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To say the least, there is a lot of shouting and angry yelling within the walls of 221B. The conversations pertain usually to the following: cigarettes, music, and/or bees. The two residents of said flat, the nationally-famous Sherlock Holmes and the passive-aggressive trash-talker (Y/N) (L/N). To say that they get along famously is both and under and overstatement. They care about each other to bits--to a fault, though. The following is a glance at their lives together.
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"The Meeting"
Sherlock's ears pick up the light, almost childish footsteps coming up the staircase. Walking in front is undoubtedly Mrs. Hudson who opens the door to his flat.
"Yoo-ooh!" the loving landlady greets as his her wont. She picks up the empty tea tray from the last guest then whispers to Sherlock,"I think you'll like this one..!" He looks the woman up and down.
Yes, it's true, ever since John's been out, he's been in need of an assistant, to his disliking. He sighs.
"Name?"
"(Y/N) (L/N), sir," she answers without skipping a beat. The answer is firm but friendly. Sherlock sits upright from his lying down position. She dons an amiable smile.
After a few minutes of basic questioning, Sherlock queries whilst fiddling with a pen,"Are bothered by violins?" Before answering, (Y/N) glances at said instrument laying by his chair. She beams cheerily.
"Are you bothered by ukuleles?"
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"The Waterworks"
Sherlock pokes his head into the loving room, making his curls bounce the slightest.
"Do you have mascara?"
(Y/N) flips a page in her book and nonchalantly responds,"There are more discreet and polite ways of saying people look better with makeup." Sherlock huffs grumpily and heaves her over his shoulder. He's done this many times before to get his way, so (Y/N) resumes reading whilst being carried.
It isn't until she's set down at a kitchen table chair does she ask,"What is it this time?"
"Put two in your eyes," Sherlock refers to eyedrops, a bottle set on the table. He rummages through drawers meanwhile.
"Okiedokie." (Y/N) complies and blinks after she does so.
In his pale hands, surprisingly, Sherlock holds out a tube of mascara.
"Put this on," he instructs promptly.
(Y/N) laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck,"I kinda don't know how, Sherlock."
He flashes, first, a look of surprise then of disbelief. He blows his curls out his face,"Come here, then." She scoots her chair closer to his. Their proximity increases as he strikes the mascara wand on her eyelashes briskly.
The slightest bit embarrassed, the ukulelist notices how close he is to her face.
"Done." He screws the cap back on and she admires his work with his mobile.
"Cute..! Now what?" (Y/N) frowns at his next words.
Sherlock clears the table a bit to find a notebook,"I need you to cry. For about 60 seconds. Don't rub your eyes." He looks at her expectantly but she is lost in thought.
"In this century, (Y/N)."
"I'll do your weird experiment, but I just need a second," she mutters. Sherlock waves his hand dismissively. About half a minute later does she start to sob somewhat uncontrollably. Sherlock scribbles down his notes for the experiment.
The timer rings, signalling the end. (Y/N) genuinely tries to stop her crying but the attempt is fruitless.
Sherlock looks up from his chickenscratch for handwriting to see his assistant in such a state. John has made him soft in some ways, so he swipes a tissue over her (S/C) cheeks compassionately.
Their fingertips touch the slightest when she takes the tissue from his hands.
"Did you have John put on makeup and cry, as well?" (Y/N) giggles, lightening the mood.
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"The Symphony"
Out of the blue, (Y/N) inquires with intent,"Are you one for music, Sherlock?" He glances at his violin before answering,"In some sort. Yes, I suppose." (Y/N) scoots her chair closer to him.
"As in singing, dummy," she corrects merrily. Sherlock snaps his book shut loudly,"What's the point?"
Teasingly, (Y/N) asks whilst tuning her ukulele strings,"Of this conversation?"
"Of singing, dummy." At that, (Y/N) almost breaks one of the nylon strings. She sputters but then regains her composure.
She plays a scale on the ukulele while saying the solfege (do, re, mi...). As if it were a challenge, Sherlock plays the same scale on violin.
She strums lively chords and sings happily,"Isn't it pretty? We're makin' music~" She plucks a lively melody and Sherlock plays it back via violin.
(Y/N) plays a difficult measure of notes and Sherlock repeats it adding a few extra notes to make it flourish.
"You still haven't answered my question," Sherlock says bemused. (Y/N) exhales sharply,"Think of it in an intelligent manner!"
"Oh, (Y/N) dear, everything I do is in an intelligent manner."
Frustrated, she says the following in one breath,"It's exceedingly simple! It's just interest for the satisfaction of bringing it to completion. Interest without meaning. Solutions without problems. In a way, singing equals chaotic good!"
"You're very passionate about singing," he commends.
"Damn right, Mr. Holmes."
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"The Acme"
Like a bloodhound, (Y/N) sniffs the air outside 221B. Her (E/C) eyes widen in shock and she sprints up the stairs.
"Sherlock?!" (Y/N) shouts, tripping over her shoelaces. She flings open the door to see a horrid sight. Sherlock bloody Holmes is smoking a cigarette.
"I'm gonna murder you. I'm gonna freaking murder you. See if you'll solve that one, Sherlock," she mutters through gritted teeth. (Y/N) strides over to him and looks him in his luminous eyes. She holds out her hand expectantly.
In response, he huffs smoke into her face. (Y/N), without breaking eyes contact, slaps the cigarette onto the floor and grinds her sneaker on it mercilessly. She grimaces triumphantly.
Sherlock groans and flops onto his chair defeatedly. He buries his face into his hands and questions in frustration,"Why do you care? It's the worst, really..!" In a higher voice, he mocks,"'Oh, Sherlock, you should put on a sweater! Hey, Sherlock, when was the last time you left the house? Sherlock, why didn't you answer John's message?' Because I don't care! Okay, (Y/N)?!" He looks into space after his rant. But it only seems to start hers.
(Y/N) slams her hands down on the arms of his chair.
"'Why do I care?' I care because you're important to me, you insubordinate piece of shit! Do you know what you have done to change my life? Sherlock Holmes, you have not turned the tables in my life. You have hurtled them around like a relentless hurricane from hell! And it's actually the best thing that has happened. I care because I love you! And it sucks ass to think you have no idea as to what that means..!"
Her string of words startle him as she storms out in a fury.
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"The Resolution"
(Y/N) makes her way up the dimly-lit stairs of her house somewhat reluctantly. Her locks click quietly as she turns the keys. With a sniffle, she enters the house.
Much to her surprise, she finds a flower bouquet sitting pretty on her desk. Her mobile rings in precise timing.
"Did you receive my gift?" Sherlock asks softly on the other line.
"The fact that I have to change my locks is not a gift, Sherlock Holmes," (Y/N) answers mellowly, taking a seat,"...But, yes. I did." (Y/N) smiles the slightest. He sighs in relief.
Then he says gently,"Thank you for caring, (Y/N). The fact that you do means a lot to me."
"Well, it means a lot to me that it means a lot to you."
After the smallest of pauses, (Y/N) delivers,"I'll see you tomorrow, then."
Abruptly and contrary to their current soft-spokenness, Sherlock lets out,"Wait! (Y/N)..!" She listens intently. In the background, she hears Mrs. Hudson smack his arm and prompt,"Say it, Sherlock!" John and Mary agree with her in their own ways. (Y/N) can't help but laugh at the thought of Sherlock calling her with them as his wingmen.
"And. I... love you, too."
"Damn right, Mr. Holmes." She scoffs happily then hangs up. After setting down her phone calmly, (Y/N) jumps up and down and exclaims gleefully. And in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock does the same.
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