The Fitted Blouse

"That can't be it."

My eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the dimly lit room. I look over to see that Sherlock is gone, but the voice still continues to mutter. When I sit up I see that Sherlock is sitting at the desk in the corner, scribbling on a paper.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

He flinches at my voice, "Did I wake you?"

I walk over to him, still rubbing my burning eyes. The sky is still dark, so it must be late. I examine his face, there's dark circles under his eyes, and his hair is messy.

"What time is it?" I ask.

He looks at his pocket watch and sighs, "Three."

He rests his head in his hand, his eyes still scanning the various papers in front of him. There isn't an extra chair in the room, so I decide to sit in his lap instead.

"Is this the case that's been bothering you?"

His eyes are wide, "What are you doing?"

"You didn't seem to mind me sitting in your lap the other day," I say smugly.

He shakes his head, but there's a smile on his face. I flip through the papers, they're police reports from several sexual assault cases. My lips fall into a frown as I read over them. Every victim gave the same description of the suspect, a tall man with blond hair and a scar on his left cheek.

Sherlock's arms wrap around my waist as he leans his head against my back. I rest my hand on his while I read through the reports. It's no wonder he's been so bothered, this has been going on for over a week, and they still haven't found the guy.

"These girls," I pause before continuing, "they're all the same age as me."

His arms tighten around my waist, "And they all have long, (H/c) hair as well."

"So his victims aren't random."

"Which is why you shouldn't be on your own."

I stand up, "I need to get to Enola, she stays in the office by herself."

My voice comes out rushed and panicked. I walk to the living room, looking for my shoes and coat. Sherlock follows me and grabs my wrist.

"I've already talked to her. She's staying with Tewkesbury, I told her I'd watch over you."

I fall onto the couch with a sigh, "So she'll be safe?"

"Yes, and she shares no similarities with the victims. But you do."

He sits next to me, "He targets women who live alone, and he breaks into their homes at night."

My mother is still away with her feminist group. She had sent a heartfelt letter the other day, letting me know that she'll be gone for a while longer.

"I'd like for you to stay here, until he's caught. I can walk you to the office every morning and walk you back here every night."

I look back at him, "I don't have a choice do I?"

"No."

I let out a dramatic sigh and rest my head against his shoulder. "I can't believe you're letting Enola stay with Tewkesbury."

"She was very adamant about not staying with us."

I smirk to myself, "Can you blame her? I'd much rather stay with my boyfriend."

"It seems that you've gotten your wish," he says.

I kiss his jaw, and pull away with a smile. "We should really get some sleep now."

~~°°••°°~~

This time, when I wake up, Sherlock is lying next to me. Our faces are only a few inches apart, and his arm is draped across my waist. I kiss his lips lightly and his eyes open.

"Good morning, my love."

My heart flutters, "Good morning, Mr. Holmes."

He sits up, stretching as he yawns. I sit up as well, and he turns to me. "Your hair is a mess."

"Thanks," I say, sarcastically.

He reaches a hand out to push my hair out of my face, "You look good like this."

"I'm sure other men would beg to differ," I reply, getting out of bed.

"Why should another man's opinion matter?" The sharp tone of jealousy is evident.

I rest my hands on the mattress, leaning in closer to him with a smirk. "Are you jealous?"

"Don't act like you don't enjoy it," he replies, leaving the room.

I look at myself in the mirror, he was right about the messy hair. It does look good on me. When I'm done checking my reflection, I walk into the living room. Sherlock's already changed into his usual three piece suit. How is he so fast?

He hands me a pile of clothes, "You left these last time you were here."

It's a fitted blouse, the front of it laces up,  and it's dyed a pale blue, along with some basic dark trousers. I really need more feminine clothes.

"Morning."

I look up to see John standing in the kitchen, a cheeky smile on his face. Sherlock rolls his eyes, "He wasn't supposed to be coming back until tonight."

"We have a case to solve, Sherlock."

I leave the two friends to their glaring match, and quickly change my clothes in the bathroom. When I walk out, I notice that Sherlock is staring at me. He barely allows me to walk to the couch before he stops me.

"Your shirt is undone."

I look down to see that the lace is untied, revealing more cleavage than I ever planned on showing. He blocks me from John's view and begins tying the strings. I ignore our close proximity, and I especially ignore how close his fingers are to my skin.

"You're tying it too tight," I complain, pushing his hands away.

I try to untie the strings but they don't budge.

"It covers more this way," he says.

"Yes, but it also makes it harder to move."

I let out a sigh as I finally give up on trying to loosen the strings. John stands behind Sherlock with a smile, "You two already act like a married couple."

Sherlock ignores him, "Come on now, we have to drop (Y/n) off at the office."

The three of us make our way through the busy streets. The two men are bickering about something, but I've already forgotten what. They act more like siblings than friends.

"I can't fucking breathe," I mumble, pulling at the strings of my blouse.

Sherlock turns to me, "It's better to be fully covered."

"Did you not notice that by tying the strings tighter, you made the blouse fit me tighter? One wrong move and my shirt is going to rip right down the middle."

"I didn't think about that."

"Really? Because I think you did it on purpose."

"Thank God, we're finally here. I'm sick of listening to you two argue," says John.

"Y'all are the ones that bickered the whole way over here."

I push the door open and walk up the stairs to the office. Enola is already sitting at her desk, along with Tewkesbury. And Timothée.

"Good morning my beautiful woman," Enola says, smiling at me.

"Good morning, darling," I reply.

Sherlock stands behind me, as well as John. I turn back to them with a smile, "Thank you for escorting me."

John smiles, "I'll see you tonight."

I smile back in response and look back at Sherlock. I expected him to nod in my direction and leave as he always does. Neither of us were very affectionate people, especially in public.

However.

He leans down and kisses me, I freeze but quickly kiss him back. When he pulls away his eyes move behind me, a proud smirk is on his face. He looks back at me, "I'll be back at nine to pick you up."

Then he leaves the room. As if nothing happened. I'm left in shock, still facing the doorway. I slowly turn around to my friends. Enola has her hand over her eyes while Tewkesbury is grinning. When I look at Timothée I see that he's smirking.

"Are they done?" Enola asks.

Tewkesbury laughs. He laughs so hard that he's clutching his stomach, and gasping for air. My face burns as a mix of embarrassment and giddiness swirls through me.

"I don't think he likes me."

I laugh at Timothée's words, "Well if that's how he's going to react every time he sees you near me, then we should hang out more often."

"Gross, gross, gross," Enola says, covering her ears.