Observe
A Sherlock Ficlet
The wind howled furiously outside as the cold rain pelted relentlessly against the windows, drumming a hypnotising beat that thrummed in your skull. Rivulets of water streamed down the thin glass, blurring your view of the London streets outside. Lightning illuminated the dull grey sky, occasionally followed by the deep roar of thunder. You leaned more closely upon the glass, pressing your nose against it and pensively watching as the droplets chased each other down the pane. Your eyes flickered to a solitary bare branch twirling in the wind, almost to the point of snapping but remaining in it's tormented state. The icy wind stole through the cracks in the windows and doors and snaked delicately around your skin, raising goosebumps. You pulled John's thick jumper tighter around your frame and pulled your legs up to your chin. You were sitting in his armchair, waiting for him and Sherlock to return from Scotland Yard. Something about a serial killer. That was the third one this week.
You sighed and got up slowly, venturing to the unkempt kitchen to make yourself a warm cup of tea. You rolled your eyes at the lab equipment lying on the table as you retrieved a mug from the cupboard. Upon opening the fridge door to grab the milk, you let out an ear-splitting shriek, dropping the mug to the floor as you jumped back. Shattered pieces of ceramic were scattered on the tiles, threatening to slice your bare feet. You didn't particularly care though, because there was a fucking dismembered head on the top shelf of the fridge. You slammed the door shut and breathed deeply. Suddenly, loud footsteps could be heard thundering up the stairs. You jumped and shrieked again as the two men of Baker Street burst into the room, looking around them. Sherlock's pale blue eyes fell on you.
"Oh. False alarm." He said to John, peeling of his soaking overcoat and ruffling his damp curls.
"What the hell happened? We were just coming through the door when we heard you screaming." John asked, eyeing the remains of the mug on the floor. You glared at Sherlock.
"I assume she found the head." Sherlock said in a dismissive tone. He was lying on the cheap leather upholstery of the sofa, hands tucked neatly behind his head.
"Damn right she did." You hissed.
"Oh, for god's sake Sherlock." John groaned. "What have I told you about putting body parts in the fridge? It's unhygienic."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I was measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. It's an important experiment, John."
"Couldn't you do that in the lab?" You asked, sighing as you flopped down into John's chair again.
"This is my lab." Sherlock replied bluntly.
"You're a dick, I nearly had a heart attack." You huffed, folding your arms across your chest.
"Pity, then I could have stuck you in the fridge instead."
You narrowed your eyes at him but he simply ignored you, and leaned his head back against the arm of the sofa whilst he closed his eyes. Meanwhile, John was bustling about in the kitchen, cleaning up the broken shards of ceramic lying around. You immediately felt bad that he was doing this for you. John's problem was that sometimes he could be a little too nice, making your heart ache. You found it odd that Sherlock and John, two polar opposites, had found each other. An unlikely friendship had formed between the two of them.
"Oh, John, don't clean up my mess. I can do it myself." You began to get up, but he waved his hand.
"No, it's fine. Would you like a proper cup of tea, now? I fancy one myself." He offered kindly.
"I don't think there's any milk in the fridge." You said, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over your knuckles.
Sherlock suddenly sat up and grabbed his violin. He began to pluck on the strings gently, adjusting the tune of each one.
"John, go get milk. Take my card." He ordered.
"And why can't you get it yourself?" John pressed his lips into a thin line.
"I'm thinking." He said, slightly irritated.
John relented with a sigh and rummaged around in Sherlock's jacket. When he found his wallet, he took out Sherlock's card and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans.
"I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Be good." John said and made his way to the door.
"But you'll freeze to death!" You protested.
"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
You threw a pillow at him, which he gracefully dodged.
"I'll be fine. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone." John said with a laugh.
"No promises." You muttered under your breath.
