Summary: Sherlock urgently needs you for something that turns out to be... kind of adorable?

QOTP: Would you rather be Sherlock or John?

Word Count: 1662

"Y/N!" Mrs. Hudson exclaims happily.

You smile back at her and give her a hug, sweetly replying, "Hello, Mrs. Hudson." You both let go and she smiles at you.

"He's in his mind palace," she says of Sherlock, letting you inside.

You nod, "I wouldn't expect any less." She goes with you up the stairs, going to unlock the door so as not to disturb Sherlock.

You pull out your phone and check the texts again.

Come to Baker Street. - SH

Is it urgent?

Are you in trouble?

Or am I just going to hand you your phone or something?

Please. - SH

Also, if I'm texting on my phone, why would I need you to hand me my phone? - SH

Shut up.

So, you came. You figured he wasn't in any real danger, especially when the taxi pulled up and all was quiet and calm.

Truthfully, you wish he would've been playing his violin when you arrived; you love it. It was one of the moments he wasn't talking nonsense (at least it sounds like nonsense) and he wasn't in his mind palace. And his playing is beautiful.

But when Mrs. Hudson opens the door, he's laying on the couch, hands under his nose in prayer-position.

John Watson looks up. He's sitting in his chair, reading. You didn't expect him to be there; he's usually with his wife, Mary. "Hello," he says.

"Hello," you reply, Mrs. Hudson letting you in before entering herself.

"Would you like a cuppa?" she asks you.

You nod, "That would be lovely, thank you."

She turns. "John?"

"I need a refill on mine, actually," he nods. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Anytime, dear," she says, going to the cluttered kitchen.

You walk to John and hold out your hand. He shakes it. "I'm Y/N," you say. "And I presume you're John? I've heard a lot about you."

"You have?" he asks, letting go of your hand. "From who?" He had assumed you're a client, somebody Mrs. Hudson knows.

But, to John's surprise, you nod over at Sherlock. "He never shuts up about you."

"Oh..."

"Don't worry. Not that embarrassing. Besides, I'm praying he hasn't told you about me."

"He hasn't, actually."

You feign a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness."

In reality, you had kind of hoped he had mentioned you. But, knowing how he is and how he feels things, you know that you can't exactly expect him to do that.

John stands. "You can sit here. I'm fine to-"

"No," you interrupt, "It's alright."

You turn and look down at Sherlock. "Why do you have to be so tall?" you mutter. "You take up the whole couch, you dork." John chuckles as you walk over to the desk.

"Can I sit here?" you ask.

John nods. "Yeah, of course."

You slump into the chair and look at Sherlock. You aren't really good at this whole meeting new people thing. He's not either. Maybe that's why you like each other so much...

But in this moment, you wish he wasn't in his mind palace. He could fill the awkward silence.

"He texted me to come here," you quietly say.

John hears you. "So that's who he was texting," he says. "I had to give him his phone - which was on the coffee table, by the way."

You chuckle, then sigh. "Should I...?" you trail off.

John got the idea. "He'll be a pain in the tit all day if you do, but if he asked you to come..."

You nod, then stand and walk over to the couch.

"Sherlock," you say. Nothing. "Sherlock, I'm here, just like you asked." You lightly shake his shoulder. "Sherlock, love. I'm here." His eyes snap open, land on you, then he relaxes.

"Wonderful," he says, sitting up.

You can't help but smile. "Why did you want me here?" you ask.

He sighs. "I want to politely ask you to get out of my head."

A look of confusion crosses your face. "I'm sorry...?"

"No, you're not," he replies, "because you're still there."

"Sherlock, what are you on about?"

"You're in my head. Please get out."

"I'm in your head?"

"Yes! It's distracting. You're always walking around my mind palace. I don't understand how you're doing it, but I'd appreciate it if you stopped."

John is watching this with fascination. It doesn't take a Holmes to figure out you and Sherlock are together. And John... well, he's quite excited about it.

Sherlock Holmes is dating somebody.

"You're thinking about me," you say to Sherlock.

He scoffs, "No, that can't be it."

"It is," John jumps in with a grin. Sherlock momentarily glares at him before turning back to you.

