"What's next?" I ask Sherlock.

"I need to go back to my flat to finish some paperwork."

I slow my pace, falling behind him. His shoulders are broad, I look like a pathetic twig next to him. It doesn't help that he's almost a whole foot taller than me.

"What are you doing?"

"You're very tall."

He turns back to face the street in front of him, "So I've been told."

We walk into his apartment, he immediately sits at his desk, shuffling through papers. I sit on the couch and watch him. "I'm bored."

He ignores me and continues reading over his papers. I frown, there's got to be something in here that's entertaining. The book shelves catch my eye, none of the books look very interesting. My eyes continue scanning the room, not a single interesting thing in sight. I look back at Sherlock, he's taken off his coat, and I can't help but stare at his back.

"Why are you staring at me?"

I jump at his voice, "Because there's nothing better to do."

He lets out a sigh, turning to face me. "Read a book."

"I would if you had anything interesting."

"You're impossible," he mutters.

He turns back to his desk, I roll my eyes and sigh. I lay down on the couch, then  toss my legs over the back of it, allowing my head to hang off the edge. My hair rests on the floor, as my feet hit the back of the couch softly.

"What on Earth are you doing now?"

I turn to Sherlock, "Trying to see if your place looks less miserable while upside-down."

"You're childish."

"And you're boring."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, his blue eyes closed tightly. "You're distracting me."

I swing my legs over the arm of the couch, and set them back on the floor, slowly sitting back up.

"How am I distracting you if I'm all the way over here?"

He doesn't answer, his attention already back on his papers. There's an empty chair by a book shelf, so I drag it over to his desk, and sit right next to him.

"What are you working on?"

He sighs, "Paperwork."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. But what kind of paperwork?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm already finished."

He walks to the kitchen, preparing a kettle of tea. I of course follow him, I've been told I'm incredibly annoying when bored.

"Your apartment is so lifeless. How do you live here?" I ask.

He sets the kettle on the stove, and leans against the counter behind him. "It's not lifeless."

I point to the bare walls, "There's not a single picture."

"I don't have any pictures."

"If I had a face as handsome as yours I would have pictures of myself on every wall."

I watch him out of the corner of my eye, waiting to see how he'll react.

"You think I'm handsome?"

My plan backfired. I was trying to embarrass him, but now I'm the embarrassed one. "Everyone does."

My hand drags along the spines of the books on the shelf, I slowly make my way back to the kitchen. His eyes follow my every movement. I do my best to ignore it, but the tension in the room is suffocating.

My eyes meet his, the intensity sends shivers down my spine. I take steps towards him until I'm standing right in front of him. His arms are crossed as he stares down at me. My mind screams at me, telling me to back away before I do something stupid. The scent of his cologne hits my nose, intoxicating me.

The kettle on the stove screams wildly, and I jump back in shock. He pulls the kettle away from the flame, and pours two cups of tea. His body is relaxed, whereas mine feels like it's about to catch on fire.

"I need to go freshen up," I say quickly.

I walk to the bathroom, accidentally slamming the door shut behind me. I stare into the mirror, my hands on my face as I cringe at the warmth of it.

"What the fuck was that?" I mutter to myself.

I splash water onto my face and pace back and forth. Never in my life have I completely lost all sense of control around someone. But it seems that every time I'm near him I think with my body instead of my brain.

"Disgusting," I mutter, slapping myself.

I take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom, Sherlock is sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. He looks up at me, "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

I sit at the same chair I did this morning, staring down at the cup of tea in front of me. The sound of him flipping through the newspaper fills the room.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

I nod, "Never been better."

He gives me one last look before turning back to the paper. I let out a silent breath, I shouldn't have agreed to stay here. I'm not sure if I can handle it.

"There's a play I have to attend tonight. Would you like to go with me?"

I should say no. Last time we were at a play together it didn't end well.

"I'd love to."

Thank God I had packed my makeup and a dress.

"Mycroft will be there as well."

I groan, my head resting in the palm of my hand. "Perhaps, it'll be best for me to stay here."

"You've already accepted, and you're a woman of your word. Remember?"

Using my own words against me. When did Sherlock become so sly?

