Cardigan | S. Harrington

Pairing: Steve x Hopper!Reader

Timeframe: Season 2-3

Summary:[Based on Cardigan - Taylor Swift] Y/n and Steve had a love like no other until he went and fucked it up.

masterlist

A/N:this is a part of my folklore/evermore-inspired fic collection

there’s a lil hopper-centric bonus part to this fic

November, 1984

Steve grinned widely as he opened the passenger door of his BMW and held his hand out to his long-term girlfriend. She stepped out onto the patchy grass, but not without rolling her eyes playfully. Before she could take another step towards her front porch, Steve wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

“Steve,” Y/n giggled, placing her hands on his.

Steve did not respond and instead buried his face in the crook of her neck and let out a groan. Y/n continued to move towards her porch, but with Steve holding her tightly she could not help but drag her feet.

“C'mon, baby, I gotta go,” she murmured, laughing under her breath.

When he finally loosened his grasp and followed her onto the porch, Y/n turned around and was promptly startled by him stepping forward and pulling her into his arms yet again.

“Are you sure you can’t stay out just a little bit longer?”

He leaned in until their heads were pressed against each other. Y/n felt tempted to give in when she looked him in the eye, but frowned, knowing someone else needed her just a bit more.

“My dad’s working all night tonight,” she frowned. “And you know how El doesn’t like to be on her own when it gets late.”

Steve sighed, before nodding his head. He kissed her forehead and held the sides of her face affectionately. She smiled at him gratefully.

“Next time,” Y/n promised, wrapping her arms around his neck and meeting his disappointed gaze. “We’ll stay for as long as you want.”

“I’m holding you to it,” Steve whispered, before leaning in with a foolish grin and kissing her softly. Y/n smiled against his lips and laughed when he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

When he finally pulled away, he waited until Y/n fished her house key from the pocket of her jeans before letting go of her waist. She held his face and got in one final peck to last her through till morning when he would come by to take her to work.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, unable to stop grinning.

“Goodnight, baby,” he replied, smiling back at her in awe. How did she manage to still look so pretty under the dim lighting of an old porch light? Even after a year of walking her to her front door at night, Steve was still amazed.

Just as Y/n pulled her hands away from his face and went to step back, Steve leaned in and stole one more kiss. He could never get enough of the taste of her chapstick and the feeling of her lips on his.

“I love you,” he added.

“I love you too,” she responded with ease, before leaning back against the front door and waving goodbye until his car was almost out of sight.

Y/n turned back around and unlocked the door before slowly swinging it open. She was hoping to hear nothing but the sound of a teenage girl fast asleep in her room, but once she caught a whiff of what she recognised immediately as burnt eggos, Y/n knew her little sister was very much awake.

“El?” She called out, closing and locking the door behind her.

“It’s 8-1-5. You’re late.”

Y/n sighed when she saw El sitting cross-legged at the dinner table with her old baseball bat clutched tightly in her small hands. The half-eaten charred waffle on the plate in front of her made

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said, taking her jacket off and taking the seat opposite her. El stared at her burnt waffles, refusing to even look up at her older sister. Y/n shifted uncomfortably. “Did you have dinner? I heated it up for you like I said I would.”

El huffed before nodding her head. Her lips remained pursed as a testament to how upset she was, though she finally glanced up and looked at Y/n. Her small fingers played with the burnt bits of eggo.

“I wanted dessert,” El explained.

The young girl thought it would be easy enough to make, especially after watching Y/n do it with such ease. After twisting the dials on the toaster without understanding what exactly it did, El quickly realised she had burnt the last of the waffles.

“I know how to fix this,” Y/n smiled, before taking El’s plate and throwing the burnt eggos in the trash. She then fished out two spoons from the only kitchen drawer that could be opened and grabbed the tub of ice cream she kept hidden right at the back of the freezer, behind the ice trays and frozen dinners.

El’s eyes lit up and she did not waste another second before taking her spoon and eating, relieved to finally have something to get rid of the burnt eggos taste in her mouth.

“Why were you late?”

She was asking less out of curiosity and more out of concern. Typically when Y/n knew she would be late, explain to El what number to look for on the clock. The older girl downed another spoonful of ice cream before answering.

“Steve took me to see a movie, and it took longer than I thought it would,” she explained.

Although it was an honest mistake, Y/n couldn’t shake the guilty feeling left in her gut knowing how disappointed and concerned El must have felt. As the two of them continued to eat, Y/n couldn’t help but stress over whether or not she would be getting reprimanded the following morning.

“Please don’t tell Hopper I was late,” she pleaded sheepishly.

The last time Y/n got home late, El told on her and she had to endure a lecture on responsibility and keeping each other safe. She could just imagine how livid her father would be if he found out she got home almost an hour later than the agreed-upon time.

“Hopper said no secrets,” El replied, confused by Y/n’s request.

The entire dynamic between Y/n and her dad left El puzzled. While she did her best to listen to Hopper’s rules and abide by them, Y/n seemed to take them as a mere suggestion and, at times, did her best to completely defy his orders. It left constantly El intrigued.

“I know he did,” the older girl sighed. “…but this is different.”

“It is?”

El furrowed her brows in confusion. Y/n smiled and nodded her head. The both of them scooped more ice cream and continued to eat while they continued their conversation.

“You keep my secrets and I’ll keep yours,” Y/n stated. “That’s how it works when you have a sister.”

Though they had only been living under the same roof for half a year, there was no denying the sisterly nature of their relationship. While Y/n had her reservations about El when they first met, they were long gone after the first few weeks.

“But I don’t have secrets,” El reasoned.

“Maybe not now, but you might have one later,” Y/n shrugged. “And when you do, you can tell me and I won’t tell Hopper… Or anyone.”

Despite suspecting she was only saying this to undermine Hopper’s rules yet again, El felt excited by the idea of having a confidante she could count on indefinitely. Someone she knew would not freak out in the same way Hopper did.

“Ok,” she smiled.

“So you won’t tell him I came home late tonight?”

“Sisters don’t tell secrets,” El stated, holding her pinky out the way Y/n taught her to whenever they made promises to each other. Y/n grinned before holding out hers and looping their fingers together.

After finishing, the tub of ice cream, the two of them tidied the kitchen together before retiring to the living room sofa for the evening. Y/n was halfway through painting El’s fingernails when she could sense that someone was troubling her.

“Y/n. I have a question.”

She finished the last finger on her left hand before moving on to the next, muttering a quick ‘hm?’ signalling El to ask away. The young girl shifted in her seat before exhaling heavily.

“Why do you like Steve?”

She froze for a moment, taken aback by El’s sudden curiosity about her relationship. Even so, she gave it a great deal of thought.

“Well, I like him for a lot of reasons,” Y/n answered “I guess… it’s mostly because of how he makes me feel.”

“How does he make you feel?”

“He makes me feel happy… and safe,” Y/n responded, smiling to herself as she continued to reflect on her relationship with Steve. “And he makes me feel really special even when I don’t feel like I am.”

That was more often than Y/n would have liked to admit. With everything she went through in life, it was hard for her to see herself as someone important and even harder to believe anyone would be willing to stick by her. But Steve did, even when it was not easy to.

“Y/n, I think I have a secret,” El admitted. Y/n looked at her and quipped a brow, interested to know what it was. From the dazed and awestruck glimmer in her eye, Y/n had a hunch it was about a certain boy. El sighed with a goofy smile. “I think I like Mike.”

Y/n tried to contain her excitement as she continued painting El’s right hand, knowing exactly why she wanted to keep that a secret from their dad.

***

June, 1985

Y/n pulled the passenger’s seat of Steve’s BMW forward and searched the floor behind it for her missing earring. She could have sworn she was wearing it on their way to Starcourt Mall for work that very morning and was determined to pull her boyfriend’s car apart if that’s what it took to find it.

“Baby, what are you doing?”

Steve had just reached the parking lot and was rather startled to see his girlfriend rummaging through the loose items that cluttered the backseat of his car. She continued to search the floor mats, unfazed by Steve’s presence and concerned tone.

“I lost my earring,” she cried out. “I didn’t have it when we went inside the mall, so it has to be here somewhere.”

He chuckled, feeling grateful he made himself an ice cream cone before locking up the shop. He walked to the front of his car and leaned back against the bumper. The sound of Y/n going through all the clutter provided ambience as he ate his ice cream.

When the parking lot went silent, Steve stood tall, thinking she had finally found her missing earring so it was time for them to grab some dinner before going home. As he watched Y/n step out of the passenger side of the BMW and pace towards him, Steve realised she was holding something but it was not her missing earring.

It was another girl’s lacey red bra.

“What the fuck is this, Steve?”

She threw the bra at his fate in a fit of rage, but he was too stunned to react and the red bra fell onto the patch of pavement that separated them. Steve’s face went pale and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating altogether.

“Please don’t tell me it’s what I think it is,” Y/n whispered, hoping he would break a smile and reveal that it was all part of some stupid prank he was trying to pull over on her. When he did nothing but stare blankly, she knew that was not going to be the case.

She stumbled back and gasped for air, unsure whether she wanted to burst into tears or break every last window on his stupid BMW and then every last bone in his nose.

“Y/n, I-I can expl-”

“Steve, are you kidding me?”

An explanation was the last thing she wanted to hear. An explanation was not going to undo what he had already gone and done, nor was it going to just ease the excruciating pain she felt in her chest.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he cried out, reaching out in an attempt to pull her close to him like he had grown accustomed to doing.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, slapping his hand away and stepping back again.

Y/n raised her hand to her chest and turned her back to Steve. Her mind was flooded with so many negative thoughts, overwhelming any questions she might have initially had. She didn’t care for the finer details. She didn’t even care who the other girl was. All she could feel was the piercing heartbreak making it unbearable to be in his presence for another second.

“Just take me home,” Y/n whimpered, before quickly getting into the passenger’s seat and slamming her door shut. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to stand the sight of the man she could no longer recognise.

Most of the ride was silent. Y/n kept her eyes glued to the trees outside her window as she tried to contain her sobs, while Steve struggled to keep his focus on the road. It wasn’t until they reached her house that he finally mustered enough courage to speak.

“It was a mistake,” Steve whispered, unable to take any more of the silence. He wanted her to yell at him and do everything he knew he deserved. “I was young and stupid and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“We’re the same fucking age, Steve,” Y/n scolded, finally looking him in the eye. She furrowed her brows and shook her head in both confusion and disapproval. “And I would’ve never done this to you.”

Y/n turned away and stepped out of his car, slamming shut behind her and then racing to the front door. It wasn’t until she was inside that Steve finally drove away, haunted by her last words.

After tossing her keys and jacket on the couch, Y/n sped to the freezer and reached for her trusty stash of chocolate ice cream. She slammed it on the counter and grabbed a spoon from the kitchen drawer. She was barely able to open the container when she burst into tears, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of it all.

With the tears came all the painful questions she couldn’t bring herself to answer. Did she not give him enough love? Y/n was certain she loved Steve as much as she possibly could, which only triggered the more terrifying question of whether that meant her love was not enough. That she was not enough.

***

July, 1985

Y/n’s eyes blinked open and she let out a groan having been woken up to both a pounding headache and a battered and bruised Steve Harrington. She held the sides of her head and continued to groan.

“What happened?”

Steve leaned against the wall and rested his elbow on the toilet seat but not before flushing the last of his vomit away. He tried to remember the better times, before him, his ex-girlfriend and two kids got roped into investigating the inner workings of the Starcourt Mall.

“Russians. Truth serum,” he panted as he tried to catch his breath. “We’ve been puking non-stop for an hour and I think you passed out a few minutes ago.”

Y/n sighed as she started to remember. She shifted over to the other side of the toilet before leaning back and looking up, trying to focus on the ceiling now that it had finally stopped spinning.

“Do you think it’s all out of our system?”

“I don’t know,” Steve mumbled. “Ask me something.”

“Does your mom still ask about me?”

“Every time I play 'Total Eclipse of the Heart’ in my bedroom,” he answered without hesitation. “- So, basically every day.”

“Yeah, I think it’s still in our system.”

The both of them broke into uncontrollable fits of laughter. When the stalls grew quiet again after they both caught their breaths, Steve found himself smiling and unable to keep quiet.

“You know, this is most you’ve talked to me all month.”

“That’s sorta what happens when you cheat on someone, Steve.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

As the restroom started to grow quiet again, Y/n couldn’t stop thinking about their breakup. All of the feelings she previously keep bottled up and concealed were bubbling to the surface thanks to the unknown substance she was injected with.

“It’s really fucked up what you did,” she sighed.

“I know,” he answered truthfully.

“It’s even more fucked up how relieved I am that you’re ok.”

Steve peeled his eyes away from the ceiling and glanced over to her. Though he knew they were both still affected by the serum, he couldn’t help but question whether she meant what she was saying.

“I used to think I wanted you to die,” Y/n admitted honestly. “But then those Russians kept punching you and I just… I quickly regretted ever wishing that would happen.”

She wanted to be vengeful and enraged, but it was hard to wish misfortune for someone she still cared an awful lot for.

“But, you know, I just… I still don’t get why you did it,” Y/n whispered. Despite spending so many sleepless nights reflecting on where it all went wrong, she could never figure it out. “I trusted you more than I trusted anyone.”

She used to think the only person she could count on was herself, considering everyone she used to rely on was either dead or an unstable drunk. Steve was the only person she felt comfortable enough around to let her guard down completely and trust wholeheartedly. Y/n could have never fathomed the one person who knew her best would leave her heartbroken just like everyone else. Every time she tried to find something to pin the blame on, she found herself pointing her finger right back at her pitiful messed up heart.

“Did you… Did you not feel loved enough by me?”

It was the question that had been haunting her for weeks. If not for the truth serum, Y/n would have never uttered it aloud, unsure whether knowing the answer would do her any good. Steve thought about it for a second then spoke just as quickly as the realisation hit him.

“I didn’t know what love was until I was with you.”

For as long as he could remember, Steve had always been jumping through hoops to earn the validation of his peers. He once believed he needed to have the best hair, the best car and the keg stand record to feel seen and valued until Y/n very quickly proved him otherwise.

Steve never had someone who loved him quite the way she did: fiercely and unconditionally. Each time he told her he loved her, he couldn’t help but feel startled when she said it back every single time. Y/n had seen every side to him, the best and the worst parts. He simply couldn’t believe she loved him still until he had already gone and fucked it up.

***

August, 1985

“He wrote you a letter?”

Y/n felt a lump in her throat as a teary-eyed El held up the letter their dad had written to her. The older girl felt resentful and envious. There was not much either of them could say beyond that.

Despite her best attempts as appearing to be okay, El knew how much Y/n was hurting and wished she had more time in Hawkins to ensure her older sister would be ok. However, the sun was setting and the moving truck was already filled to the brim, ready for the journey to California.

Y/n thought hugging El one last time before waving goodbye to her and the Byers would be the hardest part, but it was by far the drive home. She had no one with her and no one waiting for her. All she had for company was the bitter feeling that came from realising everyone she loved was gone.

Her father was dead. The closest thing she had to a sister chose to move to a different state with another family overstaying in Indiana with her. Everyone she loved had abandoned her in one way.

Now all she was left with was the pack of beers her dad had stored in their refrigerator and an empty house. Y/n chugged her first bottle, hoping the alcohol would suffocate the quiet voice in her head, replaying the harsh words she spoke during her last argument with her father.

Before she could fall deeper into the wormhole, there was a knock at the door. After swinging it open, she found herself face to face with Steve, who held a pizza box in his hand and his car keys in the other.

“I thought maybe you could use some company,” he spoke hesitantly.

After everything that happened when they left the bathroom stall, Y/n was quick to shut almost everyone out. Every attempt Steve made at getting her to open up was met with defensiveness and an aggressive reminder that he was a cheating scumbag. Even so, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t continue to try.

“Why are you here?”

Though her tone came off as annoyed, she was more surprised than anything else. Almost everyone had given up on trying to get through to her, yet there he stood in her front porch light, ready to give it another go.

