You're Delusional, Woman...
I'm currently stuck in bed with terrible flu right now, so this was my attempt at making myself feel better. I have to admit, it's really worked : ) I hope I can make you guys just as happy. I hope Sherly isn't too OOC *cringe* I TRIED! D:)
Anyways, enjoy! X
Ta-ta!
I had been present in 221b Baker Street very early on during the whole 'Consulting Detective turned London's saviour' business. I had been saved multiple times by Sherlock's genius, and since I only seemed to be getting into more trouble, my cousin and the detective opened their home/flat/accommodation to me; I even had my own key.
Granted, being so closely associated with the duo usually meant getting into even more trouble, but I always knew John and Sherlock wouldn't be too far behind. On top of this, I was the only person Sherlock had never been able to completely and effortlessly read. Neither of us had any idea why, but the detective was determined to reach the bottom of the dilemma I proposed.
I wasn't exactly complaining.
Over time, a crush had crept up on me, silent and building completely unnoticed, until one day I realised I couldn't look Sherlock in the eye for longer than a few seconds. John had realised what had happened almost immediately, of course, but the biggest brain of our trio was oblivious: and I planned to keep it that way.
I had threatened my smug cousin for a solid half hour, but in the end he unwillingly promised to keep quiet until such time that either Sherlock asked him expressly what the matter was, or he decided it would be best for the both of us. This didn't exactly put my worries to bed, but it was the best offer I would be getting, so I left it as was. I should have realised John wasn't going to make my life easy.
Anytime I was caught day-dreaming, or even glancing at Sherlock in passing, my cousin was always ready with condescending looks, pointed coughs, and smarmy kissing faces to taunt me with, serving only to make Sherlock more irritated, confused, and suspicious. My response was either to escape the scene, or abruptly strike up or change the subject of a conversation.
It didn't help that the flirting games we had always played were now tugging at my heartstrings: lately they just seemed to end with me breathless and blushing, while Sherlock smirked like that cat that caught the canary.
Now Sherlock's eyes were dark and lingering, and I knew he was trying to deduce what exactly was going on. I was pretty sure he was hitting a wall when it came to me, and I could only hope he didn't turn his omniscient eyes onto John next.
So of course, hope I did.
The evening had started just as any other. I had brought around a few board games that had been lying around gathering dust at home, and John and I were currently facing off in a very heated game of Scrabble while Sherlock watched idly, his attention split between this riveting game and some other experiment he had running in between cases.
"Quixotic is-achoo!- a word," I protested, sneezing into a tissue and then disposing of it in a bin. I whirled to face the curly haired detective reclining on the couch, my eyes wide. "Sherlock!"
"Romantic and unrealistic," was the only answer he supplied. I crowed triumphantly, while John groaned. I jumped to my feet, ready to lord this small victory over the army doctor when I was slammed with a wave of vertigo. I staggered a few steps, knocking the Scrabble board flying, before I dropped to the floor.
"Katie! Shit!"
Suddenly John and Sherlock were leaning over me, panic clear in both sets of eyes, although the lighter blue ones scanned me hurriedly, hands feeling at the inside of my wrist and forehead simultaneously.
"I still win this round," I teased breathlessly, before my eyes rolled back into my head, and the black rose up to meet me.
"Katherine? Katherine!"
"Ugggghhhnnnn..?" I groaned, internally wincing. So eloquent. One might not confuse your mental capabilities with a leek at first glance!
My mental voice sounded uncannily like a certain British genius I knew.
"Open your eyes, Katherine."
I slowly pried back my heavy, aching lids, and was met with a hazy swimming picture. I just made out brunette curls, and a thin angled face.
"Sherly? Is that you?" My slurred mumbling were met with a slew of quiet displeased mutters.
"Here, I have water and flu medication."
"But I'm tired," I whined, burying deeper into the plush duvet and pillows. I inhaled deeply, and scented sandalwood, mint, and something uniquely... other... "This bed smells nice..."
"I would hope so, or Mrs Hudson isn't doing her job. Now, Katie, medicine."
When he used my nickname I knew he was serious. I peeked at him again over the sea of deep purple fabric, and saw his blue eyes fixed intently on me, while he brandished a bottle of water and a packet of tablets. I groaned painfully, but hoisted myself into a half-sitting position, this small movement making my vision pitch and roll.
A cool hand was placed on my forehead, and I shut my eyes at the pleasant contact, becoming even more satisfied when long fingers pushed loose pieces of hair away from my burning face.
"Stay awake, Katherine..."
"Hm..." I agreed drowsily, my fingers twitching slightly when two pills were dropped into my palm. I slowly lifted my hand, and dropped the tablets into my mouth, blindly reaching for water. Instead, Sherlock gently tipped my head back with a smooth cold hand, and dribbled some cool water past my chapped lips. I swallowed gratefully, trying with all of my might not to choke.
