He slowly began to saunter over to the table on which you had placed your withered flower from before. "I thought I would surprise you one day, visit you instead of you having to make the journey..." He gently plucked the Tulip from it's place, lifting it to his eye level before gently turning it between his thumb and forefinger, he smiled weakly as he continued to examine the flower.

Your voice was broken as you finally replied, your tone crumbling under the weight of his confession, causing your words to come out as shattered whispers as you held back tears, "Then why didn't you visit?" A sudden, unfamiliar anger flooded you at the thought, if he was so close, than why didn't he?

He finally put down the flower, his eyes quickly falling to you, "Because..." He straightened himself, clearing his throat before continuing, "You looked happy."

"What?" Your reply left you in an instant, almost much too quickly for your own liking, but it couldn't be helped.

"I could see you, just from that bench just across the way, you seemed to be just as lively with your flowers as you once were with me. And so I found myself content to watch."

"Sherlock, I never- Do you-" You stammered, and though your thoughts raced, you attempted to collect yourself, and taking a deep breath, you continued. "Do you think so little of me?"

His eyes immediately widened at your response, "I would never," He took a testing step closer to you, watching your expression to gauge his next movement. "I find that it is myself I think so little of."

You tilted your head at his puzzling confession, only watching his features carefully as you waited for him to go on.

He took another step closer to you, and even as your bodies stood with only inches separating them, you stood your ground.

"I apologize if I led you to believe it was someone else gifting you flowers, I understand now that to think that someone such as myself, could ever, deserve affections from someone like yourself. It was foolish of me, and I am sorry-"

"Sherlock, I-"

"Please," He begged, "I don't know if there has been someone else in my absence, and I don't believe I would ever like to know, I'm only asking you to tell me the truth of what happened between us."

In all your years of knowing him, you weren't sure if you had ever seen him like this. You had seen him at his limits, pushed to his very wits end during certain cases, but you had never seen him as the way he was now. His shoulders sagged, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes darted across every inch of you, no doubt trying to decipher your every movement to find an answer to his question.

You wondered for a moment, what did he see? You could find no reason to hide your feelings now, the walls you had put so much effort into constructing already began the slow process of decaying over the past few weeks, so you were almost certain you probably looked as lovesick as you did when you first realized your sudden passions for him.

Regardless, you figured there was no use in attempting to conceal yourself now.

Freedom, on whatever scale, seldom came for free, and if loosing him was the price you would pay for independence from your own feelings, you thought, than so be it.

"Sherlock," You breathed, "You have been... My closest friend-"

"Have." He quickly interjected, "Then what's changed." His tone was more frustrated now, determined to pull the truth from you no matter how long it would take him.

You groaned, hating the sudden interrogation tactic he had now adopted with you. You had no energy to argue against him though, you last fragment of strength dissolving into the unwieldy atmosphere around you as you finally allowed your tears to fall. "I'm sorry, I only- Friends grow apart, that's all." You feigned a weak smile, unable to look at him directly as you fidgeted with your hands. "That's all that happened." You whispered.

When you finally looked up at him, you noticed how his lips parted in a silent gasp, his eyes widening just a tad more than before, as if the very notion of the two of you growing apart had astonished him to his very core.

Or maybe he was expecting a different answer.

"You mean to tell me that that, is the truth?" He asked, and before you could even gather yourself to form a response, he continued. "That our friendship, everything that has come to pass between us, was only thrown away because of nothing?"

You despised how grim his explanation sounded, but if that was what he had to believe to finally leave you, you would accept it.

You could only manage to nod in response, knowing your voice would be too broken to reply in any sort of convincing manner.

"That all of your visits, all of that time, together," He emphasized, "Meant nothing to you? So little that it could be discarded so quickly?"

"Yes..." You muttered even as it pained you to even speak, the tightness in your throat only constricting you further as you attempted to thwart your sobs.

"I'm sorry, but I just cannot accept that." He stated, though you noticed how his voice had grown slightly less assured as it was before.

His sudden abruptness shocked you, almost as much as it seemed to shock himself, his face contorting into a wince at the sound of his own harsh tone.

"Not when-" He quickly softened his voice as he stared back at you, his eyes continuing to search your own for some sort of sign for him to stop, though you gave him none. His breaths became almost heaving, as if he were warming up for a sprint, "Not when I've just began to understand..." He trailed off, swallowing as his eyes dropped to the floor for a moment before returning to you. "That I love you."