“I know I messed up,” Steve sighed wearily. “And I’m not expecting you to take me back or anything. I just… I just didn’t want you to be alone.”

He braced himself for another blowup and prepared himself to take whatever it was she needed to get off her chest and be ready to come back and try again the following day. However, she simply snatched the pizza box out of hand, placing it on the floor behind her before turning back to him and pulling him in for a hug.

Steve wrapped his arms around his waist and held her tightly, not letting go until he was certain she was ready to pull away. The quiet sobs she let out into his shoulders made it clear that would not be any time soon.

Just as well, there was no place else he wanted to be.

bonus part

Thread of Gold | S. Holmes

Pairing:Sherlock x Reader

Summary:[Based on Invisible String - Taylor Swift] Now that they are back in each other’s lives, it becomes increasingly difficult for either to conceal their affections.

masterlist-PART ONE

A/N: this is the second and final part :)

’One year’, Y/n read, squinting as she held the letter up to her eyes. ’One full year working as a governess without giving any thought or time to your future.’ She huffed and reluctantly skimmed through the rest of her mother’s letter while taking slow steps back to the kitchen where Enola waited for her.

Y/n’s mother was not the least bit happy after learning her daughter had taken on a governess position as opposed to participating in the social season. In fact, her ladyship was so livid she sent a letter almost every week for a year criticising her daughter’s decisions and imploring her to return home.

Until then, all of her letters read the same. It was four pages of criticism followed by a two-page plea to consider the dishonour she was subjecting her family name to. However, this one was only a few pages. Y/n’s mama spent the first two droning on and on about how it had been a year, which had little impact on Y/n. Ultimately, it was the last page that caused her to stop in her tracks so abruptly, it made a sound that echoed through the empty corridor.

’There is a gentleman’, Lady Y/l/n wrote. Y/n looked over her shoulder to ensure no one was around before bringing herself to read on. ’A suitor who expressed interest in courting you in your previous season, that was before Mr Harridge proposed.’

Y/n could hardly remember him. She knew he was a tall man whose father worked alongside hers. That was all she could recall.

’I informed him your engagement to Mr Harridge was no longer, and he has expressed interest in asking for your hand.“

She stumbled back until she felt the wall behind her. Clutching onto the wood panels, Y/n inhaled sharply, the air in the hallway grow thick and suffocating. Even so, she could not stop reading.

’Your father has invited him to Christmas dinner, as I assured him you would be returning,’ she read. Her immediate response was to feel cross with her mama that she would make such promises without consulting her. However, reading the following lines softened her frown.

’I know you will be reluctant to return but, my dear, I beg of you to consider it. If not for the sake of our family name, then for the sake of your future,’ her ladyship continued. ’You will not be Miss Holmes’ governess for many more years and I fear when you are inevitably dismissed you will regret not returning.’

Y/n sighed, conflicted as to what she was to do next. She knew returning home was the sensible decision to make, but the mere thought of it brought searing pain to her chest. How was she to leave them? How was she to marry a man she did not care for when there was another who possessed every ounce of her affection?

She decided to give it more thought later in the evening when she was alone in her quarters and was free of any distractions. Standing tall, she returned to the kitchen to Enola who sat on a barstool waiting impatiently for her next lesson to commence.

The young girl’s eyes lit up when Y/n returned until she quickly noticed her troubled expression. It was unlike her to be anything short of enthusiastic. Enola noticed the sheets of paper in one of her hands and the torn envelope in the other.

"Is that a letter, Y/n?”

“Yes,” she jolted, realising she still had it. Before Enola could inquire further, Y/n shook her head and discarded the letter into the nearest waste bin. “But do not pay any mind to it. It was nothing important.”

Having no reason to doubt her, Enola nodded and drew her attention back to the ingredients Y/n had laid out in front of her. She watched curiously as the woman then rummaged through the pantry before returning to the table with two round metal tins.

“Today you will learn how to bake and decorate a cake,” Y/n announced, a playful grin growing evident on her face as she watched Enola grimace just as she expected.

“You cannot be serious,” the young groaned.

“All week, we have spent our lesson time engaging in all the experiments you wanted to conduct,” Y/n reminded her before gesturing outside to the bits of pumpkin scattered throughout the garden after exploding. “I have decided we should try and do something that won’t shatter any of the windows.”

“Is this why you dismissed the kitchen staff for the day?”

Enola recalled watching the cooks and scullery maid leaving the gates and being confused as to what Y/n was planning.

“They will return in time to prepare dinner,” the older girl assured, rolling her eyes mockingly. Enola huffed.

“Y/n, I refuse to believe you expect me to stay in the kitchen when there is so much learn out there,” she whined.

The woman chuckled and placed her hands on the young girl’s shoulder. She had a habit of becoming irritable whenever she did not have her way. It reminded Y/n of another member of the Holmes family she knew quite well.

“But Enola,” Y/n began, playfully mimicking the girl’s whinging tone. “There is still so much to learn here.”

“Did my brother put you up to this?” Enola asked with narrowed eyes.

Y/n scoffed, offended she would even think that would happen.

“I am your governess,” the woman proclaimed. “Thus, it isI who decides what you learn and when you learn it. Not Sherlock.”

“But, Y/n-”

“Mark my words, Enola Holmes, there will come a day where you will have to disguise as a scullery maid for an investigation,” Y/n vowed. “And only then will you realise how useful it is to have an extensive skillset, even if it includes skills you do not care for.”

The young girl sighed. Perhaps she had a point, and perhaps considering all she was able to learn from her in a year, she ought to place a bit more trust in Y/n teaching methods.

After hours of mixing ingredients and waiting for their cakes to be cooled enough to frost, Y/n showed Enola how to fill a piping bag and began instructing her on how to use it.

“Steady your hand, Enola,” Y/n spoke softly. “The icing will appear more consistent if you do not tremble quite so much.”

Though she was still irritated they were not doing outdoor activities like she hoped, Enola nodded and did her best to follow her governess’ advice. Y/n grinned as she watched the young girl finish icing with impressive precision. After finishing, Enola slumped her shoulders and put the icing bag aside.

“Y/n, I still do not understand the point in teaching me this,” she spoke honestly. It felt like a contradiction to everything she believed in. Principles she thought Y/n shared as well.

“It is called transferrable skills, my dear,” she explained as they both stepped back and marvelled at the cakes they made. “You may not enjoy baking, but you have learned how certain ingredients react with one another. And you may not enjoy icing cakes, but you have practised steadiness and precision which…”

Y/n turned to face Enola with a grin, knowing she would be elated to hear what she had to say next.

“… Will prove useful to you when we conduct some dissections tomorrow,” she finished.

Just as Enola’s eyes lit up, the door to the kitchen swung open and their conversation was interrupted.

“I do hope you plan on doing that far away from where we store our food.”

Sherlock smirked as he walked in and took his hat off. He should have been accustomed to the feeling of coming home to his sister and Y/n, but every time he did he felt his heart flutter rapidly inside his chest.

“Sherlock, we were not expecting you,” Y/n spoke, confused as to what he was doing home when he was meant to be heading to London to meet with a new client.

“I had a change of heart,” he answered vaguely. Y/n crinkled her brow in confusion, but Enola shared a knowing grin with her older brother.

Ever since Y/n became her governess, Enola could not help but notice how often her brother delayed returning to London all so he could continue spending his days pretending to read the papers and write letters to clients. She knew his attention was focused somewhere else on someoneelse.

“Well, in that case, you must try this cake I made,” Y/n insisted before taking a fork and pulling out a bit from the cake Enola had just finished icing.

She held the fork up to him, expecting Sherlock to take it from her hand and eat the bit of cake. Much to Y/n’s surprise and Enola’s amusement, Sherlock leaned over slowly and ate the piece, his eyes never leaving hers.

He began smirking at her dumbfounded expression and the way her hand shook while she held up the fork, but his smile was short-lived when he began coughing, his mouth overcome by a bitter taste.

“Do you not like it?” Y/n asked worriedly.

“No, no!” Sherlock shook his head and force the vile cake down without so much as wincing. The last thing he wanted to do was insult Y/n’s baking, despite it being clear there was much room for improvement. He gulped and forced a smile. “It is delicious.”

He felt relieved when her worried expression faded, but he quickly found himself confused when she glanced at Enola who had been studying him closely. The two girls threw their heads back in fits of laughter, leaving Sherlock all the more puzzled.

“Enola made that cake,” Y/n explained as she tried to catch her breath. He furrowed his brows, still lost as to what the source of amusement was. The woman shook her head and clarified. “She mistook the salt for sugar, hence the very bitter taste.”

“But you said you made it,” Sherlock stated.

“Only because she knew you would lie to her about how it tasted,” Enola interjected. She laughed once more before turning to her governess. “You were right, Y/n. He does have a tell.”

“I do not have a tell,” he denied defensively.

Sherlock thought himself unreadable. While he could deduce an endless list of facts about a person, he took pride in the belief that he was not so easy to pick apart.

“That was precisely what I told Y/n, but she was adamant she could prove it,” Enola said, a newfound excitement soaring through her because she finally knew something her all-knowing older brother did not.

“Well, now I am interested to know.” Sherlock placed his hands on the edge of the kitchen table and leaned closer to Y/n.

She glanced at Enola who had a mischievous grin. Watching the two of them banter had been her primary source of entertainment for the past year. Y/n lifted her hand and slowly grazed her fingers along the bottom of his face.

“You tense your jaw after telling a lie.”

He froze for a second, too entranced by her touch to remember to move. It was not until Enola and Y/n began laughing again that he stood straight and narrowed his eyes. Only then did he feel a cold sensation along the side of his face and realised Y/n had smeared cake frosting on him.

“Ah, so the two of you find this amusing?”

Without giving it a second thought, Sherlock reach out his hand and scooped a large chunk of the bitter frosted cake and ran around the table to where the girls stood. Y/n was quick to scurry, but Enola had little time to run before her smeared cake all along the left side of her face.

“Sherlock, you are acting like a child!” Y/n shrieked, clasping her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“You only say that because you have started a war you are unable to finish,” he retorted, before scooping another handful and hurrying towards her.

Though Y/n managed to only just escape his wrath with the table in between them, Sherlock opted to do the unthinkable. He swung his arm and sent the cake in his hand flying until it plopped on Y/n’s hair. Enola was the first to react.

“Was that a giggle I heard, Miss Holmes?” Y/n narrowed her eyes and attempted to look intimidating, which made the young laugh harder. When Y/n scooped a piece of cake and tossed it on Enola’s head in retaliation, all trace of sensibility and decorum vanished.

The three of them scooped as much as they could hold and raced around the kitchen table trying to lob it at one another. Enola eventually found herself ducked beneath the table, laughing quietly to herself. Meanwhile, Sherlock wrapped an arm around Y/n and smeared the side of her face with a cake he held in his other hand.

“You will regret that, Sherlock!” Y/n scooped the last of the cake on both her hands before smearing it all along the sides of his face until it was covered completely in chocolate cake and white frosting.

Enola came out from under the table and fell into fits of laughter at the sight of her brother. With no more cake left to throw the three of them had nothing left to do but laugh at how ridiculous they looked.

“Enola, please go and wash as much of the cake off so you are not a sticky mess at the dinner table.” Y/n chuckled as she guided the young girl out of the kitchen and watched her leave a frosting trail as she made her way down the hall.

When Y/n turned back around she watched as Sherlock struggled to blink with all the frosting covering his eyes. Though she found it most endearing and most amusing, she could not watch the poor man struggle any longer. Y/n silently approached him and gently wiped the frosting away from his eyes.

“Better?” She asked, chuckling beneath her breath.

“You are a terrible influence on us,” Sherlock jested.

“I smeared the smallest bit of frosting on your face,” she rolled her eyes. “You threw a piece of cake at my head from the other side of the kitchen.”

They both laughed. Perhaps they were both influencing one another.

“I wonder how my brother would react if he caught wind of this,” Sherlock smirked. Mycroft had no tolerance for improper behaviour. It was precisely why Sherlock always talked him out of visiting their home.

“Oh he would be livid,” Y/n giggled. “Honestly, it is no wonder he found a match with Miss Harrison.”

They visited just a few weeks ago to announce their engagement. Though it caught both Sherlock and Y/n by surprise, by the end of their meal it was clear to both that they were a match made in heaven.

“That reminds me,” Sherlock began. “I will be in Nottingham next week, but I should return in time to accompany you and Enola to London.”

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion.

“What on earth are you referring to?”

“The wedding, of course,” he answered.

“I was not aware I had been extended an invitation,” Y/n admitted honestly. Sherlock’s eyes widened, shocked she thought such formalities were necessary when her attendance was never in question. She simply shrugged. “Well, I thought the occasion was open only to close family and friends.”

“That is precisely why you are expected to be there.”

How she could have ever thought otherwise was beyond Sherlock. From where he stood, Y/n was a significant person in his life and that of his siblings. If not because of the year she spent with them, then it was because of all the years she spent before looking out for the three of them. Him, especially.

“Then… very well,” she smiled.

Y/n wondered if she was reading too much into his words, but ultimately decided it did not matter. She had spent much of the past year feeling uncertain about where she stood amidst the Holmes family. Was she anything more than Enola’s governess? At last, her worries were put to rest.

“Splendid,” Sherlock chirped.

“I suppose I should clean the frosting off before the kitchen staff return to make dinner,” she chuckled, before excusing herself and heading to her quarters.

Even after she left, he still found himself smiling. There was something about her presence and the effect it had on him. There was something about the way they had grown closer and closer over the course of her time working there. Something he was most grateful for.

Sherlock lifted his hands to his face and wiped off as much of the cake as he could before scanning the room for a waste bin. He spotted one just beside the table and went to scrape the frosting off his hands but froze when he saw a discarded letter.

He flicked the cake off his hands and reached down to retrieve the sheet of paper. It was the last page of Lady Y/n’s long-winded letter to her daughter. Sherlock’s nostrils flared when he read about the gentleman that was supposedly interested in asking for her hand. His stomach dropped when he read her mother’s plea for her to return to their home.

Unable to read any further, Sherlock put the letter back into the bin and huffed, regretting ever retrieving the letter, to begin with.

***

A month passed and though Y/n was going about her governess duties, as usual, things were drastically different. Her eyes were not as bright and there was no bounce in her step. She dragged her feet across the Holmes estate haunted by the reminder that her days there was now numbered.

“Are you sure you want to leave, Y/n?”

Enola drew her arrow back and released it before turning to face her governess. She completely missed her target, but she was far too concerned about Y/n to care for it.

“I do not want to leave you, Enola,” Y/n spoke sorrowfully. She sighed before walking over to the young girl who drew another arrow back with appalling technique.

She adjusts her elbow before stepping back. Enola slumped her shoulders before releasing the arrow. Another miss, but she was too distracted to try and improve her form.

“If you do not want to leave then why are you still going?”

Y/n frowned as she struggled to come up with a simple answer. How could she explain to Enola that while sitting in the chapel and witnessing Mycroft marry Miss Harrison, it dawned on her that her chances of experiencing marriage were fleeting? How was she to say that the longer she spent working at their home the more she feared for her future?

“It is complicated, Enola.”

“I might be able to understand,” she smiled weakly. “I have been told I am quite bright for my age.”

“That you are,” Y/n chuckled.

The two of them sunk down and sat cross-legged on the grass. As a light breeze picked up and swept over her cheeks, Y/n closed her eyes and did her best to find the right words.

“Enola, there will come a time when you will be faced with a difficult choice,” she began. “Your emotions will sway you one way and your sense and logic will sway you another.”

The governess sighed as her gaze returned to the Holme’s family house and the window into Sherlock’s window. Her emotions had always swayed her towards him, ever since the day they played out in the garden as young kids.

“I think I may have allowed my emotions to sway too many of my recent decisions,” Y/n exhaled, allowing her shoulder to slump while lowering her head sheepishly. “And I fear if I let that continue… I will come to realise I have neglected my own well-being beyond the point of repair.”