He sets the paper down, looking at me sternly. "There will also be important clients. I ask that you refrain from causing a scene with my brother."

"I think I'll stay here-" my words stop as he gives me another warning look.

I shouldn't love it, but I do.

"I promise to be on my best behavior, Mr. Holmes," I say.

His eyes widen before narrowing again, "Don't call me that."

I smirk and take another sip of my tea, I know he secretly enjoys me calling him that.

~~°°••°°~~

I finish my makeup and stare at the dress laying on the bed. Sherlock had decided to let me get ready in his room, while he got ready in John's. I slide the dress on and reach back to tie it. Except I can't reach it.

"Fuck," I mutter.

I turn my back to the floor length mirror and look over my shoulder. The strings on this dress are at the top instead of the bottom. Why did I grab this dress?

I bend my arms in uncomfortable ways, still trying to reach the strings. My fingers barely graze the ends of them. I panic, frantically jumping up and down, hoping to catch the strings as they bounce. My hair bounces with me, getting in the way.

"Who the fuck designed this dress?"

A knock on the door startles me. "Is everything alright?"

I hold the front of my dress to my chest and slowly crack the door open, "I need your assistance."

He gives me a confused look, I open the door all the way, and turn my back to him.

"Could you tie it for me?"

He brushes my hair away, his fingertips dragging across my bare back, goosebumps rising where he touches. He grabs the strings, tightening the dress softly. The front of my dress gaps and I clear my throat, "You'll need to pull it tighter than that."

He pulls the strings tighter again, "Is that tight enough?"

I let go of my dress, it stays in place so I nod. It's quiet as he ties my dress, my heart races in my chest. When he's done I turn around to face him, his face is tinted a light red as he adjusts his vest.

"Thank you," I say.

He nods so I go back into the room to look in the mirror. I spin around slowly, watching my reflection. The dress is basic, nowhere near as extravagant as the ones other women will be wearing. But the light blue compliments my skin tone well, I actually look nice.

"The dress is pretty."

Sherlock's reflection joins mine in the mirror, I look over my dress again. "You don't think it's too plain?"

"I think it's perfect."

I turn around and examine his outfit, he's wearing a three piece set like always, but this one is a dark blue. "You look handsome."

He nods, "And you look beautiful."

He walks out of the room, I look in the mirror again before following him. Sherlock stands at the door, looking at his pocket watch. I admire him for only a few seconds, it'd be weird if I stared for any longer.

I take his arm and the two of us make our way to the theater. The streets are lined with couples wearing expensive clothing. They must be going to the play as well. The cold wind blows my dress up slightly. Sherlock pulls away from me, taking his coat off, and drapes it across my shoulders. The scent of his cologne relaxing me instantly.

"Thank you."

He nods and rests his arm across my shoulders. I must look ridiculous next to him, a frail looking girl walking next to a man that's built like a God. I look up at him, my eyes trailing down his sharp jawline. How lucky I am to be able to walk beside him.

"You're staring."

He's facing ahead of us, but his eyes look down at me. There's a small smirk on his face.

"I am not!" But I was.

"Sherlock!"

My body freezes at the familiar voice. Sherlock leans down to whisper, his lips almost grazing my ear. "Best behavior."

He stands back up and greets his brother, "Mycroft, how are you?"

"I'm doing well. Mr. and Mrs. King are waiting for us inside."

Mycroft's eyes land on me, his cheerful expression turning sour. "You. What are you doing here?"

Sherlock looks down at me, his eyes practically demanding me to be nice. I let out a sigh but smile fakely, "Hello, Mycroft."

"Why would you bring her? She'll ruin this for the both of us!"

"I promised Sherlock to be on my best behavior," I say.

Mycroft glares, "We'll see about that."

He marches into the building, leaving Sherlock and I alone. He sighs, "This is going to be miserable."

I hand him his coat, batting my eyes innocently, "I'll behave, Mr. Holmes."

His jaw clenches as he puts the coat on, his eyes staying on me the whole time. He takes my hand and leads me into the building. His grip on my hand is strong, as we weave through the crowd. The puffy dresses make it hard to move, but we make it through, and go up the stairs.

