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dylsstuff · 27 days ago

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Deku’s Guide to Accidentally Dating your Enemy: An Irritating Bargain

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku/Bakugo Katzuki

Word count: 5,750

When Bakugo steps in to help Izuku out of a situation, neither of them imagine they’d be accidentally thrown into a relationship. Now they have to keep up their facade. The question is; Can they?

AO3

A Fake Dating, University, no quirks AU

CW!: Some creep mildly harasses Izuku in this chapter

Chapter One

“Are you coming to Denki’s place on Friday?” Ochako said out of nowhere.

They were in the university library where Izuku was up to his ears in books. He had an essay due next week. In his mind, he had to know everything about his chosen subject matter by later tonight. Locking himself in his room, the only contact being his housemates coming in to leave food and water on his desk silently whilst he worked. Making sure he didn’t neglect his bodily functions in favour of working. If they put food in his vicinity he would eventually eat it because it was there for him to see. He was forever grateful that his friends kept him alive.

So here he was, four books laid open before him and a few piles next to him as he ferociously wrote in his notebook for this class.

Izuku looked up at Ochako who was typing on her phone as she looked at him expectantly.

“Huh? What’s happening on Friday?” He honestly had no idea what was happening or whether it had been brought up to him before now. He had an overwhelming feeling that he probably should know what was going on by the look on her face which screamed ‘Seriously?’.

“You’re literally in the group chat.” She waved her phone in front of his face so that he could read what was on it.

The title read, “Sick ass party ppl” with a bunch of emojis. It looked like there were a lot of members in the group. The memory of being added to the group chat came to him in a flash. The memory of when he muted it because he was overwhelmed by the vast amount of messages and notifications he was getting also came to mind. ‘Ah’. He’d wiped it from his memory whilst he had been prepping for his essay. The reading he was doing right now was overkill but it wouldn’t hurt, right?

Right?!

Anyway, the party had completely been wiped from his brain until just this second. He really had to do this essay. He planned to have it done by at least Thursday, which was a few days away now. The 3 weeks of reading he put on himself to plan his essays around would surely help. He’d have it done by Friday that’s for sure.

He had been mumbling under his breath as he weighed up his options. Typical of him but his friends didn’t mind but it left all of his thoughts out in the open. Ochako was looking at him with a polite smile waiting for him to respond to her question. She knew that he preferred people not mentioning his muttering and pretending he just didn’t do it at all. He was grateful that all of his friends understood this so he didn't have to be embarrassed.

“I’ll be there!” He finally responded by handing her phone back to her.

“Great! We can all go together!” She says enthusiastically with a bigger smile than before, going back to texting on her phone. He assumed she was making his coming known to the group chat to confirm with their hosts. “Iida said he wanted to sit this one out but that he’d join the next game night we have over there. Shouto is coming with us though!” She says as she types.

He nods, going back to writing his notes in silence as she keeps him quiet company for the time being.

The next two days consisted of him being locked at his desk, eyes glued to his computer as he typed. There were moments he had to be ripped away to use the bathroom, anything else he needed his housemates brought to him, careful not to disturb him as they left plates of food on the empty part of his desk that didn't have any notes or paper on it. They also filled up his water bottle for him to ensure he was hydrated. Later they came in to take the empty plates out for him.

He was done.

Every time he finished an essay or project he had this weight lifted off of his shoulders. Like he could finally breathe after weeks of stress, now he had a couple of days to kill before the next one he had to worry about. Thank God. Not that he was religious.

He stretched out in his chair immediately smelling the stench radiating off of him. Gross... he stretched out after being a hermit for two days during which he stayed in the same clothes and didn’t shower or put on deodorant. He breathed in deeply.

K.O’d.

The smell hit him like a tonne of bricks and he fell backwards on his chair. He always had a flair for dramatics. Accepting his fate, he let himself hit the ground with a loud thud.

Well, this is where he will live from now on. This was his place in the world. Who was he to argue with the great beyond?

His door flew open suddenly, Iida, Shouto and Ochako breathing heavily as they barged in, basically falling themselves. He simply looked up with a smile.

“Hey guys!”

“Don’t fucking ‘hey guys’ us we thought you died or passed out or- what the fuck Izuku!” Ochako yelled frantically.

Iida looked at her shocked, flailing his hand in front of him.

“Ochako please refrain from using such language!”

“It’s 3 am right now and we heard a huge bang come from your room. We thought you passed out from exhaustion,” Shouto added to Ochako’s outburst.

Now that Izuku looked them over they were all in their sleepwear. Oops.

“Ah- So sorry guys! I just finished my essay and I leant back on my chair too far. Well, you can guess the rest.” He explained, “Wait, did you say 3 am? What day is it?”

“Thursday, don’t worry you have plenty of time to catch up on sleep and shower before tomorrow.” Ochako says, “Get up off the floor and go do your thing. We’re very proud of you for finishing your essay but it is 3 am, Jesus Christ I am pooped.” She says with a yawn, she waves at him and retreats out of the room.

“Goodnight Izuku!” Iida says with a nod of his head, “Very well done for finishing your essay. You worked really hard for this one!” He smiles with a thumbs up.

“Well done Midoriya,” Shouto says with a small smile as he leaves with Iida leaving Izuku alone in his room, who decided to sleep.

Friday came quickly, having slept through all of Thursday through Friday morning. When he decided to finally shower and partake in some self-care, like changing into clean clothes and making himself something to eat.

So here he was chowing down on his cereal.

“He lives!” A voice from the kitchen doorway says. Izuku turns his head to see which of his friends are here to bless his day with their presence. Ochako!

“Hey! Yeah- finally up, moving and ready for the day!” He laughs as she comes in to sit in her spot on the counter. She sat here whenever Izuku, Iida or Shouto were in here so she could talk to them without being in the way.

“That's good! Are you prepared to get your party on later?” She asks moving her shoulders up and down, a move many probably would call dancing. It makes him let out a light chuckle, nodding in response.

“Of course! Denki always makes sure we all have fun and we haven't seen them in a while so I'm looking forward to it!”

Ochako nods in agreement, “Have you got an outfit picked out yet?”

“Not yet I was gonna pick something later.”

“Oh no no, we're going up there right now because if I leave it up to you you're going to just do it last minute.” She says jumping off of the counter. “Come on!”

Finding clothes and putting them on should not take more than thirty minutes.

Yet, here they were. Two hours deep into a search on what he should wear. TWO HOURS. It turned into Shouto sitting in his desk chair giving his opinions too whilst Ochako went from sitting on the end of his bed to rummaging through his clothes to asking Shouto if she could raid his closet too. He declined and she respected his privacy whilst invading Izuku's personal space whilst she tugged and ruffled things on his person. Izuku hated thinking too hard about things like clothes when he thought too much about everything all of the time. His essays, his interactions, his friendships, his family. The list goes on and on and on. It was annoying but the last thing on his mind was what he was wearing. Sure he liked dressing nice for events but this seemed too excessive even for him.

God he hated his life.

“Do you really need to be touching my hair so much?”

“If we want to see what vibe we’re going for when I style your hair later! This is an important part of the process Izuku!” She says simply as she did something else to his hair. It was a little hard to make his ruffles look neat but pretty easy to make it look intentionally messy. According to Ochako that was. Apparently, intentionally messy and unintentionally mess was a thing but that just kind of went over his head as his friend worked around him while she went on her spiel about hairstyles and clothes and something about how it was always a nice finishing touch to an outfit to style your hair as it brings the ‘outfit together’. Whatever that means.

