Sherlock had made his way to Baker Street, just as he told (Y/n) that he would be doing; but it was not to find out whether the place was fit for him to come back to, for he already knew that it was. Misses Hudson having called him four days ago, to let him know the pipes were fixed. No, all he had come to do was collect a few more of his things to take back with him to the detective's home.

Admittedly when she had offered him her sofa a week ago, he had been in two minds as to whether to take it or not; he had quickly found that (Y/n) had an amazing way of getting under his skin. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that she was more intelligent than others that he had to deal with. Perhaps it was because she was harder for him to deduce; but whatever the case, her ability to annoy and frustrate him more than most others seemed to do, had caused him to take great delight in pushing her buttons, as John would say. Yet given that no one else had offered to help him, he had found himself reluctantly accepting said offer. Her large sofa proving far more comfortable than the one that John and Mary had, despite the few lumps. And as much as he had been hoping to get back into his own place, his own bed, at the beginning of the week; the day of the phone call from Misses Hudson and then this morning, had changed his mind. The consulting detective happy to come up with a plausible story to give to (Y/n) when she got home, as to why he would have to spend a few more days with her.

Seven days ago, (Y/n) had proved to be even more annoying in her own home, than she was when she was with Grant. Sherlock sure that he wouldn't even last the first night, never mind anything else. Yet then, as she had shared her dinner with him and had done her best to find some common ground; to find something they could talk about, Sherlock had realised just how much he had missed having someone to talk to, after John had moved out. It not having been quite the same when he had stayed with his friend and Mary; but with (Y/n), as soft music played in the background and she sat in front of the fire with a book, it just felt.........right. And then, on that third morning, he had caught a glimpse of her in her bedroom. He presumed that she had forgotten that he was there, that she had just been going about her daily routine as she normally would; and as much as he knew that he should have not been watching, he just could not help himself, for there she had stood, naked and still wet from the shower. Feelings, urges making themselves known, as his eyes had wandered freely over her body. Feelings and urges that he had long denied he had; denied that he felt.

And then there had been that morning and the argument over the bathroom. Sherlock not blind to how she had looked at him, when he had thrown open the door at her threat to tell all those at the Yard that he wore G-string underwear and had an embarrassing tattoo on one of the cheeks of his backside. Not blind to how she had tried to keep her eyes on his face; but failed miserably. Her bright orbs making their way down his chest, and to the fluffy white towel that covered the lower part of his anatomy. The pupils of the female detective, dilating; her teeth biting down onto her lower lip and her breath becoming quick, shallow. His own eyes resting on her chest, as his mind went back to the other day; to seeing her unclothed. The sudden desire to see her like that again, to pull her into the shower with him so he could discover what the little tattoo that was nestled between her breasts, might be; making the bulge that was concealed by the towel, become slightly more prominent. The younger Holmes finding that he wanted to explore all this a little more, to see what may come of all this; and so, he had every intention of telling her a little white lie.

                                                       >>----------------------------------<<

(Y/n) wrestled with the keys, as the sky above began to open. It feeling like a fitting end to a strange day; but that didn't mean that she wanted to get caught in a downpour, when she was right on her own doorstep.

After being pulled out from her half naked Sherlock daydream, she had found herself dragged from one meeting to another; (Y/n) not sure why she needed to be there when it was more a Greg thing, but she had been forced to attend. Sure, that she hadn't heard most of what had been said; but she had been there in body, if not in spirit. Her mind still firmly on her house guest.

What she had told Greg earlier was true, that before she had left the house, Sherlock had informed her that he was going to be going to Baker Street, to see if the place was fit for habitation again. But when she had continued that with any luck the younger Holmes would be out of her hair, and she could get back to normal, that.......that had been a lie. For even though she had quickly come to regret her offer that first night, over the coming days, having Sherlock there, though annoying, felt strangely..........well, right. It nice to have someone to talk to; to have someone there when she got home. The detective finally pushing the key into the lock and turning it. Quickly closing the door behind her and letting out a sigh of relief, as she heard the heavy rain hit the other side of the ingress.

"Holmes. You here?!" She called out, as she pulled her coat from her shoulders and hung it up by the door. Her brows furrowing slightly, as a sudden rather pleasant aroma filled her senses. (Y/n) following her nose, not sure whether she would find Sherlock, or a burglar that had felt the need to cook something in her kitchen, before robbing her. Though if they had left her something, she wasn't averse to the idea of the culinary crook.

"Finally." A voice came. Her eyes widening as she saw her small dining table set out as if the queen was coming to dinner. (Y/n) only able to stare at Sherlock, as he lit the candle that sat proudly in the middle of the table.

"Now sit. I don't want my souffle to fall............" He simply continued, before leaving her standing there, as he made his way into the kitchen.