"Maybe if I'm here," you suggest, "I won't be in your mind palace." He sighs, deciding it was worth a shot.

He scoots over. "Sit," he says. So, you sit in the empty space and he lay back down again, his head in your lap.

"Give me your hands," he says. Your brows furrow, but you do as he asked.

He lightly take your hands and puts them in his hair. "Like Friday."

You chuckle, remembering Friday.

You came over for a quiet night in (John was with Mary and Mrs. Hudson was out). You were watching a film, but he found it boring. So, you asked him to play violin instead. He did, and when he was finished - you being you - you asked if you could braid his hair. After a bit of arguing and your infamous puppy dog eyes, he gave in, and, though he would never directly tell you, he actually found it relaxing to have you playing with his hair.

So that's what you do. John watches in utter amazement as Sherlock goes back to his mind palace, you putting his hair in braid after braid.

John wants to take a picture and show it to the whole world.

He takes the picture (he asked you first, being the gentleman he is), and he sends it to Mary, who promptly freaks out.

Suddenly, Sherlock opens his eyes and looks up at you. "It's not working," he whines.

You chuckle. "I don't know how to fix it, love."

Mrs. Hudson comes in then, holding your tea. You take it gratefully.

"Why didn't I get tea?" Sherlock complains. You laugh, setting your own tea on the coffee table.

"If you want some of mine, go ahead," you say. So, with great difficulty (because, quite frankly, he's lazy and won't sit up properly), he takes a sip of your tea, then lay back down in your lap.

He sighs and you continue to play with his hair. "This is maddening," he says.

"I'm sorry," you reply, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Surprisingly, he doesn't complain about that. Actually, he stops you from sitting back up and kisses you. Like, kisses you. John's having a field day.

Sherlock sighs again. "I can't figure out why you're everywhere."

"Maybe I have a long lost twin," you jokingly suggest.

"That got into my mind palace? Of course not. It's never twins."

You're silent for a moment, undoing his braids. "What do I do in your mind palace?"

"You're infuriating," he huffs. "Smiling and laughing and talking to me and calling me 'love' and everything else you usually do. I can't focus on anything. It's frustrating."

You can't help but grin. He looks up at you, confused, "Why are you smiling?"

"Because."

"How vague."

"Deduce it."

He's silent for a moment, watching and studying you. Finally he speaks.

"I'm thinking about you," he states. You nod, indicating he's spot on. John's still silent, watching in utter amazement.

"You're also distracting," you tell Sherlock, "so the feeling is mutual."

"I could've told you that," he says. "John," he suddenly asks, "do you think about Mary?"

John nods, trying to wipe the grin off his face, "Of course I do."

The detective sighs, sits up, kisses you again, then walks into the kitchen. "What are you doing?" you ask, laying down on the couch in his place and grabbing your tea.

He doesn't answer.

You feel you're laying on something and pull out a phone. Sherlock's.

Without exactly meaning to, you see he has a few texts from Mary.

SHERLOCK

WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME

THIS IS ADORABLE

Attached to the last one is the picture John had taken. You smile before sending the picture to yourself and placing the phone on the coffee table.

"I just -" John says, obviously at a loss for words. "How did this happen? Is this real life?"

You laugh, deciding to get up and go see what your boyfriend is doing in his messy kitchen.

"We met outside of this flat, actually," you say. "I was walking and I tripped. Sherlock was coming back and saw me, then, for some reason I'll never figure out, helped me up."

"I'm not rude all the time," Sherlock retorts. You smile, hugging him from behind. He's working on an experiment.

"I haven't finished it yet," he elaborates, "and since I can't exactly go to my mind palace, I might as well."

You set your tea far away from the experiment and rest your chin on his shoulder. Sherlock doesn't exactly do anything, but he doesn't push you away. John wants to cry tears of joy and pure astonishment.

"Hand me that knife," Sherlock says.

"It's literally an inch from your hand," you reply.

"Which means it's relatively close to you as well. Hand me that knife."

You sigh. "I'm gonna do more than hand it to you, Sherlock Holmes." But you place it in his hand anyway.

Sherlock scoffs, "Stabbing me would be quite an ambitious thing to do." He pauses, glancing over at a still-astounded John. "Do close your mouth, John. You'll catch flies."