This was going to be another long couple of hours.

Surprisingly they got to Denki's house on time despite the FIVE hours that it took for Ochako to decide what to dress Izuku in. He felt like a pampered show dog. In the end she did a pretty good job. His mullet was styled into loose curls that were made to look intentionally messy. Again he didn't know what that meant but alas she and Shouto said he looked good. Still he thought it was a bit much for it to have taken five hours to decide on it.

The outfit that had been decided was a pair of his ripped, light blue skinny jeans, he had nice legs so Ochako said he should show them off with tightly fitted jeans. She raided Iida's closet in the end for his shirt. Which ended up landing on a loose fitting vest that had larger holes for his arms, so from the side people could see his torso. He was told he'd be irresistible when people saw him in the chosen outfit which he supposed was nice. He really just wanted to hang out with friends but Ochako is someone who enjoys romance and matching all of her friends up.

It was not the first time that she had tried to set him up with someone. She meant well and was just trying to be a good friend to him, and help him find happiness. He did think that she went over the top sometimes.

Izuku figured that she was just bored, perhaps finished her TV shows and wanted something exciting. Like setting her friends up as a wing-woman. She did understand boundaries after some mishaps of overstepping but she was a lot better these days.

When they got to Denki’s house they were met with people outside drinking various things, some were dancing to the music blasting from the house, others were just talking.

It had quite a big garden for a student house, and Izuku was the first to comment on how good of a deal Denki got on this place. It was a big detached house, that had a great Wi-Fi connection no matter the weather. Plus a front and back garden. The cherry on top was that this place cost the same amount he and his housemates were paying. He was jealous, to say the least. They got the best deal in housing and Izuku didn’t blame them for throwing a party to show it off. There was plenty of room.

As they walked into the house Izuku made a note that it seemed like they were earlier than most, considering that they could still roam around the house without a crowd of sweaty bodies stopping them in their tracks. That is typically how Denki’s parties went. That was also around the time Izuku’s buzz would be helping him not want to rip his hair out from the amount of people. Though he wasn't planning on drinking too much tonight after the last time he was here. Denki was a bad influence.

Making their way to the kitchen, bag of drinks in hand they bumped into a few familiar faces, Ochako being left behind to discuss something with her fellow classmate. Something about their most recent assignment.

As Shouto and Izuku crossed the threshold of the kitchen, they walked in on Denki and Kirishima laughing at the expense of one of their friends.

Just as Izuku was about to speak a red pair of eyes made eye contact with his stopping him in his tracks.

Bakugo Katsuki.

Someone with whom his relationship wasn't the best. From childhood friends to middle school bullies. Once in high school Izuku got to the point where he started retorting to some of the vicious words spouting from the blond's mouth. Katsuki was almost impressed. Now they were in University and ran in the same friend groups, so they were civil often with some back and forth. At least there wasn't as much tension as when they had been younger.

Still, though, that didn't mean they were ever happy to see each other.

Which they weren't.

“Deku.” He sneered.

“Kacchan,” Izuku replied with the same energy.

“You've shrunk.”

“Your heads gotten bigger.” He retorts without missing a beat.

Katsuki's eyebrow twitched, amused almost. If he was amused he didn't say anything, just took a swig of his drink he had in hand, giving a grunt that sounded kind of like ‘shitty Deku’ pushing past Izuku through the door. With not a single look back at the blond he smiled at his friends, ready to catch up with those he hadn’t seen for a while.

Izuku didn't like drinking too much, usually he just nursed his first drink most of the night, swapping it out for a non-alcoholic soft drink. That didn't stop him from enjoying himself though. He liked hanging out and dancing with his friends mostly on nights like these.

He loved dancing. The way he could just let go of any tension and move without being embarrassed because everyone else was too drunk to care.

At some point he needed to break away from his friends to use the bathroom, pushing past a lot of drunk people on his way. He also kept getting stopped by people who he'd been briefly introduced to in the past.

God he just wanted to piss. Not on Denki's floor so he had to cut all of the interactions short. Making a mental note to stop past on his way back from the bathroom to have a proper conversation. That would have to wait though, his bladder was practically screaming at him.

After getting past the thick of the crowd he was finally at the stairs and he let out the biggest sigh of relief he could manage as he jogged up them. He saw the door to the bathroom open as he came around the corner and silently thanked the gods that he got here before he pissed himself.

As he was about to shut the door behind himself he heard a thump and the door wasn't closing. Weird. He looked down and saw a foot wedged preventing him to close it. Even weirder. He opened it and saw a taller guy, oh—

It was someone from his class who he's spoken to a few times. He's made a few eyebrow raising remarks towards him in the past but nothing Izuku took note of or too seriously. They were the kind of comments slimy men said trying to flirt with women.

"Midoriya!" His voice came out loud and excited. His breath heavily smelled of alcohol.

"Ah- Uh can I help you?" He was trying to work out what he may want.

"I've been watching you allll night." Creepy but okay. "In class-" anything else that was coming out of his mouth fell on deaf ears.

'What on earth is this guys name?'

"Izukuuu, I'm trying to talk to youuu~" He stumbles closer, making Izuku step back into the bathroom on instinct.

"Sorry! You seem very nice and maybe we can talk more when you're sober?" He says with a small smile.

Izuku breathed out a small panicked laugh, holding both hands up as the creepy guy took another step forward, making Izuku step backwards, back hitting a wall behind him.

“Come on, Izuku~” He slurred, movements sloppy. “I've been so good to you. All I'm asking for is one night.” He reached out to grab Izuku's wrist.

“Who said you could put your grubby hands on him fucker?” a gruff voice demanded from behind them and in a flash a hand was grabbing the slimy wrist that was trying to grab him.

He recognised that voice. For some reason not even knowing who the voice was from gave him a lot of relief already. Probably because no matter who it was they were saving him from whatever this freak was trying to do.

“Who the fuck are you? His boyfriend?” Before Izuku knew what was happening the guy in front of him was being pulled away from him in one swift motion and all he could do was stand there in silence and watch.

“So what if I am Extra?” Izuku blinked. ‘Extra’. He blinked again. Looking up he saw the back of a spikey blonde as he got in between them both.

The creep scoffs. “You're his boyfriend?”

“Yeah and who the fuck are you?”

The next time the creep laughs it's in a way that would convey he was literally shitting his pants.

“Look buddy, I'll just be on my way. This doesn't need to go any further.”

“I asked you a fucking question. Who are you?”

“Kacchan, let him go.” Izukus's voice came out a little quieter than he would have wanted but he had his hand on the blonde's shoulder. He felt his body tense under his touch but Katzuki opened his hand and the creep wasted no time escaping the room.

There was a silence that surrounded them. It wasn't uncomfortable but it was definitely tense after the altercation.

Izuku opened his mouth to say thank you but the other interrupted as per usual.

“Did you even piss?”

Blinking slowly the smaller one just looked at the blond.

What kind of question is that? He was shaken up and that was the first question that just came to mind. He wanted to say but he didn’t.

Instead, he said;

“Huh? What-”

“You came in here to use the shitter- did you piss before fuckknuckle came in?” Eloquent as always.