Though her explanation was vague, Enola had spent enough time with Y/n to pick up on the subtext, and she just knew her brother had a role to play in all of it. Even so, Enola felt a world’s worth of sympathy towards the woman who put her life on hold just to spend a year teaching her about the world.

“I understand, Y/n. But, I must admit…” Enola turned to face her as her eyes glossed over and her bottom lip began to quiver. “I will miss you terribly.”

“Oh, I will miss you too, Enola,” Y/n cried, immediately standing up so she could hug the young girl properly. She gently stroked Enola’s hair and sniffled. “Promise me you will be good for your next governess.”

“Even if she is only half as smart as you?”

“If that be the case,” Y/n smirked, pulling away and gently placing her hands on the sides of the young girl’s face. “I trust you will bring her up to your speed.”

Enola giggled before wiping her tears away. Y/n did the same before shaking off her sorrows if at least for the time being. She still had to tell Sherlock and that was sure to leave her in an even bigger mess of tears.

“Nonetheless, I am not leaving just yet,” Y/n smiled, trying to lighten the mood. She still had a job to do, even if it were for another two weeks. “And you, my dear, are still in need of archery lessons. I will retrieve your arrows so you may try again.”

While the woman paced to the other end of the field and searched for all four arrows, Enola saw her brother walking over. He stopped beside his younger sister and studied her closely.

“Your eyes are red,” he stated, concerned. “Have you been crying?”

“Of course, I have been crying, Sherlock,” Enola scoffed. She furrowed her brows and stared at him, puzzled. “How are you so composed when Y/n will be leaving in a matter of weeks?!”

His face fell immediately, as though the blood coursing through his veins came to an abrupt halt. Enola gasped beneath her breath, realising her mistake. She glanced between her now distraught brother and her still clueless governess, suddenly worried about the conflict that would arise.

Sherlock’s heart thumped as he watched Y/n return to where they stood. It could not be, he told himself. After reading the letter from her mama, Sherlock’s worries faded. He thought her disposing of the letter was a clear indication she never even entertained the idea of going home. Now, he was struggling to accept that she had a change of heart.

“Hello, Sherlock,” Y/n chirped, smiling at the older Holme’s sibling only to be completely ignored. She thought nothing of his indifferent reaction and turned her attention back to Enola. “Hold your elbow higher and do not slump your shoulders.”

The young girl nodded before focusing on the apple hanging from the tree across the field. She released and missed the fruit narrowly, prompting her to let out a frustrated huff. Enola turned to Y/n in hopes she knew what went wrong, but her governess was preoccupied side glancing at her brother who was refusing to even look her way.

“Y/n?”

“Oh, sorry, Enola,” Y/n jolted, before handing her the next arrow. “I suggest you change your stance and… do not release so hastily. Ensure you are satisfied with your aim before letting go.”

Enola nodded and took a minute or so to correct her aim. The sudden breeze prompted her to hold still and wait.

All the while, Y/n stared ahead at the apple hanging from the tree, her train of thought riddled with questions as to why Sherlock was acting so strange. Had she done something wrong?

“Is it true you are leaving to accept a proposal of marriage?”

Sherlock spoke with such sudden aggression it caused Y/n to jump and Enola to unintentionally release her arrow and, surprisingly enough, hit the apple and bring it to the ground. The young girl turned to her governess, wondering if she saw what happened, but her eyes never left his. While she stared at him in horror, he was glaring back, his nostrils flared and temple creased.

“I hit the target,” Enola spoke softly as she smile weakly, hoping it would ease the tension if even slightly.

The tension between the two adults grew thick and before either of them could say anything more, Y/n turned to Enola and gently place her hand on the small of her back.

“Enola, please go inside,” Y/n whispered.

Though the young girl wanted to know what would happen next, she obeyed and took her bow with her back into the house. Once she was out of earshot, Y/n turned back to Sherlock who appeared to have gotten more agitated with each passing second.

“So it is true?”

Her guilty demeanour was all the answer Sherlock needed. His tone was no longer accusatory but blatantly angry. How could she leave Enola? Moreover, how could she leave him? Had he miscalculated the nature of their relationship entirely? Y/n narrowed her eyes pointedly.

“How did you know there was a proposal?”

Y/n deduced that Enola told him she was leaving, but the young girl was not aware of the proposal. In fact, Y/n made a point not to tell another soul about it, so there was only one way Sherlock knew.

“You read my letter,” Y/n gasped, shocked he would do something so improper and invasive.

“I found it in the waste bin and assumed you had discarded both the paper and the notion of returning home,” he defended.

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

She felt her cheeks burn and her forehead crease and her conflicting emotions intensified. It pained her to have to tell the news to him, but the tone he was taking made her blood boil. Was she not allowed to act in a manner contrary to what he wanted and expected of her? Sherlock scoffed.

“What on earth are you doing, Y/n?” He shook his head disappointedly, which only infuriated her more. “Were you going to just leave without giving me any notice and return with-child in the spring as some lowly gentleman’s wife?”

“You forget yourself, Mr Holmes,” Y/n hissed. “I do not deserve spoken to with such an ill-manner, nor should I be expected to disclose personal information simply because you are upset.”

“I see you are choosing to ignore my question,” he retorted.

“Because it is ridiculous of you to react in such a way!”

He had every opportunity to express his affections for her openly and explicitly. 365 days, to be exact. Why was he so shocked at her decision to accept another’s proposal while she had the opportunity? How could he feel so entitled to her time and her life?

“These past years have been wonderful,” Y/n expressed honestly, before exhaling exasperatedly and meeting his gaze. “I cannot deny how much I’ve enjoyed working with Enola and… and with you, but this was bound to happen.”

“Is that what you’ve convinced yourself?”

Sherlock scoffed with such confidence and disapproval. Y/n gritted her teeth and stepped closer to him, unwilling to succumb to any of his plain attempts at belittling her reasons.

“How a man with your intelligence can still be so ignorant continues to surprise me,” she spat. “Sherlock… if I were to stay, what will happen when Enola comes of age and she ventures to fulfil her own pursuits and desires and when you inevitably return to London? Will I be left here alone and unemployed once again?”

Her last words were reminiscent of the time she watched his carriage leave for London hoping he would turn back to see her waving. He never did. Sherlock furrowed his brows, thinking back to that time but only for a split second, reminding himself he was not that person anymore.

“I would never-”

“Did you expect me to just serve you and your family until you no longer needed me around?” Y/n glowered.

“You know that is not true,” he fired back.

“What I know,” Y/n rebuked, “- is that there is a gentleman in my hometown who is willing to have my hand and has acted on his feelings because he understands how little time I have to spare on stolen glances and tense conversations.”

It was all they had spent doing for the past year. Even in spite of her best attempts at communicating that she yearned for more. She could not contain her resentment any longer.

Sherlock’s eyes widened his expression a mix of shock and hurt he quickly concealed with anger. His defensiveness overpowered both his better judgement and the voice in his head, warning him not to say anything he would quickly live to regret.

“If that is how you feel, Miss Y/l/n, I cannot understand why you ever agreed to take this position.”

“I took it for Enola!” She shouted, before breathing heavily in silence and disclosing the entire truth. “… And for you! Because, despite how frustratingly difficult, stubborn and patronising you can be, I still find myself caring an awful lot for you and your family.”

If only he knew the arguments she had with her mama when she accused her of being too involved in their lives. Y/n could hardly help herself. Back home, she had no one else to talk to aside from private tutors and other members of staff. The friendship and companionship she found with Sherlock and his siblings was a relationship she craved terribly.

“I find that very difficult to believe considering how easily you made the decision to leave me,” he hissed, too overcome with emotions to realise what he was saying.

“Easy?!” Y/n repeated, widening her eyes. “You believe this decision was easy for me to make?”

She has spent so many hours and sleepless nights contemplating her decision, constantly haunted by the pain she would cause if she chose to go. Did he think her so heartless?

“Well, when exactly were you planning on telling me about it?”

“When I was certain you were not going to go absolutely ballistic like you are right now,” Y/n answered. She hoped he would understand her reasons for leaving and be civil if not for her sake then for the sake of their now dwindling friendship.

“How do you expect me to react to the news that I will have to find a new governess for Enola in no less than a month?”

Sherlock tossed his hands up in frustration before turning his back to her and walking away. Y/n marched ahead of him and blocked his path, offended by the implication of his words.

“Do you mean to insinuate that your primary concern is that you will have to find my replacement before the new year?”

“It is my only concern, Miss Y/l/n,” Sherlock spat, moving closer glaring down at her. “You are my sister’s governess.”

She was stunned by what he was trying to say. Though she tried to match his glaring gaze, the more his words settled the more suffocating the air around them felt. A lump grew in her throat as she mustered enough energy to test just how far he was willing to go.

“"Is that all I am?”

“That is all you are to me,” he answered swiftly, without even a second’s hesitation.

Sherlock wanted to appear convincing, and to a degree he did. She was close to believing him, only she knew in the depths of her soul that the love she had for him was not unrequited. To make that fact even clearer to her, Y/n watched as he instinctively clenched his jaw immediately after speaking. She inched closer and narrowed her eyes.

“You are a terrible liar, Sherlock.”

And that made it worse. To know he was willing to lie to her face about his feelings for her as punishment for doing what she thought was best for her. Y/n never knew a pain so wretched and so conflicting because, despite it all, she still loved him.

Sherlock gulped nervously and watched her leave him alone on the field while she headed inside without turning back. He sighed before sinking into the grass beneath him, unsure whether he could live with the consequences of what he had said.

***

The following weeks passed swiftly, but the tension between Y/n and Sherlock remained unchanged. It did not help that during those two weeks, neither spoke a single word to the other. After their argument, Sherlock went to London for 8 days. When he finally returned, he locked himself away in his study during the day and instructed the staff to send his food to him there.

Even when Y/n’s uncle, Francis, arrived and loaded their carriage with her luggage, Sherlock remained in his study with the curtains closed and the door locked. Though she did not know what exactly she would do or say, she hoped he would come out and mutter a quiet goodbye.

Yet, when her uncle came back in and announced loudly that the carriage was ready to take them to the train station, the door remained shut. Y/n frowned and turned to face Enola whose cheeks were already damp.

“Oh Enola,” Y/n murmured, pulling the girl into her arms and hugging her as tightly as she could. She gently patted her hair down and kissed the top of her head. It was nice to know at least one of the Holmes siblings was going to miss her.

After pulling apart, Y/n held the sides of the young girl’s face and gently wiped her tears with her thumbs. Enola sniffled before meeting the woman’s gaze.

“Promise me you will try to avoid jumping out of moving trains while I am gone,” Y/n spoke softly. Enola giggled before nodding her head.

When silence befell the halls of the Holmes family house, Y/n instinctively glanced at the door to Sherlock’s study. She sighed disappointedly.

“I suppose this is it,” she muttered in disbelief.

He could not cast aside his ego for even a minute. Enola waved with sympathetic eyes as she watched Y/n and Francis leave the gates. When the horses began trotting along the road, she turned back, hanging on to the tiniest shred of hope he was chasing after them. She had never been so saddened to see nothing but an empty country road.

When the workers began closing the gate after Y/n’s departure, Enola’s nostrils flared as she stormed towards her brother’s study.

She banged her fists against the door as aggressively as she could. When he still refused to answer, Enola, pulled out a specially bent nail she kept tucked beneath her bootstrap. Remembering Y/n’s demonstration, Enola inserted the nail into the keyhole and jiggled it until it unlocked.

The door swung open and Enola walked in cautiously, her expression growing more and more concerned with each step. Sherlock’s study, once an immaculately kept room looked as though a hurricane had blown through. Then there, sitting at his chair with his head in his hands was a now rugged, bearded and sullen-eyed detective.

“Sherlock?”

Enola almost questioned if he was a different man entirely. She walked around his desk and stood beside him, unsure what exactly was going through his mind.

“Has she left already?”

His voice was timid and croaky, a true testament to how distraught he was. However, when he lifted his head looked his sister in the eye, he appeared expressionless.

Enola furrowed her brows. Though she hated to see her brother so distraught, she refused to ignore how cruel he was being to a woman who cared about him too much for her own good.

“Why did you not stop her?”

Sherlock huffed before turning to his desk where a damp glass and an almost empty bottle of rum rested. He poured the last of it out.

“She made the decision to leave,” he muttered groggily, lifting the glass to his lips. “I was merely respecting it.”

Enola scoffed, snatching the glass away before he could sip. She poured the liquor out on the floor in front of her but resisted the urge to slam the glass against his stupid desk.

“Though not enough to say goodbye to her?”

Sherlock inhaled sharply, knowing his sister made a fair point. She watched as he let out what she could only assume was a quiet sob.

“I wouldn’t have been able to bear it,” he admitted sorrowfully, running his hand over his mouth and the stubble that had grown.

Enola sighed before placing a hand on his arm and bobbing down until they were at eye level. She thought back to her conversation with her former governess on the grass just outside her home.

“Y/n told me that there comes a time in life where you will be faced with a choice. Your heart will sway you one way and your head will sway you another.”

Before he could begin to understand what she meant, Enola stood back up and reach for the nearest sheet of paper she could reach.

“You, my dear idiotic brother,” she sneered, taking the rolled-up newsletter and whacking the back of his head. “- have spent far too long listening only to your logic.”

Sherlock rubbed the back of his but felt an impending urge to chuckle. Y/n clearly left a significant impression on his sister, who had otherwise never spoken ill of him. That was always Y/n’s forte.

Enola kissed her teeth in annoyance. They did not have the luxury of sitting around and reminiscing. Not when Y/n was getting closer to the station with every passing second.

“Sherlock,” she cried out, placing her hand on his shoulders though resisting the urge to shake him about wildly. “Do you believe Y/n is a person worth fighting for?”

He nodded once, then quickly realised what he needed to do just that. He needed to fight. Not a moment later, the detective was rising from his chair and donning his coat and hat before racing out the door, his sister trailing closely behind him.

However, their feet came to a sudden halt when they looked around their empty lawn. Sherlock cursed beneath his breath kicking the rocks on the ground in frustration. With no carriage insight, they had no way of getting to the station before Y/n’s train left.

“We will never make it in time,” Sherlock grumbled.

He turned to his sister whose eyes landed on the two bikes resting against the front gate. She turned back to him with a grin.

“That is all a matter of perspective.”

With no other viable option, Sherlock found himself pedalling his old bike he last rode when he was a mere child. They had barely made it past the gate when he started to struggle.

“Sherlock, you’ll need to pedal faster or we will never make it in time,” Enola shouted.

“Well, you will have to excuse me if I’m finding it difficult to pedal a bike I rode when I was 12,” he rolled his eyes, growing frustrated with his bike, his sister and himself. 

Enola huffed and tried to think of a way to improve their chances of reaching the station. Luckily, she and Y/n had spent several afternoons riding around their local area and discovering hidden paths and shortcuts. It took her a matter of seconds to think of a shortcut that went downhill to account for Sherlock’s inability to pedal his bicycle.

Unfortunately, Enola overestimated her brother’s ability to steer and underestimated how narrow and winding the shortcut was. The first time they tumbled over and went rolling through a muddy field, she suspected Sherlock would count his losses and preserve his dignity.

When she watched him stand up after each fall and continue to ride the bicycle despite being covered in grass clippings, mud and faint bruises, Enola knew she had underestimated just how much he cared for Y/n.

The 9am train was boarding and Y/n felt her feet drag as she reluctantly approached the entrance door. Her uncle Francis stepped into the train carriage and held his hand out to his niece. She raised her and made one step in until she heard the one voice she had been missing for weeks.

“Stop!”

Y/n stepped back and turned to see where the voice came from, her eyes widening when she saw Sherlock pushing past several people with Enola following closely behind him. She gasped quietly, unable to fully believe he was in fact chasing after her.

“What on earth are the two you doing here?”

The siblings stopped when they finally reached her, both of them huffing from all the running they had just done. Francis stepped onto the platform and watched with a silent grin. About time, he thought to himself.

Y/n scrunched her brows in confusion when she noticed the grass in both their hair and the mud that stained Sherlock’s clothes and covered parts of his face.

