Observers- BBC Sherlock x Reader Chpt. 15

When Sherlock stopped playing a short while later you had to force yourself to set your brush down as the urge to grey-out the work you’d just done threatened to take over. You quickly washed your brushes and cleaned up before happily bouncing up the stairs and through the door to the boys’ flat.


You spied Sherlock laying face down on the couch with a desolate and despondent look on his face, which you ignored, chalking it up to the fact that you had no case.

“Come on. We’re going out.” You chirped throwing his jacket at him.

He sat up, eyeing you curiously, “Why?”

You grinned, grabbing his hands to pull him to his feet, “Why the hell not? John is out, the night is young, and London has so much to offer. Besides it’s better than whatever sulking you were doing before I came up.”

While that was true, he didn’t feel like going out, he was sick after all and his symptoms had started acting up as soon as you walked through the door. He went to tell you no but when he finally turned to look at you, you had the biggest puppy dog eyes flecked with hints of mischief and your lower lip was puffed out in a slight pout.

He meant to say no, he really did, but what actually came out of his mouth was, “Alright.”

You squealed as you broke into a large grin and gave a little twirl and Sherlock couldn’t help but give a small smile at your reaction. A warmth bubbled up in his chest that he knew to be happiness and he tilted his head, was he happy because you were happy? It was possible but the feeling seemed to quell the symptoms of his sickness and he wondered if maybe that meant that whatever was wrong with him was emotionally based.


He didn’t have time to think it over as you had already bounded out the door and were calling to him from the bottom of the stairs, “Come on, Sherlock!”

He rushed to catch up with you as he wondered if this was how John felt a lot of the time and when he reached the bottom you grabbed his hand to tug him out to the street. You seemed to think for a moment and then a devious smile played across your lips as you quickly hailed a cab.  

Sherlock was quietly observing you during the cab ride but you didn’t seem to notice, as you looked out the window to watch everything rush by.  You were still smiling over whatever idea you’d come up with for the night and your cheeks and nose were pink from the cold night air. The corner of his mouth turned up when he noticed that you had paint behind your ear again, a sort of indigo blue this time, and he decided to tell you later when it would be beneficial for him.  
He had to jog to keep up with you again when the cab pulled to a stop and, after paying, you took off at a brisk pace. He could see now what your intentions were as you stopped to look up at the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral and he quirked an eyebrow at you to which you responded with a grin.

You found a side entrance door and pulled out a small lock picking kit with a frustrated sigh, dropping to your knees to begin working at it. He could tell that though you would eventually get it open, your lock picking skills were limited and decided to teach you properly later. You had just uttered a soft curse in French when Sherlock stopped your hand and gestured for you to take his place as lookout. You thanked him wordlessly and then turned to scan the street until, just a few minutes later, Sherlock grabbed you and pulled you into the building with him.

Neither of you said anything, communicating with only slight gestures and expressions, as you quickly found the stairs and ascended to the top level of the dome. You huffed, leaning against the heavy metal railing to look out at twinkling lights of London with an expression of awe.  Sherlock joined you and you looked over at him with a grin, “Worth it.”

He chuckled, “Your lock picking needs work.”

You sighed, “I know. I never actually learned properly. More like trial and error.”

He nodded and then watched as you wandered around the small platform’s circumference a couple of times and then stopped to pull out your sketchbook, using the railing as a hard surface to balance it on as you sketched, “Few people have seen this- London at night from the cathedral. It’s beautiful.”

He’d never actually thought about it before but standing here with you now he had to agree, there was something about the lights of London at night that was intriguing. Or at least that’s what he decided it was. The only other option was that he looked at it differently now because he was here with you and that was absurd.

You slipped your sketchbook away and came to lean on the railing next to him, pressing your shoulder to his, and his heart skipped a beat. He turned to look at you, you were looking out on the city with a small content smile, your hair rustling slightly in the breeze, and his heart swelled up when you turned to give him a small, secretive grin, happiness lighting up your eyes.

You giggled, “You ok, Sherly?”

He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts, ignoring your silly nickname for him again, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You looked back at the city, “You looked a little dazed is all.”

His gaze joined yours and your head suddenly tilted, “We should go.”

No sooner had you said it he heard the faint ring of sirens fill the air from somewhere off in the distance. You offered him a wicked grin and the two of you stumbled down the many stairs, out the door, and over to a neighboring alleyway just as the cop cars pulled up. You both giggled as you saw a distraught looking Lestrade barking orders to his team and then you grabbed Sherlock’s hand and tugged him past and away from the group of officers at brisk but not suspicious pace.

Lestrade only just barely caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s familiar dark locks and the edge of his coat as you rounded the corner and let out a heavy sigh, he should have known that man would have something to do with this.

You let go of Sherlock’s hand once you were out of sight and he felt empty for a moment but it was soon filled with warmth rising in his chest as you giggled and tossed a smile in his direction.

“Do you think Lestrade will call you when they figure out nothing was taken?” you asked falling into step next to him.

“It’s a possibility.” He replied with a small smirk.

You snorted at the idea of Sherlock having to investigate a crime that you and he committed and then gave a small yawn. Sherlock’s lips twitched as a smile threatened to appear, “I think this was quite enough adventure for tonight.”

You chuckled and stepped to the curb to hail a cab, “Agreed. We best get home before John finds us missing and begins to assume things.”

Sherlock gave a soft smile as he climbed into the cab after you, “You Watsons and your worries over people’s assumptions. It’s pointless really.”

You poked his side, “To you maybe. You don’t care what people think.”

“That is because anyone with sufficient intelligence knows better and everyone else doesn’t matter.”

You smiled and glanced out the window, spending the rest of the cab ride in a comfortable silence.

Once at the flat, he paused at your door to say goodnight and as you turned to look at him, he offered, “You have paint behind your ear again.”

You blinked confusedly for a second at his sudden observation as he rolled his eyes and reached forward to rub it off with his thumb.  He didn’t expect the blush that suddenly colored your cheeks as his fingers made contact with your skin and his eyes quickly flicked over you.

Colored cheeks. Slightly dilated pupils. Unconscious biting of the lower lip. He smirked. You liked him. His heart soared as its rate jumped up and he cursed this sickness. It was getting in the way of his thinking of ways to use this to his advantage in the future.

The moment didn’t last long as you got a very unsure look on your face and quickly pulled away to offer a stiff, “Thanks. Good night, Sherlock,” before escaping into your flat and quickly shutting the door behind you.

He frowned as he realized your past would likely get in the way of any plans he had and was reminded of the anger he felt earlier over the fact that you’d been harmed. He was going to have to do something about that.