“Ah- no-”

“Piss.”

Izuku just stands there staring at the back of the bathroom door after Katzuki leaves the room. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck.

What even was that?!

That didn’t feel real in the slightest. From getting harassed to Kacchan coming to his aid and now he was in his friends' bathroom having a crisis. Story of his life. What the hell was he going to say to that guy in their next lecture? Was he going to spread this around? What was he meant to tell his friends?

Great now he is pacing instead of pissing.

Kacchan was probably just.. Doing him a solid. Of course! That was absolutely the reason! Why else would he say something so absurd?

They hadn’t had a conversation one-on-one, in something stupid like 10-plus years ago when their friendship came to a drastic halt. He still wasn’t even sure why anymore. Katsuki went through a stage of bullying him to not talking to him at all and when they went to the same University, making friends with the same people their relationship was just civil, never saying more than a few retorts to each other in their hangouts.

Now… he’s stuck up for him against someone he didn’t even know.

Maybe he was thinking too much about it. It could literally just be Katsuki being nice. He knows if the roles were reversed he would have done the same and stepped in.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“J-just a minute!!” he hadn’t realised how long he had been in the bathroom for. He was sure Ochako was worried about him taking so long but then again she might have seen some other friends to catch up with by now.

Finally he got chance to pee and it was the best piss of his life.

Opening the door he gave a quick apology to whoever was waiting as he walked past them.

How could he be in the bathroom that long and only just piss? That was embarrassing. They probably thought he was people having sex. He really had to figure out how to get himself to stop his brain from going at a million miles per second when anything small happened to him.

As he was turning around the corner he was stopped by someone grabbing his arm. Looking up he expected the same creep as before but he was met with crimson eyes peering down at him. Oh.

“I’m taking you home,” Katsuki says simply.

There’s a pause as Deku blinks slowly.

“I can’t just leave I have-”

“Text them.” That was a good point he could just text them... Why didn’t he think of that?

He nods as he follows Katsuki out of the house, pushing past drunk and tipsy people in the hallways. He was getting knocked around by the sheer amount of bodies that had turned up to the party. There was a moment that he was sure he was about to lose Katsuki in the crowd and as if he read his mind his wrist was grabbed by the other as they moved.

The cold air hit him as soon as they were outside the party. Honestly, it was refreshing. His wrist had been let go of as soon as they got through the door. He assumed that was because he wasn’t at risk of getting lost in the crowd.

Katsuki was already making his way to his car at a fast pace that Deku had to jog to catch up with him.

“What’s going on? How much did you have to drink? Can you even drive right now?” Izuku asks nervously as he follows along.

Katsuki just grunted, “I haven’t drunk anything idiot. Why else would I offer to take you home?” He opened the driver's side of the car pausing as he looked at Izuku who had the most baffled look on his face. “Fuckin- just get in the stupid car Deku.”

He didn’t need to be told again, there was a look in the other’s eyes that Izuku couldn’t quite pinpoint but he relented and got in the car.

Streetlights past them by as they drove down the street. The air in the car felt a lot thicker than the air outside. It almost was unbearable as they sat there in silence. They haven’t been alone since they were kids. What was he even meant to say?

Katsuki was the one who spoke first. Which was the second biggest relief of the night that he brought Izuku.

“So who was that Extra?”

Never mind. All he feels is dread. Curses.

“Ah- Uh- No one really!” He says, “ He’s just this guy on my course. I don't even know his name.”

Katsuki was staring ahead as he drove, the lights from the city lighting up his face. He almost looked ethereal from this angle. In retrospect, it could just be the dark making him look this way to Izuku but if he was being honest he knows Katsuki is attractive to basically anyone with eyes. Well, until he opened his mouth.

“Just some guy huh?” He hums, eyes still locked ahead of him. “It certainly didn’t seem that way. Does that fucker often act all handsy with you without your permission?”

“N- No! That was literally the first time Kacchan.” He didn’t look like he believed him so Izuku doubled down. “okay, he’s a little weird! But that isn’t a bad thing! I mean sure, he like spam messages me sometimes and sits a bit too close- okay it- it does sound bad.”

“Yeah, no shit Deku. If a red flag was humanised it’d be that slimy fuck. How long has this been going on for?”

“About 6 months.”

“You let it go on for six fucking months? Does round face know?”

Izuku shook his head sheepishly, “I didn’t want to worry her.”

“Fucking stupid,” Katsuki says through gritted teeth. “You're fucking stupid, Deku.”

There were a few moments where neither of them spoke.

“Thank you for stepping in. I’m sorry that you had to go that far though.”

“What?”

“With- I mean, when you said you were my… boyfriend? You didn’t have to say that but thank you it really helped.”

“Oh. That.” Katsuki grumbled.

“Hey don’t worry! I can explain to people that we’re not dating if he does tell anyone! I know that's probably the last thing you'd want-”

“Actually..” Katsuki cut him off mid-thought. There were a few beats of silence, it seemed he was heavily debating on his next words but he continued anyway. “What happens if it gets back to shit for brains that you aren’t taken? What would stop him from pulling another stunt like he did tonight in the future?”

Oh.

That was a good question. Izuku would hope it wouldn’t come to that but he was almost in a lot of trouble in that bathroom tonight.

“I have a family event soon. The hag wants me to bring a partner to introduce to everyone. This..” Izuku wasn’t sure where this train of thought was going but Katsuki looked almost worried about saying any of the words that were threatening to spill out of his mouth. That really wasn’t like Kasuki, he was always the first to say exactly what was on his mind and not care about taking any consequences. “.. listen, we don’t fucking like each other, to be frank. I think you’re a useless nerd and your voice grinds my fucking ears off.” He says as a matter of fact. “However, I did you a favour, saying I was your boyfriend to get that slimy fucker off your back.”

“You want me to come to your family event as your boyfriend to get Auntie off your back?”

“The hag fucking likes you or some shit. I don’t know. Forget it. It’s fucking stupid.”

There were another few moments of silence, Izuku could tell Katsuki was getting a bit antsy. He always got a little fidgety when he was unsure or nervous, not that it happened often but he remembered what Katsuki was like when they were kids just before he feigned confidence in an activity. He remembers the distinct way the blond picked at his hands, shifting his weight from side to side before they tried the monkey bars for the first time. Right now he was biting the inside of his cheek and started shifting in his seat whilst he drove. Nothing much but it was noticeable to Izuku. He never wanted to look scared in front of him but he could always tell in the micro-ways that Katsuki held himself in those moments.

He took a breath before he spoke his next words carefully.

“I think this arrangement could work,” Izuku states. Katsuki took his eyes off driving to look at him for a split second almost flabbergasted.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean it wouldn’t really be hurting anyone and I guess we’d both be benefiting from it in our own ways…” Izuku trailed off. “I can’t really say what our friends will think but if we’re going to do this it has to be believable.” He says, “As you said ‘we don’t fucking like each other’ so to make this look believable we have to convince our friends too. It might get back to ‘shit for brains’ if we don’t.”

Katsuki nods, “I fucking hate to agree with you. Shitty hair can’t keep his mouth shut to save his sad fucking life.”

“This’ll seem really out of nowhere to everyone..” Izuku hums to himself as he thought of a reasonable explanation to say to his friends. “Would they really believe that we’ve been in a secret relationship for years and have been trying to keep up a facade by hating each other so openly?”

