#<- ive been ironing out this specific outfit for like a month and i keep changing it. i think its finally at a design i like

[kheprriverse]

Haven’t drawn this funny guy in a while!

I was gonna have more doodles with this, maybe if him interacting with other characters (like his family or Zelda or smth) but one of my eye’s is kinda strained so I decided to take a bit of a break. Which is also why some parts of this doodle might be a little scuffed

Very happy with how this turned out regardless!

AU Masterpost | Character Lineup | Ko-fi

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part thirty-three

Hi! I apologize for this taking a literal hot minute. I got a little more than preoccupied with my new John Watson fic, Deception, but just because I have started that story doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about this one, I promise xx.

Weeks pass and oddly enough as they do, you get better.

           You’re up and walking now, thank God. You thought for a moment you might go absolutely insane if you didn’t start walking somewhere, even if just down the hall and back. Sherlock found it both endearing and terrifying, watching you walk down the hallway, IV pole in hand. John and Mary were thrilled, of course, that you were up and moving again, both finding Sherlock’s worry equally heartwarming and alarming.

           Sherlock isn’t sure what he’s worried about, honestly. He’s not worried about you getting better because that would be ridiculous. How absurd a worry is it that he’s worried you’ll get better? It makes no sense. Well, it makes some sense. He’s not necessarily worried about you getting better as much as he is worried about you wanting to be all the way better too soon. He doesn’t want you to push yourself, that’s all.

           He nearly groans at the thought. Sentiment. It’s taken over his brain.

           The end of January comes and with it comes your discharge date. You are more than thrilled. You’re ready to be back at Baker Street and out of this dreaded hospital gown.

           Which, in fact, is why you ask John to fetch you an outfit to wear home. Preferably a jumper and some leggings, which he delivers – along with Sherlock’s coat.

           Sherlock catches himself smiling as you swing the coat over your shoulders, happily sighing to yourself as you tug on it. You catch him looking at you, raising your eyebrows.

           “What is it?”

           “I missed seeing you in my coat,” Sherlock replies bluntly.

           You try to hide the blush that crawls up your cheeks. “I missed wearing it. Now, who is our ride?”

           As soon as you ask, a knock sounds at the door, opening to reveal Detective Inspector Lestrade.

           “Greg!” You grin, stumbling over his name only a bit until he smiles brightly, glad to see you’ve remembered his name. “What on earth are you doing here?”

           “I’m taking the two of you back to Baker Street,” he pauses, nodding to Sherlock. “Brother’s orders.”

           Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

           “He’s got you wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he?” You smirk.

           Lestrade’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

           “Mycroft,” you snicker, watching Lestrade glare at you. “I’m only teasing.”

           “Yeah, right. I’ll be just outside. Car’s ready whenever you are.” He exits the room shaking his head, but nevertheless, glad to see you’re seemingly back to your old self.

           Which you are, for the most part. Apart from the sore shoulder and the sore ribs and the scar that will forever be on your stomach, you’re back to being your old self.

           Sherlock’s arms snake around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You chuckle, leaning into him, leaning your head on his.

           “Are you ready to go back to Baker Street?” You ask.

           “I suppose,” he sighs. “It’ll feel much better now that you’re coming back with me.”

           “Oh, charming,” you breathe, turning around in his arms. You lose yourself there, your faces so close you can pick out each and every color in his eyes. Before you have any idea of what you’re doing, your hand reaches up to cradle his face, your thumb stroking his cheek.

           He reads your mind, like he always does, closing the gap between the two of you. It’s these kisses, the tender ones, that you’ve grown to love. Even when he gets a bit bold, his hands holding your face as he slowly tries coaxing your mouth open. You give in, letting him in – just as John opens the door.

           “Are you— Okay—”

           The door slams closed, causing a laugh to bubble out of your chest as you lean your forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I think we’ve just scarred him for life.”

           “Oh, well.”

           “You can come in John,” you call out. “We’re decent.”

           A very awkward John Watson opens the door a second later, Mary right next to him with quite possibly the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen on her face. You give her a look, mostly telling her to behave, which you know sounds ironic.

            “Uh, we’re about to head out, but I wanted to warn you that there is a lot of press outside, so you might have some cameras in your face…”

           “Wonderful,” you comment, trying to keep the stride going and cut out the awkwardness. “Well, I think we’re about ready. You’ve got all my stuff.”

           John nods. “It’s all back at Baker Street.”

           You smile. “Then I think we’re ready.”

           You walk out of your hospital room for the last time, making a pitstop at the front desk to ask about a patient. A specific patient.

           “Hi, would you happen to know if Mary Josephine has been discharged yet?” With Sherlock standing behind you (and the ominous security guard Mycroft provided), it doesn’t take the nurse long to check the records.

           The woman nods. “She was discharged a week ago.”

           “Oh, okay,” you smile. You had wanted to see her once before you left.

           “But you’re…Y/N L/N, correct?” You nod. “I think she left…” She rummages around on the desk before she finds it – an envelope. “Yes, she left this for you.”

           “Oh,” you chuckle, taking it and tucking it in a pocket on Sherlock’s coat. “Thank you.”

           “No problem, love.”

           You turn around, smiling to Sherlock now, letting him know you’re officially ready to go. John and Mary left to find their car a few minutes ago, so it’s just you, Sherlock, the security guard, and Lestrade now.

           Lestrade walks ahead of you and Sherlock, Mycroft’s security guard walking behind. You hear Lestrade speak on the radio to someone, presumably someone outside, letting them know you’re walking.

           You feel oddly out of place, walking with security around you. You’re so used to despising those that need this kind of protection. Now you’re one of them.