We walk over to a table, Mycroft sits at it with an elderly couple. The woman's fingers are full of expensive rings, the diamonds bigger than any gem I've ever seen. A giant ruby necklace dangles from her neck, I quickly look away from it once they notice our presence.

"You must be Mr. Holmes," the man says, standing up to shake Sherlock's hand.

I stand behind Sherlock, watching the exchange awkwardly. The man speaks again, "I'm Jack and this is my wife Beverley."

Sherlock kisses the top of her hand, her smile growing as she pulls her hand back to her chest. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

The woman looks at me, "And who is this?"

Sherlock looks back at me nodding for me to introduce myself. I smile at the couple, "I'm (Y/n), it's lovely to meet you."

The man looks back at Sherlock, his bushy mustache moving up as he smiles. "Ooh, an American. Well done."

Sherlock pulls a chair out and gestures for me to sit down. In between him and Mycroft. I give him a cold glare but he pretends to not notice. When I'm seated I scoot my chair away from Mycroft, accidentally bumping into Sherlock. The couple in front of us don't notice, but Sherlock gives me a glare.

"Mycroft tells us you're a busy man."

Sherlock nods, "My partner, Dr. Watson and I have been getting more cases than usual."

Yet Enola and I are practically begging for cases. We've proved our detective skills many times, but are still in the shadow of Sherlock. All because we're women.

"You look familiar," Jack says suddenly.

I look up to see him staring right at me. "I'm an author, maybe you've seen me at a bookstore."

The man slams his hand on the table and laughs, "That's right! You're that feminist author."

"Correct," I reply.

"What a bunch of bullshit."

I narrow my eyes, "Excuse me?"

Sherlock's hand lands on my knee, and he squeezes it lightly. My leg twitches and I look back to see him shaking his head. My eyes fall back to the table, and my mouth stays shut. Sherlock's hand moves back to his lap and I let out a breath.

Mycroft whispers to me, "You're not making a scene for once. Well done."

I bite my lip painfully, Mycroft is enjoying this. Way more than I thought he would.

The four of them continue talking, I don't even know what about. My eyes are still focused on the table in front of me, and my hands rest in my lap. I sit there quietly, like how a lady should.

"Your mouth is bleeding!"

I look up to see Beverley staring at me in horror. My hand touches my lip and as I pull it back I notice there's blood. I didn't mean to bite my lip so hard.

"Is there a bathroom near?" I ask.

Beverley points to her right, "At the end of the hall."

I excuse myself and walk to the bathroom, my hand covering my mouth. The bathroom comes into view so I quicken my pace and shove the door open. There's two women around my age, the both of them stand in front of the mirror. I stand at the end of the mirror, using a disposable cloth to dab the blood away.

"Oh my goodness! What happened?"

The woman in green gives me a look of concern, while her friend stares boredly.

"I bit my lip."

The nice woman grabs the cloth from my hand and holds it to my lip. Her green eyes staring into mine, "It's hard to keep silent isn't it?"

I give her a confused look and she laughs, "I saw you sitting with Mycroft Holmes, he's a very aggravating man."

She throws the cloth away, I look into the mirror to see that the bleeding has stopped.

"He makes me want to pull my teeth out, but I promised his brother to be nice."

She smiles, "So you're with Sherlock then?"

"I'm here with Sherlock, nothing more."

She opens the door, her friend already standing outside. "Good, because I've had my eyes on Mycroft for a while now."

She gives me one last cheeky grin and leaves. I stare at the door in confusion. How could a woman as beautiful as her fancy a man like Mycroft?

The announcer's voice echoes, the play is beginning soon. I make my way back to the table as fast as I can, my dress bellowing out behind me. My eyes scan the tables before landing on Sherlock, he's smiling at whatever Jack said. But the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"Just in time, love," says Beverley, smiling as I sit down.

The stage curtains open to reveal a man and a woman. This is going to be torture.

~~°°••°°~~

We're all standing outside now, the play is finally over. Jack had decided to make snide comments about my book the entire time. My lip is swollen from biting it so much, but I made it through without saying anything.

"So will you take on our case?" Jack asks.

"No."

I look at Sherlock in surprise, these people offered him an insane amount of money.