The blond considered this momentarily, “It isn’t a stupid idea. You're still a fucking idiot though.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll take that one.” Izuku laughed sarcastically.

“Maybe they’ll believe that I took pity on you for being a fuckin’ sad loser no one else would date.”

“Or maybe they’ll think you’re too hot-headed you can’t find anyone else to put up with your bullshit.”

“Touché.” Izuku could swear there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. However, it was difficult to tell in the lighting of the street lights and passing cars.

"How are we going to play this?" He asks, "because I don't know if we can just say that we just got past our differences can we?"

"I don't see why not. Who cares if they believe it, it's our word against theirs idiot." Bakugo had a point. "What are they going to say? That we're not together? That makes them shitty friends."

That would make them shitty friends.

"I don't know how you can just do that."

Bakugo just grunted in response as he took a left.

"Have that kind of i don't care attitude." He says, " You've always had that."

Bakugo shrugs, "I don't see why I should waste energy on worrying over shit I can't control."

Izuku hums, turning to watch the traffic in front of them. "So what will consist of our 'relationship'?"

"What?"

"Well I feel like there should be some ground rules." He states as a matter of fact, "This will have to be believable, we will have to act like a couple like holding hands and affection. Will you, leader of the 'I hate Deku Club' and co-captain of hating love and affection, be able to do that with me?"

Bakugo brings the car to a stop outside of his house, "We don't have to plan every little thing idiot." He says crossing his arms over his chest, giving Izuku a glare. "When it gets to it we'll cross the bridge alright? The next game night is next week. Maybe let the shitty extras know before then."

Bakugo gets his phone out, clicks some buttons and holds it in front of them after turning on the light in the car. He sees that it's on the selfie camera and looks at him puzzled.

"Fuckin- come 'ere." He uses his free arm to wrap it around Izuku, pulling him closer to him. "Smile, nerd."

He snaps a few pictures in between Izuku's confusion but he smiles wide for the camera, tilting his head towards Katsuki. He changed his expression halfway through one of the photos and stuck his tongue out making the other scowl.

After the pictures were taken the blond moved away from him, typing some more.

"I've sent them to you, change your background and I'll change mine." He says, eyes still glued to his phone as he tapped. Izuku was still staring at him, a little wide eyed. "What nerd? Is this not what couples do? Change the phone background?"

"Well yes-"

"What's your problem then?"

"Nothing!"

"Then stop staring at me like a creep. You should put a heart next to my name or something too." Katsuki grumbled. "Now get out."

"Okay, I'll text you later Kacchan." He says getting out of the car with a small smile.

"Bye nerd." Is what Izuku heard before he shut the car door behind himself.

He made his way up to his door, giving Bakugo a wave as he drove away. He turned the key in the lock. Iida often felt safer locking the door when his housemates were out, which he understood. It did get a little creepy when you were by yourself. The house was still and dark, he figured Iida was asleep already which wasn't uncommon. He did like his routines and a full 8 hour sleep schedule. Which Izuku couldn't fault him for.

Sighing, he locked the door behind him before he made his way up to his room. Flopping on his bed after kicking his shoes off he opened his phone, Ochako hadn't responded to his text about leaving the party but Shouto had just sent a thumbs up emoji.

Clicking back, he opened the messages from Bakugo. They hadn't texted much just quick updates about where each group of friends was if they were hanging out. Other than that it was bare. Now opening the messages he was greeted with the photos they had took less than 10 minutes ago. They did kind of look like a couple.

He smiled as he scrolled through them, he landed on the photo where he was told to smile. It was a nice picture and Bakugo was also giving a small smile which was rare to see, if he wasn't smiling in triumph his face fell on a scowl. Which wasn't the most attractive face he could be pulling but Izuku figured it's still won him women over the years. Ochako mentioned something about girls loving bad boys and Bakugo looking like one. Now he's realising she was probably saying that because she is also attracted to him in some way.

He decided that this was going to be his lock screen.

Izuku figured he should probably change Katsuki's name whilst he was on their chat. Like he told him too before he left the car.

'Kacchan🧡'

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j-eryewrites · 2 years ago

Text

The Dancing Men (I)

Part 15 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

Word Count: 6.5k (back to normal-sized chapters)

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

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Warnings: Sherlock is Sherlock, descriptions of violence and gore, Sherlock is absolutely in love with the reader, slow burn finally working its magic.

Author’s Notes: You know how Benoit Blanc is horrific at Among Us even though he’s a detective, I say the same logic applies to Sherlock. At least that’s my headcanon. I also mixed a request into this chapter XD

John was quite enjoying how the evening was turning out. He sat smugly in his chair across from Sherlock whose face was stuck in a perpetual frown. It wasn’t every day John could say he had the upper hand on Sherlock.

What started out as a simple game of Cluedo, or “Clue” as Y/N had put it, now became an obsession for Sherlock. John chuckled at the sight of his friend. He would have never expected the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective to be reduced to nothing over a simple mystery game.

“Professor Plum. The revolver. In the study,” Sherlock muttered.

“Is that your final answer?” John asked. He raised a brow quizzically. Of course, he knew the answer. He had guessed it after the third round but had been so kind as to not tell Sherlock.

Sherlock glared at John. “Positive.” Each letter was enunciated perfectly as it fell from Sherlock’s voice. He was getting on edge, John noted as he motioned to the envelope in the middle of the board game.

Sherlock lunged at the cards and as he flipped them over, a cry of outrage left his mouth. “That’s not possible. Professor Plum. The revolver. In the study. Not Ms. Peacock with the rope in the kitchen!” He yelled.

“Sherlock, it’s only a game!” John laughed earning another glare from Sherlock.

“No, John. It’s not just a game.” Sherlock’s voice was oozing with frustration. He ran his hands through his curly hair and gripped it tightly. He sucked in, an attempt at a deep breath. “Onemoreround.”

“What?” John asked. He leaned forward in concern. Sherlock really was getting worked up over a game.

“One. More. Game. John. But this time–” Sherlock said. “We do it my way.”

“Sherlock that’s not how–”

That’s how John ended up on the floor of his flat. His face got quite comfortable with the ground as Sherlock paced around the room. Watching Sherlock navigate the flat was like watching a child attempt to dance. His steps were jerky and stiff as he ducked, jumped, and twirled around the room. His hand pointed out following along the clues the game has so far revealed. Suddenly, Sherlock dipped out of John’s narrow viewing field. However, he was eager to continue watching his friend obsess over Cluedo.

“Don’t move.” Sherlock snapped.

“Sherloc–”

“Don’t. Move.”

John sighed in defeat. This was going to be a long night. John’s only thought of consolidation was that at least Y/N would be enjoying it. He heard the music she played through the floorboards as she got ready for her date with Jim that night. It was a nice tune, not something John would listen to willingly, but something to keep him distracted as he played the murder victim. He even found himself humming along before Sherlock declared dead bodies don’t hum and threatened to silence his friend with duct tape.

It wasn’t long before the boredom reached John. While seeing Sherlock fret over a silly game was hilarious, being glued to the floor was not. The wooden floor was uneven in some areas and John could swear something sticking into his side. He tried to re-adjust only to earn another harsh threat from Sherlock.

