Slip Up [Sherlock x reader]

When Sherlock first met her she was happy. She smiled, laughed, and joked around. But when John asked Sherlock if he was going to analyze her, her face dropped and a storm cloud covered those bright eyes. She didn't want him to- she was afraid. Most people were nervous, or uncomfortable, but she looked like she was begging him to not. His grey eyes flicked up and down her body. It was obvious what she was by just looking at her. And though Sherlock enjoyed shocking John, he had the oddest desire to protect her secrets. So, he lied, though he preferred the term "withheld information".



       "You're an artist." She had pencil smudges on the side of her right hand. "Probably a reader too, but you've been too busy for anything." He saw her glancing, no, yearning for the piles of books before earlier. "You love music and Marvel comics too. I'm guessing your favorite is...Black Widow?" Okay, on that one, he'd rooted through her purse and phone while John was showing her around the apartment. The purse was just lying around, it'd be dumb if she expected him not to go through it.

       She broke out into a smile again. "Close, but my favorite is Iron Man." Sherlock frowned at this revelation. She had a Black Widow phone case, so he'd just assumed. He'd have to be more careful next time.



       ----



       The next time Sherlock met her, she was in the park on one of the rare bright days in England sitting on a bench, reading a book.  It was obvious that she wasn't paying attention to it- no, she was skimming the pages. Sherlock deduced she had read it many times before as he walked over to her and sat down next to her.



       "Hello, (y/n)," He adjusted his dark maroon scarf. She looked up at him, feigning surprise, even though she'd spotted him from the minute he walked into the park. She'd never tell him that, though he already knew.

"Oh, hi," She smiled and set her book down to the side. Sherlock glanced at the cover- some nonsense about dancing with dragons. How unrealistic.

(y/n) studied Sherlock's sharp features. "What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be solving a mystery or something?" A hint of a smirk graced her lips.

Sherlock made a grunting sound. "Day off."

(Y/n) nodded and the conversation came to a halt. She debated picking up back the book but she felt like that would be rude.

"Do you want to get a snow-cone? Or, er, a hot dog?" Sherlock asked finally. He felt stupid saying it; rather like a "goldfish" as Mycroft would put it. He didn't particularly enjoy eating- especially flavored ice of all the ridiculous things- but he wanted to get to know the enigma that was (y/n). She was a mystery to him; he'd gotten a fact wrong about her because he was distracted.  Distracted by what? He was still trying to figure that out.

 She looked at him, a little confused. John told her that he hated everything. Most of all happy people. She was curious why he wanted to get a hot dog. "Um. Sure."  

"Come on then." He briskly stood up and began walking to the nearest vendor without waiting for (y/n) to follow after him.

------



"I can't figure you out." It was late, almost 3 am, but Sherlock didn't take any note of that. He'd been up all night, searching and gathering any information he could on (y/n), but there was nothing. Nothing to describe the way she made him feel inside; no logical reason for him to want to be with her every chance he could. Why did he want to stare down every man who looked at her wrong?

"Sherlock Holmes, it is 3 o clock and you are calling me."

"I know." No apology.

"What do you want."

"I..can't explain it."

"Then try." (y/n)'s voice softened, was it because she was falling back asleep or because she actually cared? There were so many questions he needed answered.

Sherlock took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice was shaky. "I think this is love."

He could hear (y/n)'s breathing on the other side of the phone. "Love? Sherlock, are you.."  

"I'm infatuated with you." He managed to say awkwardly into the phone. There was silence on the other end. "I need to know if you feel this way too."



"Mr. Holmes. I've been over to John's house how many times for the last month? A billion?" She sped up because she knew he would interrupt with the exact number. "And you didn't notice every time I worked extra hard on my appearance? Or every time I stared at you longer than I should have?"

Sherlock just assumed that was how she always dressed. He felt a little stupid now and he didn't like it one bit. This "love" thing was getting out of hand. Sherlock started to remember something; her anxiety when he was going to analyze her. The anxiety; of course! She thought she was being so obvious in her affections, but in reality she was closed off and distant. How did he not notice it before? He should have paid more attention. This sort of slip up was exactly why he liked to keep his feelings under control.  
       "DAMMIT!" He cursed and slammed the phone down on the reciever angrily. Sherlock took another couple of deep breaths and re-dialed (y/n)'s number. She picked up on the first ring, not really surprised he'd called back.

       "I'll be picking you up tomorrow at eight. Be ready to go to dinner." He said quickly and before she could answer, he hung up the phone again.