Mycroft laughs nervously, "He's just joking, of course he will."

"I will not."

"And why not?" Jack asks.

Sherlock gives me a quick glance, "I don't appreciate the way you spoke to (Y/n)."

Jack and Beverley stand there, completely flabbergasted. Much like myself.

"Unbelievable! Let's go, Beverley."

The older couple march away from us, I watch them with wide eyes. I can't believe Sherlock did that.

"What are you thinking?!"

Sherlock adjusts his coat, "You heard the way they talked about her."

"She deserves it!"

I look back at Sherlock, "May I misbehave now?"

He tilts his head at me, his eyes staring at me curiously. He doesn't answer my question, so I assume it's a yes.

"You are the most arrogant, annoying, and revolting man I have ever met."

Mycroft scoffs, "You're insane, you should be locked up in an asylum!"

"And you should be locked up in a zoo with the rest of the jackasses!"

Sherlock's hand rests on my shoulder, his way of telling me to calm down. But I've been calm. The whole night.

"You may dress like a lady, but you are quite the opposite. It's a miracle that Sherlock can stand being around you."

I roll my eyes, "You think you're the greatest thing ever, but you ride on the coattails of Sherlock."

"That's enough," Sherlock says.

Mycroft and I continue glaring at each other, but Sherlock grabs my arm, pulling me behind him. "We'll be heading home now. Good night, Mycroft."

He doesn't allow his brother to answer before he begins dragging me away. I look back at Mycroft, continuing to glare. I hear him mutter to himself before he walks the opposite way.

"You didn't have to turn his offer down."

Sherlock lets my arm go, shoving his hand into his pocket. "He insulted you."

"Most men do," I say honestly.

He glances at me, "I'm not okay with it."

The rest of the walk is silent. When we finally get in his apartment I kick my heels off at the door. He steps over them and hangs his coat on the rack. I grab my pajamas from my bag, they're pants and a blouse. Night gowns were never my thing.

I head to the bathroom and shut the door behind me, my hands grasping at the strings of my dress. I curse at the dress in annoyance. A knock on the door startles me.

"Do you need my assistance?"

I bite my lip, and open the door to see Sherlock rolling his sleeves up. My eyes trail up his arms and to his chest where the top buttons of his shirt are undone. I quickly spin around, holding the front of my dress. I pull my hair out of the way, allowing him to untie the strings easier. He slides his hand down my back. I hold my breath, my bottom lip held between my teeth.

"I believe I have tied the knot too tight."

His breath fans across my skin as he leans in closer to the dress. I close my eyes tightly, and pray that he unties the knot. So I can shut the door and be on my own.

He stands up straight, "There."

"Thank you," my voice comes out shaky.

He steps out and pulls the door shut behind him. I drop my dress to the floor and let out a breath, my hands resting on the edge of the sink. My eyes scan the reflection of my flustered face. Tomorrow I'll go home, and I'll spend the day with Enola. Away from her brother.

I put my pajamas on and walk out to see Sherlock sitting on the couch, reading a book.

"What are you reading?"

His eyes never leave the page, "Your book."

Excitement washes my nervousness away, I eagerly sit next to him, my eyes reading the page quickly.

"I wrote that one about a woman I had met at church one day."

His eyes meet mine, "Really?"

"That one's about the preacher of the church, he was a jerk. Always preached about women going to Hell for everything we do."

He flips through the book, stopping on a certain page. His finger points to the poem on the left page, "This one is my favorite."

"It's my favorite as well," I say.

"What's it about?"

I smile sadly, "Sadie."

"She wasn't just a friend was she?"

I push myself away from him, in fear of what he'll think. My hands begin to shake, "She was just a good friend."

His eyes meet mine, "I won't judge you for who you love."

He pats the spot next to him, his eyes beckoning for me to sit next to him. I listen, though my heart still races.

"We were in love, but she was afraid to admit it. The day I wrote that poem was the day I found out she had gotten married."

I read over the poem again, but my heart doesn't swell at the thought of her anymore. My eyes land on Sherlock, "It's okay though, I've moved on."

"You have?" he asks.

My eyes lower to his lips, but quickly move back to his eyes. "I have."