Soon John found himself dozing off; a result of the faint music from below and Sherlock’s muffled footsteps. John would have fallen into a deep sleep if it were not for Sherlock’s sudden outburst.

“I’ve got it!” Sherlock shouted.

John peered up at Sherlock and snickered at the sight. Sherlock looked like a crazed man. His hair stuck out in all sorts of ways, and his shirt was wrinkled and untucked. There were even a few buttons left open. His robe swayed at his sides and he ducked under the numerous amounts of red thread tied around the room. Oh, did John forget to mention the redecorating the flat had gone through?

Not only had Sherlock forced John to play dead, but had also conjured the different murder weapons as stated by the game, took the character cards, and some red thread, and placed them in their respective rooms. Those rooms of course were adapted to be the very rooms of their flat. Connecting each weapon, character, room, and, well, John, were red threads. Where Sherlock had found the insane amount of red thread he did not know, however, what John did know was that Y/N was going to have a fit seeing the state of the flat.

“Hit me,” John said. Sherlock raised his brow in an interesting manner. One that scared John. “No, don’t actually hit me. Just–” John could swear he saw Sherlock’s demeanour fall. “What’s the verdict?”

“John Watson, my dear friend, was found dead in the study at 6.49 in the evening. The suspects are as follows–”

“Can I get up?”

“No.” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Suspects are as follows: Ms. Peacock, Ms. Scarlet, Dr. Orchid, Rev. Greene, Professor Plum, and Colonel Mustard. When each suspect was interrogated, I came to find–”

John groaned. Sherlock was conducting a case. A case for a game. “Get to it!” John yelled.

“Dead bodies don’t speak, John,” hissed Sherlock.

“Sherlock…” John said warningly.

“Fine.” Sherlock walked into his room and emerged with a wrench in hand. It was large and very clearly a real wrench. John grumbled to himself. This was entirely his fault. He had indulged Sherlock too much and now he was going to be murdered over a game of Cluedo. Though, thought John, Y/N would have his back and make sure that Sherlock would pay tenfold. Now that, John was okay with it. “What you didn’t realize, John, is that your old lover Dr. Orchid would be in attendance tonight. She was jealous of you and your success in your career. When she had the chance she cornered you in the ballroom for one final dance with death. A dance that you did not walk away from.” Sherlock raised the wrench above John’s body. “With a wrench, she had found underneath the kitchen sink, she beat you to death.” Sherlock made a few gruesome sounds to what he thought a dying man would make.

“Alright, I get it. I died–”

“Your body was beaten to a pulp. Blood, brains, and bone fragments mixed together like a–”

“Sherlock, I get it!” John yelled. He would have given Sherlock more of an earful if it weren’t for the clearing of a throat. John looked quizzically at Sherlock. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. Neither of them had made the sound.

There it was again. It came from a man noted Sherlock. He could tell from the pitch. It was too low for a woman to produce. Sherlock also noted that it came from the doorway. Slowly the detective and his friend peered over to the entryway. In the doorway stood a man in his late twenties. He wore a dark-coloured polo shirt and a nice pair of trousers. There was no wrinkle in sight. His hair was slicked back with gel in a stylish manner and he flashed a nervous grin.

The man, whoever he was, was unsure of the scene before him. In fact, he was almost sure that he was about to witness a murder if it were for the ramblings of John; who had to explain the scenario. Finding out that they were playing a game of Cluedo didn’t help ease the man’s suspicion.

“Who are you?” Sherlock asked. His face bore no sign of emotion as he eyed the man in front of him. From just his watch, Sherlock could tell he came from wealth. The golden ring on his finger meant he was married and the fact that it was polished let Sherlock know it was well-loved: a happy marriage. Sherlock noted next was the man’s choice of outerwear. The jacket he so carefully held in his hand was much too thin for the weather London had been receiving the past few days. This led Sherlock to his final conclusion, the man was from out of town, even more so, from out of the country.

A deduction that was proven accurate the moment the man answered Sherlock’s question.

“The name’s Hilton Cubitt.” He introduced himself with an Irish accent and was quick to follow with a hand ready for Sherlock to shake, who quite literally left him hanging. “I assume that your Mr. Holmes?”

“Speaking.”

“Grand.” Hilton smiled in relief. “The whole fake murder thing makes sense now,” he joked.

John let out an uneasy chuckle. “Yeah…what are you here for Hilton?” He cleared his throat and once again realized his position on the floor. It took a moment and some tripping over the scatter thread for John to stand up. He could have sworn Sherlock was displeased to have his “dead body” removed.

“It’d be just easier to show than to…tell,” Hilton clarified. Then he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small slip of paper. Now this intrigued Sherlock, so he quickly snatched it out of Hilton's hands.

Sherlock’s head tilted to the side with curiosity. A smile grew on his face. John took the peer over Sherlock’s shoulder at the sheet of paper.

“That’s a child’s drawing,” John muttered and he was confident in his deduction. Upon the sheet of paper were small stick figures. Each figure is in a different position, almost like steps to a dance.

“That your idea?” Sherlock. “Honestly, John after all this time I would have thought you’d have a more intelligent answer.”

John elbowed Sherlock in his side. “You’re just still upset after I beat you in six rounds of Cluedo.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw and turned away from his friend. “Then I suggest we get the opinion of another. Someone who is unbiased.”

Immediately, John shook his head. “No, Sherlock. She’s getting ready for a date. You can’t–”

But it was too late. Sherlock had already vacated the flat with the code in hand. John’s mouth hung agape before he asked Hilton for a moment and darted down the stairs after Sherlock.

_______

Y/N quietly hummed along to the song playing on the stereo. She loved to hum or sing. It was one of the things that made her human and to know that she was alive. The feeling of her throat tickled as she mimicked the melody as best she could. One of her favourite feelings besides that of rain dancing across her skin or hugs from those she loved. The way they’d hold each other close in an embrace. It didn’t matter who the hug was from; her parents, Mrs. Hudson, John, Jim, and even Sherlock. There was even some part of her that preferred Sherlock’s stiff but calming embrace to anyone else’s.

Now that she came to think of it, Y/N had been thinking more and more about Sherlock. She attributed the thoughts and feelings to all the events that had transpired in the past few months. Case after case. Danger after danger. It would only make sense she’d need to find comfort in someone who understood. She only really could find comfort in someone who was there. Of course, she had considered talking to Jim, but he’d just worry. He was great like that. He’d worry as a good boyfriend should, but then would just tell her to leave. Just like he did when she told him about the reason she refused to take cabs.

“If it’s dangerous, then leave. Darling, just leave. Come work for me. Somewhere safe.” Those words, Jim’s words echoed in her head. She didn’t want to leave. She loved working with John and Sherlock. She loved helping others. She loved feeling like she was making a difference in the world. Something she doubted she could do working for Jim and his consulting company. Additionally, working for your boyfriend was weird. It felt like a commitment that would soon turn into an obligation. An obligation that would force her to stay, but Jim wouldn’t do that. He was the perfect gentleman. He probably just wanted to keep Y/N safe. Anyone would do that.

Suddenly the door flung open. Only one person would ever just barge into her flat like that. Y/N sighed. She’d have to get the door hinges replaced with the force Sherlock used to swing the door open.

