What was it about the rain that seemed to wash all the sins of the great city away? Even though the same wicked people walked the streets. Even though they still did the same wicked things. There was something about the rain that made (Y/n) feel as though not only was a layer of grime being washed away. But also, a little of the corruption, avarice, and ill will as well. It was a strange thing to think that something as simple as rain could wash all that away. But it was something that she had liked to believe. That the rain gave the city a fresh start. An opportunity to change. A chance to start again. Unfortunately, though, it was an opportunity that neither the city, nor its residence ever seemed to take.

It wasn't that she didn't love London. It was, after all, the only place that she had ever wanted to lay down roots. And despite all the places she had seen in the world. All the places that she had called home, this would always be her favourite. But she had just always hoped that one morning she would wake up, and things would be a little brighter. That people would be a little nicer. But she had to appreciate that London, just like most other major cities. Just like most other places, had its dark side. And that bright and nice were two things that sprawling metropolis', didn't necessarily do.

Yet there was something, or should that be someone, that gave her hope. That showed her anything was possible. That proved that there was good out there. And that someone was Sherlock Holmes. Her Sherlock. A man, that despite how much he might protest and try to hide it, was the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful man to ever draw breath in the ancient capital.

Not that most people could appreciate him. Most people saw him as strange, annoying, odd. Sarcastic, blunt, intrusive and rude. A man that had an amazing ability to make everyone else around him feel like a complete and utter idiot. But (Y/n) saw him. The real him. She had managed to break through his hard shell. Managed to persuade him that sentiment was actually not such a bad thing. That other things in life were more important than deduction. That he deserved to feel and know love. And that she was the one that would happily love him.

(Y/n) couldn't pretend that life wasn't different. Sometimes even difficult. Even at the best of times, Sherlock could still be a handful. Could still act like a spoilt, know it all. His strange and sometimes gruesome experiments would still fill the kitchen. Explosions would wake her in the middle of the night. And the incessant plucking of violin strings could sometimes set her teeth on edge. But between them, they had somehow managed to make things work. Much to the shock of John, Mycroft and Greg. None of the three men quite able to believe that there was actually someone that could put up with Sherlock for such long periods of time, without wanting to strangle him.

Suddenly a clap of thunder brought her back from her thoughts. (Y/n) shaking her head, as the rain suddenly got heavier. She knew that Sherlock would be on his way home now. Coming back from his latest opportunity to make poor Greg Lestrade feel like an imbecile. (Y/n) having a feeling that her poor man would be having to make his way through the streets of the city on his own two feet, rather than in one of the black cabs that he would regularly utilise to get him from one place to another. The heavy rain making it almost impossible to get a taxi for love or money. And that by the time he got back to the flat, the consulting detective would look like a drowned rat. Soaked to the bone, and complaining.

Quickly, (Y/n) jumped to her feet, racing to the cupboard where she kept all the clean linen. Her hands feeling for the largest, thickest, fluffiest towel that she could find on the top shelf. Her Sherlock may come home soaked to the bone, but she would make sure that he didn't stay that way. Before he knew it, he would be dry and warm. Wrapped up in her arms as she listened to him tell her about the latest news from New Scotland Yard.

Somehow, (Y/n) had managed to persuade Sherlock it made more sense for her to move into Baker Street with him, now that John was married. That it would be better if she didn't have to commute from one side of the city to the other, every time that he called her. Every time that he needed her. And that despite what he thought, he needed someone to look after him, now that John was with Mary. And who better to look after him, than her. (Y/n) more than a little surprised when he had readily agreed. So, despite Sherlock insisting that he tell her where to put all her things, she now called Baker Street home. Misses Hudson seeming to like the new arrangement just as much as Sherlock did.

Placing the towel on the table near to the front door, (Y/n) made her way to the kitchen to make tea. As soon as Sherlock stepped through the door, she would wrap him in the towel, push him to the bathroom with orders to get a hot shower. And by the time he was done, there would a freshly brewed pot of his favourite tea waiting for him.

To others, these gestures would seem like nothing. Tiny little things that lovers did for one another every day without thinking. But to Sherlock, they were something new, and it was the little things that seemed to count the most. For so long he had denied himself love. Put himself above such ludicrous things. (Y/n) sometimes getting the strangest feeling that a part of him thought that he didn't need love. Didn't deserve it. So, from the very beginning, (Y/n) had done all she could to show him, that whether he thought that he needed or deserved love or not, she thought he did.

The clock above the old fireplace suddenly rang out the hour of six. Another clap of thunder and crack of lightning coinciding with the final chime of the hour. (Y/n) racing back to the window as she waited to catch sight her Sherlock, make his way down Baker Street.

It was hard to see anything as the rivers of rain ran down the panes of glass. The sea of umbrellas making it even harder to see one man in amongst all the comings and goings. But suddenly there he was. A beacon of light in an otherwise dark day. (Y/n) believing that a single shaft of light had just descended from the sky. Illuminating the complicate man. Singling him out from all the other souls that milled about around him.

She couldn't help but chuckle slightly as she saw that his brown hair was sticking to his face. Sometimes, Sherlock reminded her of a wet cocker spaniel that had just fallen into every puddle there was, when he looked like that. Bedraggled, dishevelled, and feeling a little sorry for itself as it shivered. Looking ever so slightly annoyed. But that was Sherlock.

As he made his way to the building, (Y/n) moved from the seat by the windows to sit on the arm of the sofa so that she could be looking at him as he entered their home. She wanted to be the first thing that he saw as he got home. The first thing he smiled at. The first thing to smile at him.

"Good evening, Mister Holmes." (Y/n) chuckled as Sherlock pushed his way through the door. A smile suddenly spreading across his lips as he lay eyes on his (Y/n). Sherlock knowing that no matter how difficult, or bad his day had been. No matter the struggles in his mind, (Y/n) could always make it seem better. His smile growing even wider as she got to her feet and pulled his heavy, wet coat from his shoulders, and took the towel from the table next to the door. Wrapping it around him, before brushing his wet hair from his face and placing a gentle kiss to his soft lips.

"Now, go get a hot shower. When you're done, we can have tea and you can tell me about you solving Greg's case." (Y/n) ordered, as she pushed him in the direction of the bathroom. Kissing him once again before she shut the door behind him.

Making her way back to the kitchen. A broad smile spreading across her lips as she heard Sherlock bang around. (Y/n) knew that there was one thing that the rain could never and would never be able to wash away. And that was her love for Sherlock.