“And why do you both look like you have been tumbling through the garden?” she added, stepping forward and pulling a small twig out from Enola’s now tangled and frizzed hair.

Before she could step back, Sherlock’s hand reached for hers and Enola stepped aside so that he could finally face her. Y/n’s breath hitched, curious as to what he had to say now that he was finally acknowledging her presence.

“Y/n, I am sorry,” he spoke sincerely, throwing caution to the wind and finally allowing his feeling to surface. “I have been acting so incredibly foolish and childish in these past two weeks.”

“That you have,” Y/n muttered, maintaining a disapproving expression yet also a firm grip on his trembling hands.

“I know I should not have read the letter and I should not have lied to you about what you were to me,” he added ashamedly.

Sherlock knew the second Y/n called him a terrible liar that he would live to regret what he had done and said. It was not long before the guilt ate away at him to the point where he could not bear to face her and resorted to locking himself in his study.

“The truth is, the two years I spent alone in London was absolute torture,” he explained. “I had everything I thought I had wanted: the independence, the career and all the mysteries I could possibly want to solve. Yet, it was not until I saw you again that I realised what I had been missing all along.”

A companion. A partner who knew just how to bruise his ego, who made life all the more vibrant and more interesting and who knew his every flaw and every shortcoming yet, by some miracle, loved him still.

“I am so sorry, Y/n,” Sherlock sighed. “And I will do everything it takes to earn your trust and forgiveness. I will spend the rest of my life doing so if need be, but please, I beg of you…”

He inhaled sharply as his grip on her hands grew firmer. Y/n’s heart had been racing the entire time she had been listening, only coming to a sudden stop when Sherlock spoke in a quiet whisper.

“Don’t go.”

He gazed at her intently, hoping he had done enough to change her mind. She felt tempted to give in but resisted.

“Why, Sherlock?” Y/n asked quietly, knowing Sherlock was right at the precipice of saying what she had always wanted to hear from him.

“You know why,” he replied.

Though it was unspoken, Sherlock knew it was always mutually understood that they cared for each other greatly, in ways that went beyond the mere friendship they once had in the past.

“Yes, but…” Y/n let out a small smile. “- I’d like to hear you say it.”

Sherlock breathed deeply, hoping to still his racing heart. He had spent so long denying his affections for her than an entire year trying to conceal it. Now he was trying to muster the courage to outright say it.

“Iloveyou,” he expressed rapidly, too anxious to notice how fast he had spoken.

It was not until he heard snickering from Enola and Francis that he realised. Y/n raised a brow and smirked, satisfied with the fact that he finally said, even in an almost incoherent rush. However, Sherlock was not satisfied. He needed to be sure she knew.

“I…I love you, Y/n,” he repeated firmly. “And I know am difficult, prideful and stubborn, and you are deserving of so much more… but I have let you go once before and I will not sit idly and allow it to happen again. Not without fighting for at the very least a chance.”

“A chance at what?” Y/n asked, eyebrows raised and gaze narrowed in amusement. She slipped her hands away from his and place them on the edges of his shoulders.

“At subjecting you to a destiny of tolerating my ego until death do us both part,” Sherlock smirked.

Y/n laughed as she fondly recalled when she said those very words to him in an insult at the gala for the London mapmaker society. It did not sound quite as daunting as it did that night.

In fact, after hearing him apologise and express his affections to her, Y/n thought it a particularly favourable notion.

Unable to wait another moment, she linked her fingers behind Sherlock’s neck and leaned into his embrace. Sherlock placed his hand on her upper back and held her close, feeling all the more relieved when the 9am train finally left the station.

For his beloved was staying with him.

***

The man turned around and smiled at the woman behind him, tightening his grip on her hand and keeping a close eye on where she stepped as she exited the train. The girl, who had been waiting close to an hour for their arrival raced towards the couple, her arms stretched out as wide as she could, pulling them both into her embrace.

“It is so lovely to see you again Enola,” Y/n exclaimed.

The girl stepped back and gasped when she realised how much her former governess had grown. Y/n rubbed her abdomen gently and giggled, having already grown accustomed to such reactions. Sherlock lifted his wife’s hand to his lip and kissed her knuckles affectionately before stepping away to organise a carriage.

Enola grinned as she watched the exchange. She had never seen her brother so happy. Turning back to her sister-in-law, Enola’s eyes were drawn to the elegant pendant she wore.

“You have a beautiful necklace, Y/n.”

She raised her hand to her chest and smiled gratefully, remembering all she went through to not only retrieve it but to finally inherit it. Perhaps she would tell Enola all about it after dinner at her parent’s estate, in exchange for a story of what happened to her after jumping out of the train.

As the two of them continued down the platform, Y/n scanned the station and felt her breath hitch when she saw a familiar woman. She narrowed her eyes, trying to be sure it was the same woman and raced towards her the moment she was certain.

“Agatha.”

The older woman looked up from her table with a knowing grin. She had been expecting the younger woman’s arrival, and not a moment too soon. Agatha stood from her seat and smiled warmly.

“Miss Y/l/n,” she chirped before observing how different the younger woman looked compared to the last time they spoke. Agatha smirked. “I see you did in fact have a change of luck,”

Y/n furrowed her brows, confused as to what she meant until she remembered. When Agatha studied the lavalier she wore, Y/n swiftly recalled the signs she had been given and found herself dumbfounded.

Thefield of daffodils Enola landed in after jumping out of the train; the necklace she lost and had to work with Sherlock to retrieve; the cartographers at the gala they attended while pretending to be a couple and theapple Enola used as a target during the archery lesson cut short due to her and Sherlock’s argument.

All of the signs she never paid any mind to were always there, guiding her down the path that led to her husband. Y/n chuckled.

“So it appears even sceptics cannot escape their destiny.”

Agatha laughed, fondly recalling several readings she gave to Y/n despite her vocal scepticism. After wishing her well, Agatha walked past and approached a young girl sitting along on another bench. Y/n returned to Enola and Sherlock who stood waiting at the other end of the platform, but not without slipping the last of the coins she had in her purse into the glass jar Agatha kept at her table.

By the time Y/n reached the carriage, Enola was already seated inside while Sherlock held the door open with the doting smile he wore every day since his wedding. She grinned as she approached him. Perhaps she would tell him about the signs she had been given during an evening stroll through her mother’s garden when it was just the two of them.

When the horses began trotting, Y/n found herself unable to stop smiling. The last time she was in her hometown, she was facing an impending uncertainty as to how her future would unfold. Now, years later, she felt a newfound appreciation for the way her life had unravelled and for the greater force that pulled her closer to the arms of the man she had loved for so long, like a mystical thread of gold.

Or an invisible string.

asked to be tagged:

@identity2212@dangeritems

Invisible String | S. Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Summary:[Based on Invisible String - Taylor Swift] Even after two years apart, all signs seemed to point her back to Sherlock, despite her best attempts at ignoring them.

masterlist

A/N: This is a part of my folklore/evermore-inspired fic collection.

This one is a long one! Many details from the movie have been changed slightly. I had quite a big plan going into this, so I didn’t pay as close attention to characterisation and accuracy as I would have liked to, but I do quite like how it turned out!

Nonetheless I hope its a good read x

There will be one more part following this story :)

Y/n felt her feet begin to drag as she sped across the train station platform with her uncle trailing closely behind her. She could not bear the thought of being in her hometown any longer. Not after an especially humiliating end to what was meant to be a promising season for her.

She marched with determination, aiming to kick and scream her way onto the train that was already preparing to take off. She would have made it too had it not been for the old woman who came out from nowhere and took hold of her hands.

“Miss Y/l/n, would you care for a quick reading?”

Agatha was a pleasant old woman who Y/n never previously thought ill of. However, for the mere reason that she was standing in her way, Y/n felt her cheeks heat up in frustration and she forced a smile. Throwing a fit would only slow her down.

“On any other given day, I absolutely would, but our train is about to-”

Y/n was interrupted by the sound of the train whistle and the roaring of its engine. Her already sour mood worsened as she watched it leave the station, knowing the next train would not be for another half hour.

“Appears meant to be, does it not?”

She turned to her uncle Francis and met his mockingly cheerful smirk with a bitter frown. Agatha took hold of her hand once more and gestured towards the small table she was stationed at with her crystal ball. Y/n sighed.

“Oh, all right.”

Agatha grinned as she guided her towards the empty chair across from where she was previously seated. Y/n huffed as she hovered her fingers over her side of the crystal orb. This was not her first time sitting with Agatha.

The woman glanced at the crystal and inhaled deeply, mumbling something quietly to herself. She was well aware that Y/n was sceptical about her craft, but Agatha was most intrigued by the way she begrudgingly sat herself down with her every time.

“Are you in quite a hurry, Miss Y/l/n?”

“I suppose you could say that,” Y/n answered mindlessly.

“Running away from something?”

Y/n’s eyes shot up at Agatha and narrowed.

“Lucky guess,” she muttered.

“Hm,” Agatha’s brows crinkled as she squinted and peered closer into the ball. There was something most intriguing embedded in the fabrics of her future.

“What is it?”

While she did not necessarily believe in fortune-telling, Y/n quickly found herself with nothing left to do than become somewhat invested in whatever conclusion Agatha would make about her destiny. From the way the inquisitive look on the woman’s face, it was not difficult to be even the slightest bit interested.

Agatha finally leaned back and met Y/n’s eager eyes with little to no expression.

“You’ve not made much progress in finding a suit this season, have you?”

Y/n scoffed and pulled her hands away. For someone trying to make a business out of her supposed gift, she was clearly still learning how to speak to her customers in a way that was not offensive.

“If you are going to just insult me, I will be on my way-”

“Allow me to finish,” Agatha interjected, grabbing hold of the young woman’s hands and guiding her back down. “I see a change in your luck occurring soon.”

Once more, the young woman let out a huff.

“Go on.”

“It will happen when you least expect it, but it will be soon,” Agatha explained.

“How very conveniently vague,” Y/n muttered.

“Your scepticism will not change your fate, Miss Y/l/n.”

The younger woman shrunk. Perhaps it was rude to respond so smugly to something she was being stated with sincerity, whether or not it held any truth. Satisfied, Agatha gazed upon her crystal ball and closed her eyes momentarily.

“On your path towards this new suitor, I see…. a field of daffodils,” she stated as she scanned through her perception of Y/n’s future. “And I see a necklace, a cartographer and… and an apple.”

Y/n shut her lips tightly as she stifled a laugh. This time, her amusement was less in regards to her disbelief and more to the thought of being matched to a mapmaker with impaired vision. It was hardly the sugarcoated fairytale she was expecting to be sold on.

Shortly after, the sound of the train track echoed through the station as the 4 o'clock train to London arrived. Agatha opened her eyes and smiled wearily at the only person who agreed to receive a reading from her all week.

“I suppose that is my cue to let you go.”

Y/n dropped her hands and reached for the money she had stored in the small purse she carried with her. Much to Agatha’s surprise, the young woman placed the money in her hand and smiled warmly before rising from her seat.

“I thought you do not believe in fortune-telling,” Agatha sputtered, taken aback that she was choosing to pay for a service she did not buy into at all.

“I do not,” Y/n shrugged before turning towards her train, but not without grinning at the now grateful old woman.

As agitating as Agatha could be, Y/n knew she was tight on money. While she could care less what the stars had written for her, she did not mind sitting with Agatha just to be able to offer up what limited financial help she could give. It was the very reason Y/n typically took her up on her offer.

She and her Uncle Francis continued down the platform as they headed towards the entrance of the train when Y/n stopped in her tracks. There was a young girl being approached by a train station guard and there was something eerily familiar about her.

“Uncle, would you be willing to purchase an extra ticket?”

Francis nodded without thinking to question why. As he trodded along to the nearest ticket booth, Y/n approached the guard and the girl, both of whom she was well acquainted with.

“Mr Slater, I hope you are not reprimanding my charge.” Y/n looped her arm through the young girl’s and turned to face the guard with a disapproving scowl. “As her governess, I do believe that is myjob.”

“You are this young girl’s governess?” Mr Slater narrowed his eyes. He had spoken to Miss Y/l/n on several occasions and never once did she mention being a governess to a particularly troublesome youth.

“Do you question my integrity, Mr Slater?”

The guard’s eyes widened in horror and he immediately shook his head profusely. While he was not convinced she was telling the truth, he knew better than to cross her.

“Of course not, Miss Y/l/n,” he winced.

“Then you will excuse us,” Y/n smiled, before turning away and heading for the train, her grip on the young girl’s arm still firm.

Once she was certain no one was suspicious of the two of them and that Mr Slater was well out of earshot, Y/n loosed her grip.

“It is lovely to see you again, Enola,” she murmured, her eyes still glued to the path ahead of them.

“I was hoping you would not recognise me,” Enola groaned.

When she saw Y/n sitting with the fortune-telling lady, Enola tried her best to make it by without raising suspicion until she bumped right into a train station guard. Y/n let out a quiet laugh as the two of them boarded the train.

“I think you will find that you Holmes siblings are terribly difficult to erase from memory,” she muttered. After a quick glance down at the young girl, Y/n made note of her pitiful disguise. “-Even with a frilly dress and a ridiculous hat.”

Enola lifted her hand and took her hat off before chuckling. She was most sceptical about wearing it but the lady at the store had her convinced it was all the rave now.

“It is quite ridiculous isn’t it.”

As the two of them followed Francis into the first available private compartment, Enola found herself feeling uneasy as she remembered the entire reason she was undercover, to begin with.

“Will you be alerting my brothers that you have seen me?”

Her voice was small and filled with worry. Y/n frowned momentarily. While she knew it was the right thing to do, she also knew Enola would not have run away for no good reason. After a moment’s deliberation, Y/n sighed, her mind already decided.

“If that is what you wish,” she began, before glancing down at Enola and offering an assuring smile. “But, if it is not, I will not tell another soul.”

Y/n felt nostalgic as she spoke. When Enola was old enough to run and talk, Y/n always promised to keep quiet when it came to the mischief she would get up to around the estate. She envied the freedom Enola had to run amuck with no strict and rigid parents to refrain her from doing so. For that reason, Y/n was determined to preserve that freedom in every she possibly could.

“That is,“ Y/n continued. ”After you tell me why you are running from your brothers.”

“You know why,” Enola sighed.

Following the death of their father, Mycroft and Eudoria revisited the plans put in place for what would happen in the event of her death. While most of it was legal jargon that no one else cared for, it was the matters pertaining to Enola’s guardianship that became a highly contested topic.

With Eudoria’s recent disappearance, Y/n quickly realised that meant Enola was now under the care of her eldest brother. She felt an evergrowing bitterness settle in her stomach as she remembered the heated argument she engaged in with Enola’s older brothers, both of whom saw no flaw in Mycroft becoming her guardian.

“What does he have planned for you?”

Y/n held her breath and hoped it was far from what she feared would happen. That poor Enola was not being forced to stare down the barrel of a finishing school and an arranged marriage.

“Exactly what you suspected.”

Y/n winced.

“But it is more than just Mycroft,“ Enola added. The young girl inhaled sharply. "It is also my mama.”

“I am sorry to hear about her disappearance,” Y/n frowned.

While Eudoria Holmes was an incredibly complex woman, it was always clear how much she loved her daughter and how dedicated she was to raising Enola. For this reason, Y/n could not understand what possessed Eudoria to leave.

"I believe she has been trying to communicate with me.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” Enola smiled. “And if I can get to London, I am certain I will be able to find her.”

Y/n wanted to feel comforted by Enola’s unwavering confidence, however, she could not obliviate the immense worry that loomed over her. Even as the young girl explained her thought-out plan of getting to London, the crease between Y/n brows as she listened remained.

When Enola finally finished her vague explanation of what was an incredibly detailed and complex plan, she stood up from her seat and headed towards the other side of the train carriage.

“Enola, that sounds like an awfully dangerous pursuit.”

“I am aware of the risks I am taking, Y/n,” she replied nonchalantly.

“I don’t believe that you are,” Y/n replied honestly.