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” She sarcastically questioned. Her tone was an attempt to hide that she was really happy he barged in. A tone that hid she’d be willing to replace her door hinges so long as he kept coming, but it came out harsher than she expected. Something she realized when she saw Sherlock’s dazed state.

“I’m sor—just…” She cleared her throat. “You alright? Clue going well?”

As she said it, she realized Sherlock was more dishevelled than she had ever seen. Was his hair always this curly and out of place? Then Y/N thought of how much she would like to run her finger through his hair. It looked soft, so she imagined it like that. As soft as clouds, or those unbelievably fuzzy blankets you couldn’t help but just run a hand over at the markets.

“You look–,” Stunning. Breathtaking. Like she’d rival Aphrodite’s beauty. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Sorry, what did you ask me?”

“Uh…just…clue? How’s it going?” She repeated.

Sherlock gulped. “...Great. And you?”

“I’m doing okay,” She said softly. Why had her voice gotten so quiet?

Sherlock nodded and looked around the room. His eyes darted frantically over the photos on the wall, then to the array of cat toys around her flat. Right, she had a cat. He could ask about that.

“Your cat?” Sherlock muttered.

“Bjørn? Erm… he’s with Mrs. Hudson right now. She spoils him rotten,” She chuckled. Then Y/N began to fiddle with her hands.

Something Sherlock knew to be a nervous habit. “You alright?” He asked again.

Y/N laughed again. “Are you sure you’re fine Sherlock? That’s the second time you’ve asked me that question.”

“Right, I mean-” His voice faltered as she stepped up to him. Her hand now rested on his forehead. She peered up at him. She was so close that Sherlock could see his face reflected in her eyes. They were gorgeous. He never knew so many colours could appear in a singular shade.

“You’re burning up, and your face it’s all red,” She muttered, finally lowering her hand. “You’ve got to tell Joh–”

“Sherlock, I told you to leave her al–” John began to reprimand his friend before shutting his mouth abruptly. He had thought Sherlock frazzled at a simple children’s game was something, but the sight before him was even better.

Sherlock stood in front of Y/N. Nothing too out of the ordinary. However, what John seemed to notice was the state of shock Sherlock seemed to be in. His mouth hung slightly open and his lips frozen in thought trying to find words to say. His cheeks have flushed a shade of red that John had only seen in cartoons. On top of it all, John could swear there were even hearts forming in Sherlock’s eyes as he gazed at Y/N.

John chuckled slightly and wished he had taken a picture. His laugh and presence seemed to have shaken Sherlock from his trance.

“You look nice,” John complimented Y/N.

She smiled softly and looked down at her dress. It was a brilliant shade of blue. She ran her hands over the material straightening it out. “Thanks,” Y/N muttered.

“John, I think Sherlock’s getting sick. His face is flushed and I think he has a fev–”

“I’m perfectly fine, Y/N,” Sherlock blurted.

John snickered. “Now that you say it, Y/N, Sherlock does look a little feverish.”

“I’m not sick,” Sherlock stated.

“Lovesick,” John coughed. Sherlock sent John a death glare upon hearing the words, but it seemed as if Y/N hadn’t noticed. It took John a moment to notice the confusion on Y/N's face. He quickly looked to Sherlock to see if the man who came charging into her flat was going to do any explaining, but he seemed to be occupied with gazing at Y/N.

“We need your opinion on something,” John said. He strolled up next to Sherlock and nudged his shoulder. This seemed to get Sherlock back in working condition.

“Right. Look at this,” Sherlock instructed. He handed Y/N the paper Hilton had given them moments prior.

The expression of confusion grew on her face. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“That’s for you to decide,” Sherlock explained.

She looked up from the paper and eyed Sherlock carefully. “Right. You know, I really do have to go can’t I just–”

“No!” Sherlock cleared his throat. “No, just…quickly what do you think it is?”

Y/N glanced down at the paper once more. The hesitance was clear in her voice as she said “A child’s picture? Like one a kid draws.”

John cheered in triumph. “Told you.”

Sherlock sneered at John. “Clearly both you and Y/N are lacking in some–”

But Sherlock did not get to finish for Y/N’s phone began to ring. “That’ll be Jim. Go to go.” She took a few steps outside the door before quickly turning on her heel. “Can you close the door behind you?” Her voice was directed more towards John than Sherlock.

John nodded and wished her a good time. Even Sherlock flashed a smile to her as she left, but it was soon replaced with a scowl.

John giggled at the sight. “When are you going to admit that you like her?”

“We have a client waiting, John,” Sherlock said.

“Change the subject all you’d like, but still does not change the fact that you fancy her,” John replied.

Sherlock didn’t even bother to reply to John as he left Y/N’s flat and embarked back up the stairs.

______

“What do think?” Hilton asked John and Sherlock.

The three of them now sat down in the flat: John in his chair, Sherlock on his ‘throne’, and Hilton Cubitt on the sofa next to the empty Cluedo game box. The way they were situated made Hilton feel like he was being interviewed.

“Of what?” Sherlock asked. His eyes came to focus on Hilton.

“The code,” Hilton uttered. “I read on your blog,” his voice grew sheepish, “of a case you recently solved involving a code. I thought you might be able to help me.”

John furrowed his brows. What case could– ”The Blind Banker?”

Hilton nodded. “Excellent storytelling might I add.”

John smiled and thanked Hilton. Sherlock looked between Hilton and John before clearing his throat just loud enough to end the conversation. John and Hilton’s gaze whipped to Sherlock. John’s expression was annoyed while Hilton’s was embarrassed.

“It’s rather curious. At first glance it’s a childish prank, so why do you say that it’s a code?” Sherlock questioned. He sent John a ‘don’t-give-me-that-look-he’s-here-for-a-case-and-not-to-fan-girl-you’ look.

“My wife,” Hilton said.

Suddenly a quizzical expression appeared on Sherlock’s face. “How does your wife let you know that it’s a code? Did she tell you?”

“In a way she did,” Hilton replied. “One evening she saw the drawing and was frightened to death. When I asked her about it, she said that it was nothing, but I could see the terror in her eyes. Not just some childish prank would scare my wife like that. That’s why I came to you hoping you might help me.

Sherlock looked at the paper once more. His pointer finger ran over the images. This was all very strange. Strange was exactly what Sherlock was looking for. One might even say that Sherlock’s middle name was strange. “Alright. Now, I need to know everything in detail.”

Hilton nodded. He was quick to adjust his sitting position into something more comfortable. “Now, I’m not much of a storyteller…Just ask me anything that I don’t make clear.” He cleared his throat and fumbled with the fabric of his trousers. “I’ll start at my marriage four years ago. Now, I’m not rich in any way, but my family, well, there’s no better-known family in Norfolk than the Cubitts. Anyways, I went to America about four years ago.”

“Where?” Sherlock asked. “Details.”

“New York. It was there I met Elsie Patrick. I fell in love and quickly married her. Came back home to Norfolk after that. Many people’d say that it was too fast for such a thing, but you don’t know Elsie. She was upfront about everything. Kept giving me the chance to get out of it if I wanted to. I remember she said, when I proposed to her, that she had relations with the not-so-agreeable sort. A past that she wanted to forget. She asked that I never asked her about her painful past. I agreed. Of course I did! It didn’t matter to me who she was before I met her. All that mattered was if she’d be with me the rest of my life.”