Your heart faltered and you had to fight the overwhelming urge to pinch yourself. If Sherlock Holmes loved you in this reality, then you would be perfectly content from never waking again. It was only when he begun speaking again that you had realized you hadn't responded.

"I found that in your absence, that I am nothing short of miserable. You plague my mind in every waking moment, and yet, I find myself never having enough of you."

"Sherlock-"

"Please," He begged, "After living without your visits, your kindness, your smile, I understand now that nothing in this world could wound me in the way your leaving has. That," He chuckled lightly, "Is one fact I have never been more certain of."

You couldn't muffle the choked sob that escaped you, you shook your head, still standing before him in disbelief at his confession. In all that time you had spent concealing your own feelings, had you really not seen his?

"Tell me you've never felt the same and I will stop, even if you have found someone, if that is the truth of the matter, I will accept it. All I am asking is just a portion- a moment of your thoughts, and I'd be content." He sighed before he continued, "It would be a privilege, to have my heart broken by you."

His words both froze and freed you all at once. Sherlock always had the talent of uncovering truths, of seeing straight through people, and for all the time you had known him, it occasionally begun to feel as if he was only seeing through you, just as he did so often to others. Though as he stared at you now, you began to recognize the certain way his eyes fell to you. It was the same look he gave you when the two of you were both first made acquainted, the same light reflected in his eyes just as it did when the both of you found yourselves under that tree in the garden, laughing until both of your stomach's hurt. It was the same gaze you found paralyzed by whenever he would greet you, and the same glance he would throw your way every time you two parted.

In all those moments when you felt so invisible, when it felt as if he was only seeing through you, you realized now, he was seeing you.

He looked at you, with all of your insecurities, with all of your mistakes, with all of your flaws, and every time, regardless of the faults you found within yourself, he still chose to love.

"Sherlock," You finally managed to sputter through your tears, "I- I could never have found someone else." You smiled, "I love you." You reached for his hand mindlessly, as if some invisible string began pulling you to him. "I think I always have."

His long forgotten, sopping newspaper fell to the floor as he reached for you, his other hand suddenly finding itself resting on your lower back, slowly urging you closer to him.

You stared up at him, his face only inches from your own as his breath fanned across your cheek. You were close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, the feeling was intoxicating, you wondered how you were able to go so long without it.

You watched as his eyes switched quickly to your lips before he spoke again, his voice laden with a barely audible tremble. "May I?"

You discovered yourself once again at a loss for words, even as your body felt as light as a cloud, it felt as if your mouth had filled entirely with lead, and so your only reply was a slow nod, your chest meeting his with every heavy breath.

In the instant you gave your wordless confirmation, he was crashing into you, like a storm wave meeting a rocky shore it was always destined for. His arm pulled you snugly against him, not allowing you any room for movement as his lips molded into yours. His lips were warm and soft as they moved against yours, your hand gripping onto the lapel of his jacket to steady yourself. He held you with a tenderness that you never thought him capable of, as if he feared you would disappear into thin air if he gripped you too tightly. Your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, every curve and ridge interlocking until the two of you could almost be mistaken as one.

It was every farewell and every hello, every moment of longing and endless wondering, and every second of hope that you had once thought to be lost, poured into one enchanted gesture.

He was now yours, just as much as you were always his.

When he finally parted from you, the two of you found yourselves panting as you both attempted to regain your balance.

"I've been wanting to do that, for far too long" He spoke breathlessly as your eyelids finally fluttered open. He must have seen how your eyes quickly flickered to his swollen lips, his timid smile quickly growing into a endearingly wicked smirk before he continued. "And I believe I'm about to do it again."

ah!! i'm so excited to be posting full fics again!! i know it's been a minute, but honestly i feel like i'm in such a better place mentally now after Things, and i truly have you all to thank for that. over the past bit, i've received so many kind and motivating messages, the support that i received here was honestly overwhelming (in the best way) and was honestly my primary reason for continuing on and pushing through some days. so please take all of the sherlock hugs from me, you all deserve them more than you'll ever know :)

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always, always appreciated!!

want more sherlock? check out my masterlist!!

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