While she hated being yet another person doubting Enola’s judgement, Y/n knew her doubts came from a place of concern, not her ego. However, it appeared to make no difference, as Enola’s expression remained blank. In fact, just as Y/n went to speak again, the young girl turned her back and sped off to the other end of the train carriage.

“Enola, where are you going?”

Y/n followed after her and felt her anxiety grow exponentially as she watched Enola unlock the door and peer outside. The train was passing an empty field and was headed for a bridge.

“It was really lovely seeing you again, Y/n,” Enola smiled sincerely when she turned back momentarily. “I’ve missed you terribly, as have my brothers.”

Y/n’s eye’s widened as she realised what the young girl was doing and felt her stomach drop. She wouldn’t, Y/n hoped. Not when they were closer and closer to the bridge. But Enola just smirked.

“One of them in particular.”

Y/n sprinted for the door and watched with terror as Enola leapt from where she stood and disappeared from the doorway.

“Enola!”

She raced towards the nearest window just as the train carriage made a sharp turn and approached the bridge. It was not until she saw Enola’s figure safely standing up on the field where she landed that Y/n finally exhaled.

After catching her breath, she headed back to her cabin and hoped she would get to see Enola again soon. Y/n’s thoughts were far too flooded with worry, she barely noticed the yellow flowers that adorned the field they had passed nor Enola’s last words before she jumped.

When the train finally arrived in London, there was a familiar brooding gentleman standing on the platform. When Y/n grew impatient with the long line of people waiting to exit her carriage, she cursed the fact that she and her uncle were the last two waiting. She stood on the tip of her toes and squinted as she peered through a nearby window.

It had been two years, but it was still so easy to recognise him. Not only was Sherlock wearing the same hat he did when they last spoke but he still stood tall and stiff like one of the lampposts they passed on walks through his hometown. Y/n wondered if he still remembered those lampposts or if they, too, were a disregarded memory.

When she and Francis finally reached the exit, Sherlock was in the middle of questioning an old couple. Francis was able to race past without the detective noticing however when Y/n lowered her head and attempted to do the same she was outrun and out of luck.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

His tone was ever so stern and formal which made Y/n’s face scrunch. She begrudgingly turned around and faced him, donning a sarcastic smile as she watched the gentleman step closer.

“Detective,” she spoke curtly.

“What brings you to London?”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. Though she would never admit it, she had spent many hours imagining what he would say the next time their paths crossed. She hoped for, at the very least, an apology but was instead with him questioning her as though she were a suspect in his latest murder investigation.

“Why is that of any interest to you? I do believe this is a train platform, not a police station.”

“Avoiding the question, I see,” he noted snidely.

She glared at him and stepped closer.

“I would choose my next words very carefully if I were you,” she warned. He sighed and for a moment Y/n could have sworn he smirked.

“You are travelling alone?”

“Of course not,” Y/n answered, before turning around and gesturing her hand towards her uncle Francis who was organising their carriage.

“Is there something you want, Mr Holmes?”

“My sister, Enola. She is missing,“

Y/n inhaled sharply and immediately regretted it after remembering just how annoyingly attentive Sherlock was. In an attempt to save face, she softened her expression and mustered an answer as quickly as she could.

"I am sorry to hear,” she responded rapidly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and studied her closely. It had been a while, but he could still pick up on her nervous habits. The way her pace of breath changed and how she averted her eyes. It was as clear as day to him.

“You have seen her.”

He expected her to crack and immediately disclose any information she had, but Sherlock was quickly remembering that Y/n was far from predictable. When she began laughing at his question, it became clear to him that she would not be letting up any time soon.

“Of course, I have seenher, Mr Holmes.“ Y/n shrugged condescendingly, a sly grin ever-present on her lips. "I have known Enola since she was a mere infant.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know that,” he scolded, a familiar sense of agitation settling uncomfortably beneath his skin. Y/n was unfazed by his frustration. If anything, it amused her. Even so, Sherlock continued to press for answers.

“You are hiding something.”

“Everyone hides things,” Y/n shrugged.

She turned her heels and attempted to head back to her uncle Francis, but Sherlock raced past her and obstructed her path. He was beyond agitated.

“If you know where my sister is, you must tell me at once.”

"Why must I? She is not your ward,” Y/n hissed.

Sherlock’s brows rose in surprise. Even after two years, she was still adamant about advocating on his sister’s behalf. Though he could now

“Again with this?” Sherlock laughed bitterly, bruising Y/n’s ego in a way he had grown masterful at. There were few things she despised more than being patronised and he knew it better than anyone else. “My answer is as it was two years ago when you nagged me relentlessly about this.”

“Well, then you need only look at your reflection to find the culprit for your sister’s disappearance,” Y/n sneered.

“I will never understand-”

“Your brother means well but you know how he treats Enola,” she interrupted. For a man so brilliant, she could not fathom why he still did not understand her reasoning. “… Like she is a mere burden and not a young girl with her own thoughts and pursuits.”

“You do not know what you speak of.”

Y/n could not help but laugh. She knew precisely what she was saying. It was the very reason Enola confided in her and not one of the other adults that surrounded her.

“And you do not know what it is like to be a young girl whose entire destiny rests in someone else’s hands,” Y/n shouted, her jaw clenching as she a lump rise in her throat. “It is terrifying and daunting, so I can understand what possessed Enola to run away, especially when you can very easily change her circumstance by becoming her legal guardian… yet you continue to choose not to.”

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed. It had been a long while since he was confronted so aggressively regarding his role and duties within his family. Two years to be exact. He was quickly remembering the very reason he chose to pursue work such a great distance away from home.

“You are overstepping your bounds, Miss Y/l/n,” he growled.

Since arriving in London, he had encountered more than his fair share of irritating people, but no one got under his skin quite like Y/n. No matter how much he push and retaliated she was always eager to fire back just as ferociously.

“Only because you are being complacent to the demise of your sister’s happiness and you know it,” Y/n scorned. How could he leave her behind with such carelessness? “Your parents would have wanted more for her.”

“Regardless whether or not that is the case,” Sherlock fired back, unwilling to hear another word from her about it. “That is a private matter. And despite how persistently intrusive you continue to be with our lives, I must remind you, Miss Y/l/n, that you are notfamily.”

She inhaled sharply, stifling a gasp behind her tightly held lips. She felt the corner of her eyes begin to sting but composed herself just before they glossed over with tears. She would not give him that satisfaction.

Not after he made it abundantly clear to her, through his two-year silence, that he did not care one bit for her feelings. That she was not significant enough to have a place in the new life he had paved in London.

“You have not changed at all, Sherlock.“

He felt him should slump at the disappointment and hurt ever prominent in her tone. He knew he had a tendency to take things too far, but it was only with her that he felt affected by the ramifications of it.

“She could be in danger,” Sherlock whispered, hoping Y/n would finally come to her senses and tell him what she knew.

“Enola is a brilliant and capable young girl,” Y/n began.

She would have considered telling him the truth had he not been so patronising with her. Enola needed to discover the truth about Eudoria’s disappearance and Y/n was willing to ensure she did just that. Especially considering the fate that awaited her if she made her presence known.

Y/n was fuming at Sherlock’s utter disregard for just how affected Enola was and would be. She expected such ignorance from men the likes of Mycroft, but she always hoped Sherlock would never follow suit.

“I understand that you think so very highly of yourself, but you mustn’t let that ego of yours cloud your already questionable judgement.”

“My judgement is perfectly fine,” he rebutted defensively.

“Then I am sure you will be able to solve this without badgering me for information I simply do not have,“ Y/n glared. "Now if you will excuse me.”

She pushed past him and finally made her way to her uncle and their carriage. As if her week was not already dreadful, to begin with, she had to encounter the most irritating detective in all of England. Y/n hoped it would be a long time before they ever crossed paths again. However, as Sherlock watch her carriage leave, he felt an unnerving urge to see her again and knew exactly how he could ensure that.

***

The following morning Y/n wandered the halls of her uncle’s estate curiously. Normally Francis was found wandering the gardens with his wife, but neither one of them were in sight. When Y/n returned inside and headed towards the sitting room she heard the faint sound of two men speaking, both voices familiar.

"Uncle Francis?” Y/n called out as she cautiously knocked twice on the door before slowly entering. Francis was sitting with his wife on the chair facing the door while another gentleman had his back turned on the opposite seat.

“Oh, good morning, dear,” Francis smiled, rising from his seat to greet his niece. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did,” Y/n answered gratefully. It was a relief to be from home. She quickly returned her attention to the seemingly intense conversation he was having. “What is the meaning of all this?”

“My dear, you will remember Mr Holmes,” Francis spoke, gesturing towards the fourth person in the room.

Y/n glanced at him once before taking the only other available seat which, much to her dismay, was beside Sherlock. The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence on opposite edges of the settee. Y/n wondered if her aunt and uncle could pick up on their disdain for one another.

“Of course, she remembers, my love,” Margaret, Francis’ wife, murmured. She grinned as she glanced over at the two before looking back to her husband. “They were practicallyinseparable during our time in the countryside house.”

Y/n shifted awkwardly as she thought back to the last time her family and Sherlock’s were together. That was the last time she could remember looking him in the eye and not feeling repulsed. It was hard to imagine they were once great friends.

“Miss Y/l/n,” Sherlock spoke, turning his head and greeting her with a curt nod. Y/n offered no more than a sidelong glare before turning back to her uncle and ignoring Sherlock’s presence entirely.

“Has something happened, uncle Francis?”

“A family heirloom was taken from our vault sometime last week,” he explained sadly. “Your grandmama’s lavalier. Her most prized possession, second only the pendant she gifted you when you came of age.”

Y/n frowned. Her grandmother passed a mere three years ago and, as her only grandchild, Y/n was inherited many of her prized possessions. The lavalier, in particular, was meant to be gifted to her upon her wedding day. Weeks prior, Y/n was beaming at the thought of finally being able to wear her grandmother’s beloved necklace. Now she was left disappointed yet again.

“The lavalier is missing?”

“Stolen,” Sherlock corrected.

“I do believe I was speaking to my uncle, Mr Holmes,” Y/n sneered.

“I suppose you are both right,” Francis smiled, unaware of the tension in the room. Y/n sighed before turning to face Mr Holmes.

“Well, have you discovered who has taken it?”

“I believe your missing lavalier may be a part of a much larger ongoing chain of heists,” Sherlock explained, ignoring Y/n’s annoyance. “I have a lead I am rather confident in, I just need to inspect the premises before I go any further with my investigation.”

The detective let out a small cough before excusing himself. Y/n watched curiously as he made himself scarce, noting something odd in the way he made himself scarce with such abruptness.

“I believe breakfast will be served soon, dear,” Francis announced. His wife was already on her way towards the dining room when Y/n rose from her chair and spoke lowly.

“May I be excused, uncle?” She asked. “I don’t particularly have an appetite at the moment.”

“Well if you have a change of heart,”

“I won’t, but thank you,” Y/n smiled graciously.

Francis did not miss the way her eyes were glued to the window. It took him half a heartbeat to realise his niece was looking for the detective. The crinkle on her temple as she scanned the garden made him chuckle.

“Do not be too hard on the man, Y/n,” he whispered.

His niece’s eyes widened and she met his smirk with a humoured grin. Any other person in her family would have scolded her for acting with such impropriety. Her mama would have surely scolded her on how unbecoming her snide remarks and constant glares were. Francis was much different, which was the very reason she asked to go with him to London for a few weeks. She could hardly take another lecture or disapproving frown.

“Fear not, uncle,” Y/n chimed. “I will be as kind to him as he has been to me.”

She and her uncle parted ways in the corridor. While he followed after his wife, Y/n returned to the garden and looked for the brooding detective with a permanent frown. He was examing the gates from afar, trying to make note of the different points of entry.

“Have you spoken to the maids?” Y/n asked abruptly, startling Sherlock. While he scowled, she stood beside him and joined him in gazing at the gates. “They keep a very attentive eye while moving around the estate.”

“I doubt it will be necessary,” he dismissed.

“How can you be so sure?”

Y/n raised her brows and waited expectantly.

“I have my reasons,” Sherlock answered shortly.

She scoffed. Never mind that she knew the estate far better than him, there was no interfering with what he decided was the truth.

“You have not changed at all,” she muttered in disdain.

Sherlock turned around and walked towards the home. He liked conducting investigations on his own. It was the very reason he chose to work independently as opposed to with an agency.

“If you will excuse me, I have an inspection to conduct,” he huffed.

She turned around followed him inside, unable to let him even a moment of peace. When he heard her footsteps follow him onto the paved foyer, Sherlock gritted his teeth. Why could she not leave him be like any other sensible person? Why did she have to go out of her way to get underneath his skin?

“Well, I have a beloved lavalier that I intend to find.”

“I do believe I was the one asked to look into this,” Sherlock argued pointedly, finally turning around and facing her again. She stopped in her tracks and glowered.

“You may have my uncle convinced that you are fit for the task at hand, but I remain rather sceptical.”

“Ah, so it appears youhave not changed at all either,” he scoffed.

“Do you ever grow tired of being so self-righteous?” Y/n scorned.

“Doyou ever grow tired of your relentless nagging?”

“No,” she shouted. “I find it rather useful when dealing with frustratingly difficult people.”

They were both far too busy glaring at one another to realise how close they stood. When he had no snide remark to respond with, Y/n let out a huff and stepped back. While she had much more to reprimand him about, there was a greater issue at hand.

“Sherlock, that lavalier means a great deal to me.”

He softened his posture and nodded once. When news of her grandmother’s passing reached the countryside, it was Sherlock who spent hours sitting beneath the willow tree comforting a very devastated Y/n.

Of course, he knew the necklace was greatly important to her. After all, it was the very reason he insisted on finding it free of charge.

“I cannot just sit idly knowing it is gone,” Y/n sighed. She braced herself for an insulting response from the emotionally-detached detective himself but, to her surprise, he let out a smile.

“I know,” he whispered.

Watching her eyes light up made his stomach turn in a way he found surprisingly favourable. It had been a while since he had seen that.

“So you will let me help?”

Sherlock gave it a moment’s deliberation before remembering the lead he had. Y/n watched in anticipation as he narrowed his eyes before letting out a sigh.

“Hm… reluctantly so,” he muttered before turning his back and walking towards the nearest bench. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of paper before unfolding it. “As a matter of fact, your help may actually be crucial to retrieving it.”

“Of course, it is,” Y/n grinned as she assumed the seat beside him.

“You will remember I mentioned a pattern of heists targeting family heirlooms.”

She nodded and watched intently as he held up a sketched out portrait of a man, the name Leonard Kingsley scribbled in the bottom left corner of the page.

“I believe I have found the culprit,” Sherlock began, before quickly folding the page and tucking it back into his pocket before anyone else could see it. “Which is why your presence may prove to be useful in allowing me to corner him.”

“How so?”

“He will be at a gala tomorrow,” he explained lowly. “I initially planned on attending it alone, but it may be wiser to attend it in disguise, so as to catch him off guard.”

Sherlock shifted closer to Y/n so only she could hear him, however, he kept his eyes averted and scanned the view ahead of him to appear as though they were not discussing anything of much importance. She took note of his behaviour and followed suit.

“And how exactly do I fit into this scheme of yours?” Y/n asked in a hushed tone.

“Well, the invitees are mostly couples,” Sherlock answered. “If we were to pose as husband and wife, I am certain we will go unnoticed.”

Y/n nervously glanced at him quickly, curious to see his expression. He was still so stoic, which irritated her far more than she would have liked. How could he propose they act as a couple so nonchalantly when the very thought of it made her heart pound?

She brushed off the thought and turned back to the view ahead of her, hoping he did not catch her watchful glance. Sherlock did.

“What if we are spotted by someone who recognises either one of us?” Y/n questioned, straightening her back and narrowing her eyes.

“The gala caters to a rather niche group of people,” he assured. “I presume you are not well known among the London mapmaker society?”

Strange, Y/n thought. Though she knew no mapmakers, the topic of cartography felt oddly familiar. She quickly dismissed the thought.