Sherlock sat in his chair, hands under his chin, eyes out of focus, his ears taking in all the information Hilton was providing, and his mind in deep thought. Something John knew not to disrupt.

“What about the code?” John asked.

“Well,” Hilton glanced down the floor. His voice changed from one of light and love to one of seriousness. “About a month ago, Elsie received a letter from America.”

“How did you know that it was from America?” Sherlock questioned.

“I saw the postage. Stamp and all. But when she saw it, her face turned white. Like she saw a ghost. Moments later, she read the letter and then tossed it into the fire. I didn’t ask her about it, but she was scared of Mr. Holmes. I knew she’d come and talk to me when she was ready.” Hilton turned to John, “But about the code. About a week later from the letter, must have been Tuesday last week–I found the figures drawn on a window sill. I thought it must have been our daughter.”

“Daughter?” John wondered.

The seriousness faded from Hilton’s face at the mention of his daughter. “Yes, she’s three and a half. Loves to draw!” Then he reached into his pockets and pulled out his wallet. Inside was an image of a young girl and woman, who John assumed was his wife. Hilton made quick work of displaying the photo for John and Sherlock to see. “One of the greatest things that happened to me, my girl. But if you give her a crayon, she’d decorate the whole house!”

Once again, Sherlock cleared his throat. Hilton immediately put away the photo he cherished. “Right,” Hilton continued, “well I washed the drawings away. Later that night, I mentioned them to Elsie who had the same look on her face when she opened the letter. She asked me to show her the drawings if I found any more before washing them away. And I didn’t find another until a few days ago. She saw the drawings and collapsed with fear. I knew something was wrong so I came to you. The police wouldn’t believe me. Mr. Holmes. I’m not rich, but I would do anything to protect my wife and daughter.”

“Don’t you think you should ask your wife to tell you?” John asked. It was a reasonable question and John got the sense that all would be well if Hilton only had the courage to ask.

Hilton shakes his head. “A promise is a promise. I won’t force her to tell me anything she doesn’t want me to.” He glanced down at the golden band on his ring finger and softly smiled.

“I’ll help you,” Sherlock announced.

A wave of relief washed over Hilton. “Thank you, Mr. Hol–”

“Have you heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?” Sherlock asked.

“No,” Hilton replied.

“Norfolk. A quiet place right? A new face would be news,” Sherlock questioned.

John peered at his friend. How would Sherlock know about the environment place in Ireland, but not be able to win a single round of Cluedo?

“In my neighbourhood, yes, but we have several farmers who take in lodgers. Along with the occasional tourist.”

Sherlock nodded his head slowly, his mind taking note of the information Hilton had provided him. “These drawings obviously have meaning, something I may be able to solve, so long as they aren’t just arbitrary drawings. However, this image is not enough. Do you have any more images of the code?”

“No, but I’ll be returning home soon. Tomorrow’s my flight back,” Hilton explained.

John’s eyes widened at the statement. Hilton really would do anything for his family if he’d just fly to London just to see Sherlock.

“I suggest you keep an eye out for such drawings and document them,” Sherlock suggested. “If and when you do find them send them to me as soon as possible. That is all I can do until I have more of the code to study.”

“Right,” Hilton said. His face flashed with an expression of disappointment. “Well, here’s my business card. It’s got my email and number if you need to contact me.”

John looked at the white business card Hilton had stuck out for either Sherlock or him to take. A business card was a smart idea. He made a mental note to possibly ask Y/N to make some for Sherlock. It would really make these cases much more efficient.

After noting that neither man in front of him was going to take the card from his hands, Hilton placed it on the coffee table in front of him. “Well, there…um,” He looked to John.

“Right! You’ll be needing our number and email as well…?” John replied.

Hilton nodded. “That would be great. It’s not the easiest to fly to London on a whim.”

“You flew on a whim?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course not, had a purpose…thank you again. I’ll be sure to send you any more of that code I find,” Hilton explained. Then he politely excused himself from 221B heading back to his hotel to prepare for his journey home.

The moment Hilton Cubitt had left the flat, Sherlock did not waste a moment in asking John for his phone.

“Why can’t you use your phone?”

“I need to call someone about the case,” Sherlock replied as if that was an adequate answer.

“I’m aware Sherlock but can’t you use your phone?”

“No, they won’t answer if it’s me,” Sherlock muttered. He stuck out his hand for John to place his phone into.

John peered at his friend. “Who wouldn’t answer if it was you?” John asked.

“None of your concern,” Sherlock clarified. “Phone.”

“Cause the only people I can think of are Mycroft, Greg, and…No, Sherlock,” John stated.

“It’s important. Hilton mentioned his wife is from America, who better to ask about the case than her,” Sherlock argued.

“Just because she is American does not mean she’s going to know everyone who’s ever set foot in the country let alone known about the case,” John refuted.

Sherlock huffed. “John. Phone.”

“No. She is on a date, Sherlock! She followed your rules. You gave her the night off. You must respect that,” John scolded Sherlock. “Just like Cluedo, you can’t change the rules of the game just because you aren’t winning. Which by the way,” John stomped over the tiny envelope that held the answer to the game. “You lost once again. It was Miss Scarlet with the dagger in the Billard room.”

In a fury, he tossed the cards at Sherlock’s face and stormed off to his room. The loud slamming of John’s door echoed throughout 221B. Sherlock picked up the cards from the floor and clutched them in his hand. He clenched his teeth together and crinkled the cards within his hand.

It was a stupid game. A stupid game Y/N had thought he might have fun playing. A stupid game that followed no logic. A stupid game that Sherlock lost over and over again. What was he doing wrong? Wasn’t wanting the prize–wasn’t wanting to win enough? Nothing was making sense anymore. Clues weren’t leading to anything. Y/N couldn’t see she was making it all worse. She plagued his thoughts. Thoughts that were never meant for anything other than logic. Y/N wasn’t logical. John had pointed that out to him long ago. Nothing about the way she smiled or how she laughed at a comment he uttered to Anderson made sense. So why did her gentle hand on his forehead or how she asked if he was well, feel so right? The thought of her in that dress singing to herself was all he ever needed. It wasn’t logical how Sherlock would throw away any thought of sanity just to be hers. This wasn’t Sherlock. Sherlock was logical and followed the rules of intelligence. Sherlock wasn’t swayed by emotion. Sherlock didn’t lose.

He retrieved the paper depicting the code. This here was logical. A code. A worried husband. A case. The cases were logical. Sherlock followed logic. What hadn’t occurred to him was how late he sat in his chair staring at the drawings. His eyes were strained from observing the stick figures for the hundredth time. He was committing them to memory: The width of the circles that were used as heads, the direction each figure was facing, the poses of each stick figure, and the material they were drawn with. The sun had long since set below the horizon and Baker Street had gone quiet. Sherlock ignored how heavy his body felt. His eyelids were begging to close. But when they did, he thought of her and she wasn’t logical. Instead, he kept them open and looked at the drawings once more.

_________

Y/N’s feet were aching when she finally reached the comforting black door of 221B Baker Street. She lovingly brought a hand to the raised number 221B and remember when she saw them for the first time. It was the first time she walked into her home. Y/N wasn’t afraid to admit that her home was Baker Street and that she shared her home with those she loved most. John and his sweet demeanour, Mrs. Hudson and her soap operas, Sherlock and his gross experiments, and Bjørn and his demon-like screech. This was home.