And then John was gone. The consulting detective and you were left alone in the flat, silence falling all except for the incessant ticking of a nearby clock. Without warning, Sherlock got up with a flourish, abandoning his violin and sitting in his armchair directly opposite you. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, watching as he crossed one leg over the other and steepled his long, slender fingers beneath his chin. It was something he did often when he was thinking, you believed. Usually he would have his eyes closed by this point, but he kept his gaze on you, which unnerved you greatly. Even so, you didn't break eye contact. It looked like he was observing you, so you did the same to him. His unruly dark curls were beginning to dry and were as wild as ever. You found it oddly charming, but you would never admit it out loud. Your eyes skimmed across his hands and admired the delicate beauty of them, despite the fact that they were huge. At least twice the size of yours. His eyes were practically ripping into you, but he was stoic and unresponsive. You had no idea what he was thinking.
The clock ticked on, and minutes began to feel like hours. You swallowed slightly and began to shift uncomfortably in your spot, nibbling on your bottom lip slightly. But Sherlock remained stony-faced, concentrating his attention entirely on you. He hadn't moved a single muscle. Tick, tick, tick. The sound made your head ache and your nerves peak. You bit your lip so hard you felt the familiar sharp metallic taste on your tongue. You failed to understand why he was provoking these reactions out of you. Staring directly into his steely eyes for too long weakened you and you couldn't handle it any longer. You drew a breath and looked to the floor, analysing the pattern of the dark carpets.
Not a second afterwards, Sherlock quickly rose from his chair, startling you.
"Interesting," He said and tilted his head, "Why did it take you so long to look away?" He didn't wait for an answer and bent down right in front of you, face to face, and you could feel his warm breath on your cheek. He searched your eyes again and picked up your hand, gently drawing his thumb across your skin creating an overwhelming tingling sensation. Your breathing hitched slightly and you desperately wanted to speak, but you couldn't find your voice. He used his other hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, then rested it against the side of your head. You felt dizzy and lightheaded, completely forgetful of the world around you. He leaned to the side slightly, going further and pressing his lips softly to your neck. You let out an airy breath. "Elevated pulse, dilated pupils...Both signs of significant arousal, I believe. Please correct me if I'm wrong..." He drew out his words slowly, his alluring deep voice sedating you. You silently thanked god you were sitting down, otherwise you would have collapsed on the floor long ago.
"S-Sherlock, please..." You whimpered like a fool. He had reduced you to a quivering mess in a matter of seconds.
"John will be back soon." He muttered into your neck.
"I don't care." You whispered. Your hands were shaking with anticipation and moved them to grip his tight shirt. Your breathing was beginning to get laborious and your heart was thumping wildly within your chest. The lustful ambiance that shrouded the both of you was all you could think about; everything else had completely evaporated from your mind.
He lifted his head and touched your nose with his, tilting ever so slightly so that his lips just barely grazed yours. His hand caressed your neck, slowly sliding up to your flushed cheek. The hand was cool and soothing against your burning skin which tingled with the faintest of his touches. You didn't want to waste anymore time teasing, so you grabbed him by the back of the head and jerked him forwards, connecting your lips together. He responded immediately, pressing his lean chest against yours and gripping your waist beneath the jumper you wore. You tangled your fingers in his dark curls as he nipped hungrily at your bottom lip.
You gasped loudly when he suddenly hoisted you up, pressing you up against the nearest wall which forced you to wrap your legs around his waist. You were surprised at the amount of sheer strength he possessed for such a thin man. He detached his lips from yours and went on to trail tiny kisses along the length of your neck, sucking and biting the supple skin. You let out breathy moans, gripping his curls even tighter. The flood of emotions you were experiencing very nearly drowned you, and you never wanted it to end because damn, he was a good kisser.
You were working on the buttons of his shirt when the front door downstairs slammed. You both jumped and had it not been for his tight grip around your waist you would have been sent flying.
"Shit!"
Panicking, you unwrapped your legs from his waist and hastily began to fix your hair. A small smirk graced Sherlock's features and he lifted you up, carrying you into his room before dumping you ungracefully on the bed.
"Sherlock! What the hell are you doing? John is coming!" You hissed, propping yourself up on your elbows.
He flicked the lock on his door and shrugged.
"Does it matter? He won't be bothering us for a while."