“Very well, then,” she nodded. “If that is what is needed to recover my missing necklace, then so be it.”

Y/n rose from her seat and walked past him, unaware that Sherlock was not yet done speaking.

“Stolen,” he muttered, prompting Y/n to scrunch her brows in confusion. When she turned to him, he finally met her gaze with teasing eyes and otherwise indifferent expression. “Your stolennecklace.”

She bit her tongue and entered the house silently.

***

Y/n’s eyes wandered down to her ungloved hands. Her mama would be livid if she knew what her daughter was up to. Y/n had never felt more exhilarated. She walked up to Sherlock who held the carriage door open for her.

“Shall we?”

She stepped out carefully, far too preoccupied with ensuring she did not stain her dress to notice his watchful glance. Sherlock pulled himself away and closed the carriage door. As they approached the doors to the building, she suddenly moved closer to him and tenderly looped her arm around his.

“What are you doing?”

Y/n glanced at him and stifled the urge to grin. There was something about the way he was so easily startled by her, not to mention the fact that he was not pulling away.

“We are acting as husband and wife, are we not?” Y/n quipped pointedly.

“For someone not yet matched, you seem to have a rather vivid understanding of how a couple behaves,” he retorted quietly.

She winced. He was not the first to point out the fact that she was still unmarried, yet it still stung. She pursed her lips as they continued to follow the small crowd of guests.

“It’s hardly a well-kept secret,” she scoffed. “Or at least it is to anyone with an ounce of empathy and emotional intelligence.”

“You only say that because you lack any realintelligence.”

“I do pity the poor woman destined to tolerate your ego until death do you both part,” Y/n groaned.

Sherlock glanced at her then at the sight of her bare fingers clinging onto his sleeve. It was clear she was nervous, so he took it as his opportunity to startle her for a change. Resisting the urge to grin, he moved closer to her and spoke lowly.

“The grip you have on my arm tells me it is envy you feel for her. Not pity.”

Y/n gasped and slapped his shoulder lightly. Sherlock chuckled beneath his breath. If it had been any other person, he would have been livid.

“Not even in your wildest dreams, Mr Holmes,” she hissed.

“Just for tonight then I suppose, Mrs Holmes.”

He remained unfazed by her shocked expression and took hold of her hand before they walked into the ballroom. By the time they moved through the crowd and found a secluded spot to stand and spectate, her fingers were intertwined with his. Sherlock did not mind at all.

After several rounds of dancing, Y/n and Sherlock secured a spot close to the edge of the dance floor. From there, they were able to gauge a better view of the other attendees without raising suspicion.

“Do you see him?” Y/n asked.

Sherlock squinted as he looked across the room and nodded.

“He is across the ballroom,” he sighed defeatedly. “It would be impossible to follow after him without raising suspicion.”

Y/n raised a brow and leaned closer to him.

“For a self-proclaimed genius, you have a rather limited skill set, don’t you?”

They were standing on the edge of a dance floor. Did he not see the obvious solution to their predicament? Just before the music changed, Y/n gripped his hand firmly.

“I shall have you know-”

He could hardly finish his sentence. Before he realised what was happening he found himself amidst other couples looking to dance the next set. Sherlock’s breath quickened as he looked around the room nervously. He was never good at dancing but, luckily, Y/n knew that better than anyone.

“Just try and follow my lead,” she whispered assuringly.

Y/n took hold of his shoulder with her free hand raised her elbows just as she had been taught. Sherlock glanced over quickly at the gentleman across the floor and tried his best to mimic.

When the music started, Sherlock found himself struggling to keep up with Y/n’s swift and graceful movements. Thankfully, all of the other attendants appeared far too invested in their own conversations to notice his shaky hands and hesitant steps.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Sherlock asked curiously.

He would never admit it, but he was rather impressed. Though Sherlock never paid much mind to ballroom dances, he could tell Y/n was very skilled at it.

“I spent a month learning just about every ballroom dance,” she explained. “And then another ten teaching it in Nottingham.”

Sherlock drew his brows together in confusion.

“I took up an instructor position at Miss Moore’s finishing school for young ladies,” Y/n clarified but to no avail. He was still puzzled.

“How am I only just hearing of this now?”

“I took up the position after you left for London,” she spoke softly. “I wrote to you about it, did you not receive the letter?”

Sherlock winced, his expression suddenly riddled with regret. It suddenly became clear to him why she was so short with him ever since their conversation at the train station.

“….I did,” he gulped.

Her face fell.

“Oh,” she inhaled sharply.

As the two of them continued to dance, Sherlock’s guilt grew tenfold as he watched Y/n intently whilst she glanced at everyone but him. Of all the harsh insults he had thrown at her, she had never been as hurt as she was then.

When she realised the set was reaching its end, she quickly brought her attention back to her missing necklace. Sherlock sighed in relief when finally Y/n met his eyes.

“Do you see him?”

Sherlock scanned the room until he landed on the side door. The monocled man was approaching the worker by the door.

“He appears to be whispering something to the guard.”

Y/n leaned back, guiding Sherlock towards the left side of the floor until she could get a closer look herself.

“He is heading outside,” she whispered. “You should follow him.”

“Only me?”

“I will make conversation while you go,” she assured him, slowing her steps as the music came to an end. “It might raise suspicion if we are both missing.”

Sherlock shook his head, despite Y/n pulling him off the dance floor and attempting to push him towards the door Mr Kingsely left through. He planted his feet firmly and reached for her hand, pulling her closer so no one could overhear their words.

“We do not know anyone here, Y/n,” Sherlock reminded her. “You might find yourself in danger.”

While Y/n had an urge to scoff at his sudden concern for her safety, particularly after his last revelation, she could not ignore the terror and guilt in his eyes. She sighed before taking firm hold of the sides of his arms.

“Sherlock, do you trust me?”

“Of course,” he answered sincerely, without even a moment’s deliberation.

“Then go,” she whispered.

With nothing left to say, he turned headed for the door. Y/n returned to the crowd of mapmakers and braced herself for a night of pretence. It was

After a long gruelling conversation with the cartographer, Y/n finally managed to pull herself away long enough to get a glass of water. Having to lie about being married to a mapmaker for hours on end left her quite parched. When she finished, she began pacing back to the crowd until she bumped into a familiar figure.

“Oh, forgive me, ma'am,” he apologised, turning around and reaching to help Y/n back up. She blinked dumbfoundedly when the realisation settled.

“Mr Harridge,” Y/n whispered.

The very man who courted her, asked for her hand, only to retract his proposal all in one season. It had been quite some time since they last spoke. There was a time Y/n would have scorned him unashamedly at the first available opportunity. However, with the amount of time she had to grieve the future she once hoped for with him, she had no more spite. Only questions,

“Miss Y/l/n,” he said curtly.

“Are you here alone?”

Mr Harridge gulped before shaking his head. Y/n had never seen him so terrified, not even after she had a heated argument with her mama the night he came over for dinner.

“No,” he answered shakily. “Um… I am here with my wife.”

“Your wife?”

He extended his hand and gestured past Y/n. She turned and realised he was pointing to the woman caressing her protruding stomach. It all made sense now.

“Oh, of course,” Y/n whispered beneath her breath.

When it became clear he intended to propose, Y/n and Mr Harridge disclosed to one another the last person they previously held affections for. For Mr Harridge, it was the woman now carrying his child. For Y/n, it was a particularly irritable detective who she missed terribly at the time.

They chose to make such confessions in the hopes it would strengthen their trust in one another. Y/n was quickly deducting it only made them realise they were not with the right people.

“I am sorry, Miss Y/l/n,” Mr Harridge spoke sorrowfully. “I never meant for you to be affected.”

While Mr Harridge caused her a great deal of heartache, she was far enough past the pain to realise there was no more point in wielding it.

“I wish you both every happiness,” she smiled sincerely. “And you must inform me when you and your wife welcome your child. I will be sure to send a gift.”

Prior to his courtship, and even throughout, Mr Harridge was a dear friend to her and her family. She refused to let that be tainted by bitterness all because he chose to be with the woman he loved all along. Y/n stood and watch him approach his wife and wondered if she would be lucky enough to find such a companion for herself.

“That was very kind of you.”

Y/n jumped at the abrupt sound of Sherlock’s voice. She turned and realised he had overheard the better half of her conversation with Mr Harridge. Sherlock held his arm for Y/n to hold on to, before walking out of the ballroom and towards the front steps of the building.

“I think you will find I am a rather pleasant person when I am not irritated,” Y/n quipped.

“Then I suspect you will become a saint when you see this.”

Just as they reached the front steps, Sherlock pointed to a group of guards detaining a familiar monocled man. Y/n squinted her eyes before smiling when she recognised the figure.

“So it was him?”

“After cornering him in the garden, he confessed.”

In truth, Sherlock had to chase him through the hedges and disarm him when he got hold of a pair of clippers. Y/n did not need to know the finer details, he decided. She just needed to know her necklace would soon be retrieved.

“I take it he is not a real mapmaker,” Y/n chuckled as they continued to watch.

“Mr Leonard Kingsley has been posing as a cartographer while infiltrating the staff at different estates and stealing the most prized heirloom from each place to sell in the foreign market.”

The two of them made their way down the steps and towards the foyer. After Sherlock organised their separate carriages, they stood and waited, her arm still looped through his despite there being no more reason to continue pretending.

“Y/n, I am sorry,” Sherlock sighed, pulling his arm away and opting to hold her hand instead. He had grown rather fond of how her fingers felt intertwined with his. “I should have kept in contact with you after leaving for London.”

She watched him closely. It was clear he regretted not writing back, however she still needed some answers.

“What hindered you from doing so?”

“I was a coward,” he admitted sheepishly.

Her brows rose. It was unlike him to admit to his shortcomings. Y/n was realising that perhaps there was still much to learn about the boy she had always known.

“I suppose I convinced myself it was better to cut all ties to you completely, as well as Enola and my mother, because…” Sherlock paused and sighed defeatedly. “Well because I wanted to believe I could venture off to London and devote myself to my work and nothing else.”

Y/n knitted her brows in sympathy. She had always resented Sherlock’s insistence on working and living independently. She never realised how detrimental that must have been to his happiness. He, too, only came to realise this now.

“That sounds like an awfully lonesome pursuit,” Y/n spoke, holding onto his hand all the more firmly.

“It has been,” Sherlock admitted, feeling instantly relieved. “Nevertheless, I am sorry.”

“Well,” she smiled warmly. “Considering the tremendous help you’ve been in retrieving my grandmother’s lavalier, you are very much forgiven.”

They stood in silence for what felt like only a few seconds. He felt relieved. Perhaps the reason he walked the streets of London with such a dissatisfied scowl was that he was missing the one person who never failed to irritate him relentlessly and perceive the world in a way he could not.

It was her insight and her nagging that he missed so terribly, even when he refused to see it. It was always her.

“I believe this is my carriage,” Y/n said as the worker from Francis’ estate held the door open for her.

“Ah, yes,” Sherlock responded, though he was not yet ready to part ways with her.

He watched fondly as she moved to approach her carriage but, for some reason, turned back remained where she stood, her feet never leaving the paved ground.

“Sherlock?” Y/n smiled. He appeared preoccupied with a thought, though his eyes never left hers. She did not dare let her heart wonder why that was.

He raised brows, finally pulling himself away from his train of thought. Y/n glanced down and grinned.

“You are still holding my hand,” she murmured.

His cheeks grew warm and he immediately let go of her. Even so, she was not quick to speed off into her carriage. Instead, she lifted her hand, the very hand he held, and placed it briefly on his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

He placed his hand atop hers and followed her to the carriage, only letting go of his grasp when she was seated inside.

“Goodnight,” he whispered before the worker closed the door.

On the journey back to the estate, Y/n’s eyes never left her ungloved hands. Mama would have surely imploded had she known. Y/n grinned and peered out into the night sky.

***

A week had passed and Y/n had not heard from Sherlock. As a result, when a worker informed her she had a visitor waiting for her in the study, she opened the doors hoping to see him. Instead, it was his younger sister.

“Enola?”

The young girl turned around and Y/n immediately closed the door behind her and raced forward. She pulled Enola into her arms and hugged her tightly.

“Oh, I was worried sick about you,” Y/n cried, before promptly pulling away and inspecting the young girl’s face and limbs. “Are you hurt? You must have at least been bruised jumping out of a moving train carriage like an absolute maniac, what were you thinking!”

“I am perfectly fine, Y/n,” Enola assured Y/n who pulled her in for yet another hug.

“Enola, my dear, you are so brave but absolutely wild!” Y/n exclaimed. “I don’t know whether to reprimand you right now or ask you what you’re secret is.”

“Rather ironic you say that considering everything I know is because my mama and you,” she grinned.

Though she did not doubt the girl was being honest, Y/n found herself narrowing her eyes at her enthusiasm. Watching a young girl jump off a moving train was not something she could easily move past.

“I am flattered, but I need you to promise me you won’t ever frighten me like that again.”

“I am sorry.”

Y/n sighed. Enola was alive and safe. Perhaps that was what mattered most, even more than the terror she felt on the train.

“I am just relieved all your limbs are still intact.”

She playfully poked Enola’s shoulder, causing the young girl to laugh before sitting on one of the empty chairs facing the desk.

“Have you heard from my brothers?” Enola asked nervously. Y/n leaned against the edge of the desk and faced her.

“Sherlock,” she answered shortly. “He was very worried about your disappearance.”

“You didn’t tell them you saw me, did you?”

Y/n shook her head, causing Enola to let out a sigh of relief. As she leaned back into her chair, Y/n donned a proud grin.

“Fortunately for you, I am a rather masterful performer.”

“I somehow find that difficult to believe,” Enola chuckled.

Y/n could not help but laugh along with her. Not long after, however, she quickly found herself reacquainted with her worries pertaining to Enola’s safety. It did not take long for the wrinkle between her brows to reappear.

“Why are you here, Enola?” Y/n asked concernedly. “Has something happened?”

“I am in need of a place to stay… just for this evening,” Enola explained.“ I cannot return to previous lodgings however if my suspicions are true I might be seeing mama tomorrow.”

“Then, of course, Enola, you are more than welcome to stay here.”

She knew she would have to come up with some sort of explanation for her uncle Francis, but Y/n did not mind. Not if it meant helping Enola.

Before she could finish thanking her, Enola’s face fell when the two of them heard a loud knock on the door to the study, followed by a familiar voice.

“That is your brother,” Y/n whispered in a panic. “You must hide before he sees you! Quickly!”

Enola scurried behind the desk and hid beneath it, clasping her hand over her mouth to stifle any sounds she would involuntarily make from fright. She listened closely and heard the door swing open and close quickly after.

“Sherlock!” Y/n shrieked. She barely had the chance to open the door herself when the intolerable detective let himself in.

“I heard you speaking,” Sherlock commented suspiciously, taking cautious steps towards Y/n. “Was there someone else here?”

He began scanning the room for any signs of another person. It was not until he stepped closer to the desk that he noticed the way Y/n jumped.

“No, I was- um,” Y/n stuttered as she turned to her uncle’s desk and picked up the book left open on it. She then quickly turned back to Sherlock who was already inching closer. “…I was reciting some poetry.”

“I never knew you enjoyed doing that,” he replied narrowly.

“Yes, well I developed a liking for it during my time teaching at the finishing school.”

It was a good lie, one Sherlock would have bough had she picked up a book of poems and not a botanical encyclopaedia. For reason he was not willing to disclose, Sherlock ignored her obvious lie.

“What brings you here?” She asked after tossing the book back onto the desk. Mere hours ago she was exanticipating his visit, but now she was quietly hoping he would be on his way out soon.

“I wanted to personally return the missing lavalier,” he answered. “Your uncle has returned it to the vault now.”

“Oh, wonderful! Thank you for that, Sherlock,” Y/n beamed. Her smile quickly wavered when he continue to step closer and whe his eyes began to wander over her shoulder. “W-was there anything else you needed?”