           Lestrade pauses before he opens the door, giving you a tired look. “We tried to tell the press not to come, but they did—”

           “Lestrade, it’s fine. I’ll be okay,” you assure him. “Let’s just go. I really want to be back at Baker Street already.”

           “Alright,” Lestrade sighs, pushing open the door.

           From then on, it’s a blur. Cameras are flashing, reporters are yelling. Hospital security and police are keeping them from completely swarming you. There is a brief moment of clarity when you feel Sherlock’s fingers lace with yours, and practically on cue, all of the cameras flash at once, all of them wanting a picture of the great Sherlock Holmes with his apparent girlfriend.

           To be fair, you and Sherlock haven’t even talked about labels. Even just the idea of the paper writing about you being his girlfriend sends a swarm of butterflies to your stomach. It almost makes you want to ask him about the specifics of your relationship, but you know that’s for another time.

           Whether or not you’re dating is not a good question to ask in the back of a police car as he’s trying to calm you down because you’ve zoned out completely since stepping outside.

           “Y/N? Love, are you alright?”

           You blink, finally hearing him this time. “I’m alright.” You try to offer a smile to ease his worry. Sherlock squeezes your hand lovingly before practically resting your intertwined fingers in his lap. He’s being protective, that you can see and feel just by the way he’s keeping your hand close to him.

           It’s sweet. And exactly what you need.

~~~

You’re a bit exhausted, so the last thing you expect is for Mrs. Hudson, Molly and her fiancé – gosh, he looks so much like Sherlock that you’re genuinely blanking on the poor guy’s name, but to be fair, you have been in hospital for a month – Mary and John to all be standing in the living room at Baker Street yelling, “Welcome home!”

           Now you know why Lestrade took the long route here. Not to avoid traffic like he said, but to stall so all of them had time to get here and set this up.

           “Oh my god,” you chuckle, immediately turning to give Molly a big hug. “You sneaky bug. You told me you had to work today.”

           “I did,” she smiles. “I had to work on setting all this up,” she gestures to the banner hanging on the wall, obviously carefully hung to not cover up Sherlock’s yellow smiley face.

           “Thank you all,” you shake your head in disbelief. A year ago, you were a drug addict with nowhere left to turn. And now here you are, standing in a room with all of these people – with family and friends, two things you never thought you’d have, but they’re all here. “And you,” you turn around to face Lestrade. “I knew something was wrong with you when you took that God-awful way to get here.”

           The Detective Inspector merely shrugs. “I don’t like traffic,” he winks.

           “Yeah, yeah,” you smirk, narrowing your eyes. You catch a glimpse of the security guard Mycroft provided standing at the bottom of the stairs, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. You know Mycroft is busy – and that he and Sherlock don’t exactly get along – but you’re a little disappointed he isn’t here. But, at the same time, you know he isn’t one for these things, so you shrug the feeling away.

           “Y/N.”

           You spin back around, searching for the source of the voice only to find Sherlock in the kitchen, nodding for you to come closer. You give him a strange look – He’s been acting strange all morning, if you’re being honest, so you walk closer to him.

           “Can I talk about something with you for a moment?” He pauses, glancing up at all the people in the flat. “In private?”

           You’re now more worried than anything, so you slowly nod, following him back into his bedroom. Which you find strange, but oh well.

           You step inside, nerves eating away at you as he shuts the door and…locks it.

           “Sherlock, what’s—” You’re immediately cut off by him pushing your back against the door, pressing his lips to yours in that stupid sinful way he’s always done.

           You forget about everything when he kisses you. You forget that you’ve barely been home for five minutes. You forget that the press nearly swarmed you half an hour ago outside the hospital. You forget there’s people – your brother, included – just on the other side of this door, in the living area. You forget there’s a Welcome Home party happening just outside.

           And when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, you let out a surprised squeak, causing him to pull away for a moment, leaning his forehead on yours. You open your eyes then, but his remain closed. You could probably stare at him like this, up close, for ages if you really had the time. You want to.

           “Sherlock,” you murmur, your fingers brushing through his curls. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I need to remind you that my brother is just outside.”

           He chuckles softly, opening his eyes. There’s a playful glint in them, so you give him a look, trying to show him you’re serious.

           “I promise,” you whisper, “you can have me all to yourself tonight, but for right now, there are people out there.”

           He shrugs, that playful smirk teasing his lips. You wish he wouldn’t smirk like that. All it does is make you want to kiss him. “We can be quiet.”

           “Sherlock Holmes!” You scold, smacking his chest lightly. “Stop it now. I’m serious.”

           “Fine,” he rolls his eyes dramatically.

           “Sherlock.”

           “Hm?”

           “Put me down.”

           “Oh, alright,” he mutters, letting go of you legs and gently setting you back on the floor. “Better?”

           “Mhm,” you nod. “One more.”

           “One more what?”

           “One more kiss,” you reply sheepishly. You know PDA isn’t exactly his thing, and it definitely doesn’t need to be his thing when your brother is around, so the least he can do is kiss you once more before you have to return to the party.

           He smiles, tilting your head so he can properly kiss you one last time.

           “Okay,” you sigh, straightening your coat and smoothing your clothes. “Into battle,” you tease him, pulling open the door.

           You jump back, Mary standing right outside in the kitchen with raised eyebrows. “Seriously, you two?”

           “What?” You defend, but you’re red. You’re so red that it’s giving you away.

           “Oh, you’re blushing,” Mary snickers. “I’m only teasing. Do you want some champagne?”

           “Sure,” you chuckle awkwardly, ignoring Sherlock’s smug smile as he brushes past to retrieve his violin from the window.