"Come on, lie back down; you need to sleep this off."
"But it's your bed," I mumbled in protest, shifting to move out of the warm heaven, eyes still firmly clamped shut. Sherlock tutted impatiently, and wrapped me more tightly into the plush purple blanket, making escape impossible. I just collapsed against the pillows, and tried to ignore the harsh pounding in my head.
"Now sleep. John will probably check on you later." The weight on the bed shifted, but I reached out and grasped his sleeve before he could get up completely. I still refused to open my sore, burning eyes.
"Thank you Sherly. Love you..."
"You're delusional, woman," he snapped, shaking my hand off before getting off of the bed. Silence fell over me like a blanket, and I rolled over again, awareness already slipping away. I might've dreamed the cool lips that were pressed to my forehead, and the backs of long, elegant fingers that brushed tenderly down my cheek. Something made me think that I hadn't, though.
"So... Comfortable?"
"Go 'way, John..." I growled, keeping my face buried into the cool safety of the pillow.
"I just wanted to check whether you're alright-"
"And gloat," I muttered, poking him with my elbow.
"True. I thought you should know: Sherlock's been out of sorts lately, you know. Worried and such..."
"And?"
"And, it's very out of character, as we both know," he prodded, holding a bottle of water in front of my face. I grudgingly sat up and downed it, gratefully moving onto the buttered toast he provided next. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, I suppose. I'm sure I was hallucinating for a couple hours in the middle there..."
"With a temperature of 102, I'm not surprised." John patted my hand, then picked up the empty bottle and plate. "Fancy a cuppa?"
"Urgh, no. Hot chocolate please. I don't, and will never, understand the British obsession with tea."
"Coming right up, ma'am," he teased in a horribly New York taxi driver accent. I rolled my eyes, but smiled anyway, the small joke appreciated. I lay back in the bed again, listening to the silence in the bedroom, and the muted sounds from the violin being tinkered with in the living room. I heard the kettle whistle, and the screeching ping of a string as Sherlock was distracted by something. I was only just able to make out two hushed voices, debating something furiously. The voices tapered off into the merest murmurs as the screaming of the kettle died away.
There were a few more minutes of silence, and finally the door opened to reveal Sherlock holding my mug of hot chocolate covered in mini marshmallows and whipped cream. He carefully passed me the mug once I was sat up, and stood by the bedside, eyes locked on my face.
"Thanks, Sherlock. Can you thank John for the marshmallows for me?"
"They were my idea."
"Oh... thank you, then..." There was a slightly awkward silence while I sipped at the chocolate, and he kept staring at me. "Are you bored again, Sherlock?"
"No, I'm merely trying to understand why and how John has come to this conclusion before I." He muttered, perched on the edge of the bed, bringing his frowning face closer to mine. My heartbeat picked, and I struggled to keep from cringing away from him. Even so, my eyes still flickered to the door, and this was enough of a 'tell' for the world's greatest detective. "So there is something..."
"I'm going to kill him..." I muttered, setting the empty mug on the bedside table and attempting to get out of the bed. Sherlock's hands were quick to push me back.
"I'd like to talk to you first. Now, John has revealed that you... like me." He seemed completely disarmed by the idea, and I couldn't help but smile at the look of confusion on his face. "Why?"
My smile dropped and I turned my head away, my mouth clamped closed and my cheeks red. This was just getting better and better...
"Katie?"
"You're going to think I'm mad..."
"I think that anyway, Katherine," he dead-panned; a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth being the only indication he was teasing me.
"Just..."
"Come on, I thought we could all tell each other anything," he prodded.
"I... can't."
He huffed impatiently, and I snapped a little.
"Sherlock, remember the rest of us have these tiny little things called feelings and sometimes they make things difficult, and so you puffing at me isn't helpful!"
He stood with a nonchalant shrug, and looked down at me with a tilted head.
"I have all I need anyway. Of course, I figured all of this out a long time ago, as confusing as your responses to me have been."
It took me a second, but then I inhaled sharply, and glared at the lean man heading for the door.
"You knew?!"
"Your reactions during our games were most satisfying..." he smirked at me, looking over his shoulder at my rapidly reddening face.
"You mean... you were flirting on purpose?! You enjoyed it?!"
"You're delusional, woman... But yes, I'd rather say that I did."
He grinned one last time before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind him. I collapsed back on the pillows, groaning while I smacked a fist against my forehead. Stupid, emotional, pointless...
I turned onto my stomach, blocking out the world in the plush purple pillow, still silently berating myself. But no matter how much I cursed, I couldn't stop the giant smile that spread across my face as I breathed in the smell of Sherlock.
He loves me... He loves me not... He loves me...
You're delusional, woman...
I grinned as my mental-Sherlock chastised me again, and closed my eyes, planning on taking another nap. Things were starting to look up...