Y/n stepped back only to realise there was no more space between her and the desk, much less the young girl hiding beneath it. She placed her hand behind her and gripped the wooden edge.

“I suppose there is,” Sherlock replied nonchalantly, though his eyes were narrowed and tense. He moved even closer to her. “I still have yet to figure out where Enola has run off to.”

“Well, I am certain she is perfectly fine… wherever it is she may be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

As though she were not already nervous enough trying to lie for Enola, Y/n had to also endure the watchful glance of the gentleman she held such strong feelings for.

“Well she’s an exceptionally intelligent young girl,” Y/n blubbered. “I mean… all of you Holmes siblings are alike in that manner.”

“It is very unlike you to speak so kindly to me,” Sherlock commented.

She could have sworn there was a trace of disappointment in his tone, but she was far too overcome with nerves to give it much thought.

“Yes, well I am trying to turn a new leaf, you see.”

“Y/n,” Sherlock began, the corner of lips turning upwards like he had his chess opponent cornered. “Is there anything you know about my sister’s disappearance?”

“Like I told you previously. No,” Y/n held firm, despite having little confidence she had him fooled to any degree. He continued to lean closer, causing Y/n to lean back and hope Enola was out of sight.

“I fear I am still not convinced you are being honest with me.”

“Then I do not know what else to say,” she shrugged, though she was just about trembling from nervousness.

“Might I suggest the truth?”

Sherlock went to lean even closer, knowing true and well he would be able to discover his sister sitting beneath the desk, just he suspected. However, he stopped when he met her gaze. Their faces were mere centimetres apart, but she remained silent.

Y/n was well aware that he knew, but she looked at him and hoped he would trust the decision she made to help Enola. Sherlock needed only a moment of looking her in the eye to comply. If it had been anyone else, he would not have stopped, but it was her. And though he would have enjoyed the opportunity to reprimand his sister and Y/n for undermining his intelligence, he fought the urge and stepped back.

“Very well then,” he muttered softly.

She watched in shock as he turned away completely and began pacing across the opposite end of the room, studying the books on the shelves.

“Well… when my sister eventually does make her presence known, I suspect she will be pleased to learn that I’ve decided to take her as my ward.”

Y/n raised her brows as her eyes widened in shock. After years of debate, he finally gave in and announced it to her with such nonchalance. It was most peculiar.

“And when the transferral is made official,” Sherlock continued. “My first task will be to appoint someone as her governess. Ideally, they would be someone already familiar with her and with me. Someone who is able to advocate for Enola even in spite of my tendency to be stubborn.”

He approached Francis’ globe and spun it once with his finger before continuing on. Y/n furrowed her brows and watched him pace curiously. Why was he disclosing this to her?

“Perhaps someone who is firm, but also kind. Someone loyal and patient and…” Sherlock paused and turned to face Y/n. “Frustratinglyinsightful.”

Her jaw fell when she realised.

“In any case, I hope you will consider taking up the position,” Sherlock smiled, moving back towards her. “I am certain Enola will be thrilled to have you back in her life.”

She would not be the only one, though Sherlock was not yet ready to admit that. Her eyes gleamed as she gave it more thought.

“Well, I too would be delighted to spend more time again with… Enola,” she grinned. “However, I must ask… why the change of heart? Two years ago you were disposing the unopened letters I wrote to you. Now you are wanting to employ me?”

Sherlock nodded. It was a fair point to make. Perhaps he was being foolish expecting her to be willing to work in close proximity to him. However, he knew he would be a greater fool if he did not at least attempt to persuade her.

“I may have come to the realisation last week that I… I rather enjoy being in your company,” he explained. “It is something I have missed greatly. Something I will not take for granted again.”

“And what of your sudden decision to become Enola’s guardian?” Y/n questioned, still puzzled by his sudden change of heart.

“Well,” he began. “There is this particularly irritable young woman in my life who has continuously reprimanded me at every given opportunity to the point where I… I soon found myself convinced that this was the right thing to do.”

“It sounds like you have an awfully wise woman in your midst,” she smirked.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he agreed, his eyes never leaving hers.

Their gaze remained unbroken, though Y/n was quickly startled by the sudden feeling of his fingers intertwined with hers. She froze for a mere second before chuckling at how dumbfounded he appeared to be. Did he realise what he was doing?

“Sherlock,“ Y/n whispered. He continued smiling at her, studying her eyes and her face like it was the greatest mystery he had stumbled across yet. "You are holding my hand again.”

“I am aware,” Sherlock replied, knowing he did not intend on letting her go again anytime soon.

NEXT PART

Tolerate It | N. Lantsov

Pairing:Nikolai x Healer!Reader

Summary:[Based on Tolerate It - Taylor Swift] An arranged marriage is never complete without both parties having an agenda. For Nikolai it was Ravka, but for Y/n, it was Nikolai.

masterlist

A/N:this is a part of my folklore/evermore-inspired fic collection

Once Nikolai’s been casted in the show, I’ll obviously replace this gif, but for now enjoy this gif of the first blond English actor (Sam Claflin) I could think of lol.

It was dusk in Os Alta and the Grand Palace was filled with a silence most would describe as eery, but not to Y/n. She spent of her days wandering through the halls like a bored child, so much so, the silence and the golden details all became mundane to her.

She stood nervously in front of the door to Nikolai’s study and gulped as she mustered the courage to approach him. Their marriage began on a good note, with plentiful conversations and exchange. But, as things began to settle and Nikolai’s responsibilities grew more and more demanding, they became essentially stranger to one another.

No more, Y/n thought to herself. There might not be mutual love or romance between the two of them, but she refused to sit idle and alone and allow herself to become as forgettable as floor he walked on. Y/n knocked twice on his door before entering cautiously.

“Dinner is ready,” she stated.

It had been for a while. Y/n was the one who planned the meal, but when she sat to eat while her plate was still warm, her appetite vanished. Y/n had lost count of the amount of meals she had sitting alone at the dining table.

“So it is,” he said snidely, not even bothering to look at her.

She should have heeded the warning and given up, but they had been like that for months. Y/n was dying for conversation, even if it ended in him telling her to leave.

“Will you join me?”

He scoffed quietly. They no longer ate together. They did not even share the same bed. He could not understand why Y/n would think today would be any different.

“I cannot.”

Nikolai gestured to the endless sheets of paper sprawled across his desk, as if it meant anything to Y/n. She had seen him cast aside his work momentarily for a conversation with Zoya and, on a different occasion, a drink with an old friend from the first army.

“Surely your work can wait.”

“Yes, I’m sure the hundreds of first army soldiers camped at the border can wait for further instructions while their King gorges himself per your request.”

His remarks never bothered her before. She and Nikolai were well acquainted for years before he approached her with the proposal of an arranged marriage. However her patience with him had become slim. Dangerously slim.

“Nikolai, I have done a lot for you,” she said, her voice even in tone.

Finally he dropped the sheet of paper in his hand and looked his wife in the eye. Her gaze was close to a glare; a cold and steely one at that.

“You propose this marriage and I agree. I leave my sister and my friends in the second army so I can smile and wave, and maintain a facade all so you may fulfil this vision you have for the future of our country.” She clenched her jaw, trying her best not to completely lash out at him for being such an inconsiderate prick. “And all I am asking is that you join me for one meal so I don’t feel even more isolated in this wretched building than I already do.”

“… Alright.”

Y/n was taken aback. Nikolai stood from his seat and shuffled his papers into neat piles. He appeared affected by what she said. Perhaps even guilty at her mentioning her sister and how isolated she felt. Y/n’s sacrifice was no small detail and he was ashamed by the way he made it seem like it was.

By the time he headed for the door, Y/n was already halfway down the corridor. Instinctively, he quickened his pace so as to catch up to her, but when he reached the dining room, she was already seated in her usual place, right beside his.

They ate in silence for only a short moment. There was irony in the way that sat beside one another but could not have been father apart. Y/n glanced at Nikolai momentarily and cleared her throat.

“What is the latest report on the first army base the border?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” he quipped.

“Nikolai.”

She was only trying to make conversation, yet he responded like she was making a personal attack against his character. What happened to the man who made her swoon? Who was always so kind to her? What happened to Nikolai she loved?

“Do not make this into something it is not,” he warned.

He did not want to indulge in small talk over dinner with Y/n, as if there were not thousands of people depending on him and his leadership. He had no plans of falling for her. No plans of their arrangement becoming anything beyond a performance. Engaging in conversation with her threatened that.

“Is it not in the best interest of Ravka that both their King and Queen are well versed in the affairs of their people?”

For someone who claimed to care so much about the people of Ravka, he was being quite cruel to the Ravkan he chose to marry.

“That was not the case for my mother,” Nikolai reasoned mindlessly.

“Ah, yes, and look how well that turned out.”

He dropped his fork immediately. It was a low blow, Y/n knew that, but if it got a reaction out of him, any kind of reaction at all, it was worth it to her. Nikolai clenched his jaw and inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring into a deep shade of red.

“I have far more important matters to attend to,” he hissed, his tone venomous and piercing. “Which is precisely what I could be doing now had I not been burdened by your nagging and relentless demand to be something I never agreed to become.”

Amidst the silence that was casted over the dining table, Nikolai heard her gasp quietly. She stared at him in horror, before pushing herself away from the table. He had never seen her so upset and could have never expected himself to be the culprit.

“Well, I’ll be sure not to burden you again,” she spoke roughly as she rose from her chair. “I think I’ll much prefer the silence anyways.”

She blamed herself for trying. Men in power seldom cared for the people affected by their actions. Y/n never believed Nikolai would be one of them, but after their exchange she began to rethink her belief.

As he watched her walk away, wiping her eyes before exiting through the door, Nikolai, too, began to wonder.

***

Very little time had passed since that night in the dining room- a matter of days, if many. It was was late at night, once again, only this time Y/n was already fast asleep in her room adjacent to Nikolai’s. She would have remained fast asleep had a palace worker not shook her awake so roughly.

It only took a few hard shakes before Y/n started grumbling. Annoyed, she rubbed her eyes and sat up, glaring at the worker standing before her. What was the reason for the all this?

“It’s the King.”

The maid did not need to say anything else, Y/n was already reaching for her robe and racing out the door. The worker followed her down the hallway to where Nikolai was, explaining how he injured himself during a solo combat training session.

“Where were the healers when this happened?” Y/n asked worriedly. The maid explained that he was injured an hour ago.

“He refused to be tended to by anyone but you, moya tsaritsa.”

Once he was healed of his injuries, Y/n swore she was going to get a few punches in just for the fun of it. First he called her burden for wanting a conservation with her husband, and now he was choosing to bleed out in the infirmary until she could get there.

Nikolai sat up instantly at the sound Y/n barging into the room. The maid at her side quickly made herself scarce, as did the rest of workers previously present.

Without saying a word, or even looking him in the eye, Y/n sat at his bedside and began working of the wounds on his leg. Her brows wrinkled as she narrowed her eyes.

“I take it you are still cross with me,” Nikolai commented, hoping to ease the tension.

“I am trying to focus,” she corrected him, her gaze turning quickly into a glare. There were several deep gashes along his legs as well as bruises all across his arms and cheek. “It would not be so bad if you had been seen by a healer sooner.”

He smirked. There was an overwhelming presence of annoyance in her tone, but a small hint of worry. Of fear something horrible could have likely happened to him.

“I prefer your company.” His tone came off as teasing, but he could not have said sincerer words.

“From the way you often speak to me, I would have never guessed.”

He deserved that. Y/n felt a small ounce of satisfaction when she noticed his smirk fade, but it was short-lived. She turned her attention back to his injuries. It would take a while for her to heal them all, which made her wonder if he did this on purpose.

Nikolai studied Y/n closely while she healed him. Even after all the cruel things he said, and all the ways he made her upset, she was still willing to climb out of bed in the middle of the night and tend to his wounds. She never even complained about how tired she was, despite needing to yawn every so often.

It led him to wonder.

“Why did you accept my proposal?” Nikolai’s voice was small. Y/n looked at him in confusion. “If it meant leaving your friends and your sister, why did you go through with it?”

“Why the sudden interest in my feelings?”

“It is a topic of great relevance to me,” he stated plainly. “You are my wife after all.”

Y/n scoffed loudly, followed by a bitter and incredulous laugh. It had been a long while since he referred to her as his wife, much less in private, with no one to perform for.

He gave it a moment; lied in silence as Y/n finished healing his arm before breaking the silence once more.

“I’m serious, Y/n,” Nikolai spoke softly, gazing intently at her as she moved to heal to bruise on the right side of his face. “Why did you agree to this?”

Nikolai did not know what to expect, but he was most curious. Y/n seemed to think for minute, if that. It did not take her long to look him in the eye and answer his question.

“Because you asked me.”

His brows knitted together in confusion. Her answer was so cryptic to him. So vague and unclear, yet, for Y/n, it truly was as simple as it seemed.

She had seen many deplorable men come into power. Men she detested with every fibre of her being, the Darkling and the previous King being among them. Nikolai was different.

He was someone she believed. Someone whose judgement and strategies she trusted wholeheartedly. Y/n wanted to live in a Ravka that he was leading, so when he told her that an arranged marriage with a grisha was necessary to that dream, she agreed. If it had been anyone else asking for her hand, she would have laughed in their face. But it was Nikolai.

Once Y/n was finished, she left the infirmary silently, but not without noting the way Nikolai stared at her in astonishment. She could not figure out whether it was because she healed him so swiftly or because she agreed to marry him simply because it was him who asked.

Nikolai knew it was a mixture of both.

***

The following morning, Y/n woke up later than usual. As she got dressed and ready for breakfast, she could not stop thinking of her last conversation with Nikolai. What possessed him to ask her such a question, particularly when he never seemed to care about why she agreed to their marriage in the first place.

As Y/n headed for the dining room to eat breakfast alone, yet again, she was startled to open the door and see Nikolai, standing at his end of the table as if he had been waiting for her to arrive.

“There you are,” he sang, pulling her chair out for as she approached her seat. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but he was unfazed. “I was contemplating sending someone to wake you.”

"What are you doing?”

“Sit,” he said, brushing off her question.

Y/n hesitantly lowered herself onto her chair. Nikolai sat beside her and began eating his plate of food. He was breathing heavily as he tried to muster the courage to speak again. She was half-expecting for the room to grow quiet and for them to eat in complete silence as per usual.

She was greatly alarmed when Nikolai cleared his throat and turned to face her.

“The latest report from the first army base at the border was pleasing. They were able to fend off an attack from Fjerda,” he explained. Just as she began to wrap her head around his sudden announcement, he continued on. “I’ve asked Zoya to brief you on recent developments within the second army from now on. She and Genya are eager to hear your thoughts regarding the corporalki and the training of our healers.”

After the way Y/n healed his numerous injuries with such swiftness, Nikolai realised it was a mistake to take her away from the second army, Particularly when there was so much she could teach their newer recruits, including her younger sister.

Y/n looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. Much to Nikolai’s amusement, she lifted her hand and placed it firmly against his temple, checking to see if he had a fever.

“Are you feeling well?”

He chuckled, prompting her to put her hand back down. His temperature was fine, but there was definitely something strange. Something that was not present before.

“I will be busy today,” Nikolai stated after taking another bite of his meal. “I have several meetings to attend and strategies to exhaust over, so I will not be home in time for dinner or supper.”

He spoke as if he was explaining something to her, but Y/n could not have been any more confused. She was even more startled when he reached for her hand. If it were not for the comfort of his touch, she would have swatted his hand away instantly. But she did not.

“I wish I could sit with you for every meal. Truthfully, I wish I could give you the marriage and the life you deserve, but I cannot promise you that.” He gulped before smiling once more. “But I will promise you at least one meal everyday, where I am all yours.”

Not Ravka’s. Not the first army’s. All hers.

“Today it is breakfast.”

Nikolai felt nervous by the way Y/n continued to study him. However, she only did so, because she felt a feeling of comfort that she had craved for so long. Not only was he making an effort, but he was making and effort for her.

“You do not have to do this,” she said softly.

“I know.”