She made quick work of finding her keys, opening the door, and stepping into the warmth and comfort of 221B Baker Street. The entryway was dimly lit and the light, Y/N observed, came from Sherlock’s flat. His door was wide open allowing the light from the room to seep out into the hallway. That only meant one thing. Sherlock was awake.

Y/N took in a tired breath and dismayed her want to crawl into her bed with Bjørn tucked under her arm and fall asleep. She trudged up the stairs as quietly as she could before appearing in Sherlock’s doorway.

He sat peacefully. His sapphire blue eyes glowed in the dark as he stared out the window. His legs were crossed comfortably in his seat and in his hand he clutched a paper tightly.

“What are you doing up so late?” Y/N asked.

She watched as Sherlock froze the moment he heard her words. He turned away from the window and gazed at her.

“Could ask you the same thing. How was your date?” He replied.

“You won’t get off that easy,” Y/N chuckled. “You need to sleep, Sherlock.”

“I will…how was the date?” He asked again.

Y/N sighed softly before hanging up her coat and removing her heels. She forgot why she even wore them in the first place. They always made her feet hurt for days afterwards. She was soon to find a seat on the sofa.

“It was nice. It was some charity event. Had a nice dinner and danced a little bit. Nothing too crazy.” She began to fiddle with the hem of her dress. It was satin. The soft material was smooth against her fingers. Then she laid back on the sofa, her head bumped into the box for Cluedo. She muttered a subtle “ow,” before taking notice of the room.

“You’ve redecorated.” She noted. Her eyes caught sight of the red thread, the rope on the coffee table, and the game cards taped to the walls. “Must have been a fun game by the looks of it.”

“You’d have to ask John. I lost every round.” Sherlock confessed.

Y/N gasped. “Sherlock Holmes lost every round of Cluedo? Is it solving mysteries and murders your forte?” She said it with such humour, Sherlock let it slide.

Sherlock playfully rolled his eyes, “The game doesn’t follow logic, so of course John won.”

Then she giggled. Just the sound of her laugh alone drew Sherlock out of his sorrow. He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his mouth. He had always heard of laughing being contagious but only really believed it when he met her.

It took only a moment for them to settle down. The fuel to their laughter was long gone. Y/N tucked her feet in close to her body as goosebumps appeared on her arms. The tiny bumps were the body's way of keeping heat, at least that’s what Sherlock told her as he offered her a blanket. One she gladly took.

“He asked me to move in with him,” Y/N whispered. She wasn’t sure why she was telling Sherlock this. Maybe it was because Sherlock felt most like home. She didn’t want to leave her home.

Sherlock tensed at her words. “...What did you say?”

Y/N rubbed the back of her neck. “Jim, he asked me to move in with him. Said I’d think about it, but I’m leaning towards no. After all, what would you and John do without me?”

“You don’t–” Sherlock sighed. “You can move in with him if you want.” Immediately he wanted to hurl. What was he saying? Seeing her leave? He shook his head. No, this was logical. Her moving is logical. Who was kidding, it was the worst thing possible. Who would he have to bother when he was bored? Who would care about him when he no longer cared? He’d have John, but he wasn’t Y/N.

Y/N shook her head. “Not just…I don’t want to move just because of you and John. Baker Street is my home. I–I could never leave,” Y/N confessed. “Plus, I think Jim asked me because he was worried. He found John’s blog and read about the Blind Banker incident. Doesn’t want me to get hurt chasing after you, but it’s my job and I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

She wasn’t going to leave. This eased Sherlock’s mind and beating heart, but then he felt guilty. Her boyfriend was right, she was hurt because of the case. “He’s right, you know. It’s dangerous.”

“I know what I signed up for Sherlock,” Y/N hissed. “Sorry, just…it’s too perfect.”

Sherlock frowned. “What’s too perfect?”

Y/N realized her mistake. Her face flushed and her voice grew quiet. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s bothering you,” Sherlock stated. He leaned forward in his chair and placed a hand over hers.

Y/N smiled softly at the gesture. “He’s too perfect. Our relationship. Everything,” Y/N groaned. She didn’t notice how Sherlock winced.

“Jim, he’s smart, kind, handsome, and ever the gentleman. He knows exactly what I want. Never fails to take me on an amazing date, likes my favourite foods, and has read the same books I have. He’s perfect. Exactly what I want. Which sounds crazy, but he–it doesn’t feel real. By now I’d think I’d actually know him. He hasn’t really told me what does for work…”

“What does he do?” Sherlock asked.

“He consults business, but that’s all he’s told me. I don’t know his favourite colour, where he’s from, or anything. It’s all about me, but he’s…he’s perfect,” Y/N sighed. “It doesn’t make sense. Nobody’s perfect…I don’t know what to do, Sherlock,” She confessed. “You don’t just break up with somebody because they’re perfect. It doesn’t help that he wants to take me away. On a trip or something…I don’t know. Just…nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing is what it seems. I fear you’ve corrupted me, Sherlock.”

He chuckled. “I’ve corrupted you?”

“Yeah. You’ve made me think. To observe, to not trust anything at first glance. Now nothing is ever what it seems,” Y/N admitted with a smile on her face.

Sherlock smiled back. “And that’s good?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. You’re great–It’s great.”

“I’m glad,” said Sherlock.

“So am I. It just makes everything that much more complicated.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock replied.

Y/N hummed in response. She took Sherlock’s hands within her own and Sherlock could swear his heart did a backflip off a cliff. She peered at his hands carefully. Her thumbs lovingly ran over his knuckles. Sherlock felt as if his skin was on fire. It burned to have her hold his hands. The hands were delicate things used for almost everything Sherlock did. To burn them was to render him useless and that’s what she did. Sherlock was rendered useless in the best way possible.

“You should really get some sleep, Sherlock.”

“Ah, but I have a case that needs working on. A code to solve.”

“Sherlock,” Y/N warned.

“I’ll tell you all about it. A client, Hilton Cubitt walked in while John and I were playing Cluedo and —”

“Sherlock,” Y/N interrupted. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“It is tomorrow,” Sherlock stated. He tilted his head towards the clock behind him.

“You know what I mean. We both need sleep. You more than anyone,” Y/N said. Sherlock opened his mouth to refute her statement when she cut him off. “Even the great Sherlock Holmes needs to sleep. If not for yourself, then for me.”

Sherlock couldn’t find it in him to refuse her. He wouldn’t be able to refuse her anything. He nodded and watched as she removed her hands from his.

In her tiredness, Y/N drew away from Sherlock. She stood up from her seat, picked up her shoes and coat, and went downstairs to her flat where she crawled downstairs into her bed and fell asleep. At least that’s what she told herself she would do all. Just then she leaned in close. She blamed it on the fog her mind was in. Nothing was ever what it seemed to be anymore. Her lips brushed against Sherlock’s forehead, her hands resting in his hair as she brushed it away from his face.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” she whispered against his skin. Just like she said she would, she left Sherlock in his chair. Her coat in shoes was in her arms as she descended the stairs.

Now, if things were logical, Sherlock wouldn’t have let her pull away. He would grasp her wrists and hold her close. He would have whispered to her that she missed. Then he would have placed his lips on hers. He would have kissed her if things were logical. But nothing was anymore. Not when Y/N was with him.

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