He wanted to. He wanted to be the best partner to Y/n, because for the first months of the marriage, that is precisely what she was to him, even when he did not care to notice.

Nikolai smiled as he continued to eat his breakfast, his hand never leaving Y/n’s. Occasionally he would pause to tell her about what was discussed at his latest meeting, or to recall an old story that he knew would make her laugh. If the room grew silent, it was only for a short moment.

Perhaps over time love would make its way into their relationship. Real genuine love. Or perhaps they would simply build on their pre-existing friendship. Either way, Nikolai was not against any possible outcome so long as it meant he could still have her at his side.

The 1 | M. Martinez

Pairing: Mario x Turner!Reader

Timeframe:Season 1 - 2

Summary:[Based on The 1 - Taylor Swift] If only she had gone to college with Mario, or if only he stayed in Freeridge with her. Maybe then, they wouldn’t have broken up. Maybe then, he would not be at his parent’s doorstep with his pregnant girlfriend.

masterlist

A/N: this is a part of my folklore/evermore-inspired fic collection

It was sunny in Freeridge. Y/n approached the booth Mario sat at and placed two glasses of house lemonade on the table. She had been working at her dad’s barbecue restaurant for so long, navigating the place felt like second-nature to her. Mario loved to just sit and watch his girlfriend

“Thank you baby,” Mario sang, looking up with a grin knowing Y/n could not resist the urge to kiss him quickly before proceeding. After a swift peck and even swifter ‘you’re welcome, baby’, she sat opposite him and pulled glass close to her chest.

Out of habit, Y/n began stirring the ice in glass with the straw it came with. Mario took a sip of his drink but could not ignore his girlfriend’s behaviour. He reached for her free hand and smiled when she gazed up from her glass and met his eyes.

“What’d you wanna tell me?”

All week Y/n had been acting strange. If Mario had not been so preoccupied with his college applications, he likely would have confronted her about it sooner. However, eventually Y/n asked him to meet her at the barbecue joint and he knew she would fess up soon enough.

“My dad wants me to work here full-time,” Y/n announced, a wide smile slowly appearing on her face as she spoke. “I’d be taking on a more managerial role and eventually work my way up to being his business partner.”

She sat frozen for a moment while she surveyed Mario’s reaction. He was the first person she was telling the news to and she was counting on him to be excited with her.

Mario shook his head in amazement and chuckled beneath his breath as he reached out for both of Y/n’s hands. He knew that this was something she’d been hoping for for a long time.

“That’s so good, baby,” Mario exclaimed, intertwining his fingers with hers. He could not help the way his heart swelled when smile grew as she let out a sigh of relief. “I… I’m so excited for you.”

He meant every word. She knew it. Yet, for some reason, something was not sitting right with Y/n. Whether it was his delayed reaction or the way he, too, was acting strange for the past week, she just could not place her finger on it.

“I love you,” she murmured blissfully as she rubbed her thumb against the back of his right hand. Y/n was a blubbering mess the first she said those three words, but since then they came with such ease. Such confidence.

“I love you,” he replied, lifting her hand and pressing them softly against his lips. When Mario met his girlfriend’s gaze, his heart began to race, but not for the usual reason. She could tell something was up.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Her tone was comforting and far from accusatory. Y/n trusted Mario completely. Whatever he was hiding, she was confident he had his reasons for keeping it from her. Reasons Y/n would respect if it did was not so obviously bothering him.

“I applied to U-Cal,” he admitted, purposely averting his eyes. Y/n’s brows rose in surprise. In all their conversations about college and life after high school graduation, he never mentioned applying. She held her breath in anticipation of what he was going to say next. “I got in.”

Y/n exhaled as her mouth fell open. She struggled to fully process it, but she could not keep herself from smiling.

“Mario, that’s amazing!” Y/n gripped his hand tighter, prompting him to finally look back at her. When she looked into his eyes, she took a minute just to bask it in. Her boyfriend, the college attendee. There were very few people she could think of who deserved the opportunity more. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Those words were enough to make Mario giddy, but coming from Y/n made it all the more meaningful. All the hours they spent studying together and all the times she helped him cram for the SATs and all the assignments that came before and after. It was all amounting to something for him.

“How’re you feeling?” Y/n asked, trying to maintain her smile despite how riddled she was with worry. In one revelation, there was suddenly a limit placed on the amount of time they had together before he would inevitably leave for college. “Do… Do you know when you have to go?”

“Less than two months.”

“Wow,” Y/n stated blankly. She should have expected it, but hearing aloud just how little time they had left was jarring. Mario was too overjoyed to notice the way Y/n’s bottom lip trembled ever so slightly.

All he could think about was college.

“I know, I’m so excited!” Mario cheered. “They sent a brochure and it’s so cool all the clubs and events they have.”

As her boyfriend named off a handful of the clubs he was interested in learning more about, Y/n nodded along despite being unable to completely focus. Less than two months. They had less than two months to spend together, and he seemed elated by the thought it flying past.

“I just can’t believe it,” Mario sighed. Y/n blinked and channelled her attention back to him. Normally when Mario was happy, it rubbed off significantly onto Y/n. However, this time was different. He was happy because he was going away. How could she not take it personally? “I can’t believe I get to finally leave the house, the block and…”

“And me?”

The words parted from her lips before she knew what she was speaking, but even so, Y/n did not regret it. How could she regret her feelings? How could she ignore how insignificant Mario was making her feel?

“Y/n,” he whispered, his brows crinkling together when he realised how teary-eyed his girlfriend was. Mario struggled to understand where she would get such a crazy thought from. “C'mon, baby, you know that’s not true.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Y/n questioned immediately. “The deadlines for applications closed months ago. You’ve kept this from me for months.”

“That’s…” Mario wanted to say it was not true, but it was. He never meant to keep his application a secret, he just never expected anything to amount from it. Did she truly believe he kept her in the dark maliciously? “That’s not fair.”

Perhaps it was, Y/n thought. Perhaps deep down she knew he never had any intention of hurting her, but it did not change the outcome. Silence filled the, thankfully empty, restaurant for only a moment. In that moment, Y/n was confronted by a terrifyingly burning question.

“What’s gonna happen to us?” She spoke in a quiet voice. One riddled with insecurity and an overwhelming fear of what his answer would be. In an even quieter voice, she added, “What’s gonna happen to me?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Mario was not expecting her to react this way. The Y/n he knew and loved was always so supportive. Always so optimistic. Always so confident that things would work out for the best and they would come out stronger because of it.

However his question only infuriated Y/n more. This was different from her wanting to pick up more hours at the restaurant or him getting cut from the football team.

“I don’t know you just sound like you have this whole plan to leave everything here behind,” Y/n began frustratedly. “I just wanna know if I’m included in that.”

“Oh my god, how can you think that?”

Mario was dumbfounded. Whenever he spoke of moving on to bigger and better things, it always with the assumption that Y/n would be right there with him. It was always so clear to him that she was the one for him, he believed it went without saying.

“Well, how could you make this huge decision without giving me so much as a heads up?”

Mario knew there was not much he could say to defend himself on that front, so he found himself rambling off until his words eventually formed a coherent response.

“You know, I just… I just thought you would be happy for me.”

“Iam happy for you,” Y/n defended. How could he even question that? “I… I just feel blindsided.”

She was always upfront about her plans for after graduation, which was a topic they discussed frequently, so it was not like he did not have an opportunity to let her know sooner. Anytime she mentioned the option of applying for colleges, Mario was quick to dismiss it.

Y/n questioned whether it was intentional, but it was not the case. Mario did not expect to get accepted, so keeping his application a secret was done so to avoid disappointment. If he had known the outcome, Y/n would have been the first to know.

“But you know I’ve wanted out! I’ve told you that so many times,” Mario reasoned. “I’ve always felt suffocated here and- and trapped like I’m just constantly being held back and-”

He lost track of where he was going with his response. In all honestly, Mario did not hear half of what he had said. He was just so desperate to make things right again. To have her fingers intertwined with his once more. It was not until Y/n spoke that he realised his words and their insinuations.

“…You think I’m holding you back?”

His stomach immediately sank. Y/n’s voice was so shaky and quiet it sounded almost unfamiliar at first. Nothing like the confident voice Mario could listen to for days on end. This one was painful to hear, even more-so when he saw tears that began to stream down her cheeks.

If Mario’s words were incoherent beforehand, they were straight foreign by that point. He was, somehow, even more desperate to fix things between them, but it was far more difficult thanks to the hole he dug for himself. Mario reached out for her hands, but she shuffled out of the booth before he could obtain a grasp.

“Y/n-” He called out, but to no avail. She stood up and was headed for the kitchen. “Baby, that’s not-”

“-No, stop,” Y/n interrupted bitterly. He’d said more than enough and while she was not the one going to college, she was most certainly smart enough to take a hint. “Just finish your lemonade and leave and just-”

All of the anger and frustration flooded her senses and clouded her judgement. Y/n inhaled sharply as she though of what to say next. Mario was startled when she looked him in the eye, but it was ultimately her final words that left a lasting impression on him.

“Just don’t ever fucking come back.”

There was not enough time for Mario to process her words and chase after her. By the time she locked herself in the storage room, he was already a tearful mess trying to figure out whether she meant for him to never come back to the barbecue to joint or never come back to Freeridge.

Or, even worse, to never come back to her.

***

Y/n never spoke to Mario again. Never saw him one last time before he left. She never even replied to one of his millions of texts and voicemails. If he truly believed she was holding him back, she was gonna do him a favour and let him go.

In the months after their falling out, Y/n invested all her energy into her job. If there was something wrong with the stocktake, Y/n raced to fix it. If there was an opportunity to learn more about running a restaurant or flipping a patty, Y/n was the first in line to take it up. If there was a grease trap waiting to be cleaned, Y/n already delegated the task to her little brother.

“- And I have Jamal covering for Paula while she’s at the orthodontist,” Y/n explained, tracing next week’s roster with her pen. Dwayne smirked, impressed by how well his daughter was doing in her new role as assistant manager.

“How’d you get Jamal to agree?”

Upon her promotion, Y/n’s most prominent struggle was getting her brother to respect her authority. Jamal used to treasure the way he and Y/n were equals in the restaurant kitchen, because she had some degree of authority over him in every other aspect of life. However, much to his dismay, Y/n was not above adopting her tactics as an older sister to ensuring her subordinates stayed in line.

“I have my ways.”

“She threatened me!” Jamal called out from the kitchen, having overheard Y/n’s and Dwayne’s conversation. She swore that boy had selective super-hearing.

“With love,” Y/n added, even though her dad knew his kids too well to buy it.

Dwayne chuckled as he took the roster off Y/n. She grabbed the timesheet from behind the counter and clocked her and Jamal out for the day before grabbing her bag and keys from the nearby booth.

“How was the convention in Berkeley, by the way?” Dwayne asked.

Y/n had recently come back from a convention about burgers; one she managed to get free admission into thanks to a friend of a friend. The convention itself was nothing spectacular, but all Y/n could think about on the bus ride home was how Mario was among the many students she saw at the U-Cal campus.

All she could think about was how different things would be if she had known he was applying there. Maybe she would have applied too. Maybe they would be meeting in between classes on one of the picnic tables outside the building.

“Good,” Y/n replied shortly. Her dad did not need to know the doubts that filled her mind on the bus trip home to Freeridge. It was not like it would make a difference anyways, and she couldn’t say she was unhappy with how her life after graduation was turning out. “I’ll tell you all about when Jamal and I get back.”

Y/n adjusted her bag strap and furrowed her brows when she turned to face the empty kitchen. Jamal had more than enough time to get the potato salad from the freezer room so they could go to the Martinez’s for New Years Eve dinner, but she could not see him anywhere.

“Jamal, c'mon!”

“Calm down, I’m right here.” Y/n turned around and jumped when she realised her little brother had been standing behind her for a hot minute with the bowl of potato salad gripped in his arms.

“We’ll see you later, dad,” she said as they headed out of the barbecue place for the night, her arm placed loosely over Jamal’s shoulders.

Despite her falling out with Mario, Y/n maintained a good relationship with his family over the course of the latter half of the year. It was easy to do considering how close she was to them when she and Mario were dating and the fact that Jamal and Ruby were constantly getting themselves into trouble and Y/n was their go-to person for help out of it.

When she and Jamal arrived at the house, Geny greeted her with a hug before abuelita quickly whisked her towards the kitchen. Y/n helped set the table as the others moved the furniture around per Geny’s instructions.

“Who’s that?” Ruby asked aloud when he heard a car pull up into the driveway. The only person they were expecting was Monse who was heading over on foot. Geny seemed just as confused as her son.

As if on cue, the door bursted open just as Y/n finished setting the plates. In came an eerily enthusiastic Mario with a blue cap placed backwards on his freshly cut head of hair. The blue cap Y/n got him last spring, she might add.

It was clear there was no way out for her now that she was there and he was too. There was always the option of excusing herself and letting Mario know how affected she still was by their breakup, but Y/n’s pride refused to let her do so.

He greeted his younger siblings, his grandmother and his parents first. They questioned him about the reason for his early return, but he held off on giving them a proper answer. There was someone he wanted to talk to first.

“Hey,” Mario spoke awkwardly as he gently tapped Y/n’s shoulder. She held her breath and turned to face him, smiling nervously as she met his gaze. Both were riddled with mixed emotions. They were both so anxious to speak yet somehow so happy to see each other after months of separation.

“Hi,” Y/n huffed, placing the last bowl of food down on the table.

“Um how- how’ve you been?” Mario asked. Neither one of them were active on social media, so he always wondered how she was doing. Every time she came to mind, which happened very frequently, all he could do was hope she was happy and well.

“Been doing good,” Y/n replied. If you focused solely on her role at the restaurant, her answer rang true. However, if you accounted for all the breakdowns and sleepless nights she endured in between? Not so much, but Mario did not need to know. “You?”

Y/n noticed the way his expression turned sour at her question. She had very little time to contemplate why before Monse eventually came bursting in with a chirpy 'happy new year!’ followed by a bombshell.

“Did y'all know there’s a pregnant white girl on your porch?”

Mario could not bear to look at his parents, so he found himself looking at her, which was somehow worse. Y/n stared blankly at Monse for a moment as she wrapped her head around the news. When she finally did, she turned to Mario and the tension between them grew exponentially.

Eventually he turned to his parents to explain himself, but it was difficult leaving Y/n to deal with the news. He had hoped to be able to tell her himself in private, but he was never the best at knowing the right opportunity to speak.

While Mario and Geny spoke to the pregnant white girl, whose name Y/n learned was Amber, she and the others took their seat at the dining table.

“Are you ok, Y/n?” Jasmine asked, shifting her chair closer to her.

“I don’t know,” Y/n sighed truthfully. She always hoped the next time she’d see Mario they’d patch things up. She never could have anticipated he’d be showing up with a baby on the way.

Once Mario, Geny and Amber finished talking, they came back inside and approached the table. Y/n and Jasmine were in the middle of a heated conversation about the new lip gloss she was using when Mario, out of habit, took his usual seat next to Y/n.

“Ahem.”

Jasmine went silent and glared across Y/n’s shoulder to Amber who stood expectedly. Y/n turned around and was startled to realise how close Amber was standing to where she sat, not to mention how big her belly was. Mario must not have wasted any time in moving on from her.

“Hey…girl,” Amber began. Y/n had never felt so uncomfortable. “Would it be ok if I sat there? Wanna be next to Mario is all.”

“Her name is Y/n,” Jasmine stated pointedly before Y/n could even reply. She was never the kind to wait for a signal before jumping to someone’s defence. “And she was sitting there first.”

There was already so much tension in the room, Y/n did not want to add to the fire. Not to mention when she glanced at Mario his expression was riddled with so much nervousness and so many silent apologies, Y/n could not bring herself to make things harder for him.

“It’s ok, I’ll go,” she said as she got up from her chair.

“Thanks sis,” Amber chirped as she gleefully sat down.

Immediately, Y/n cringed and Mario buried his face in his hands, not able to look her in the eye as she left their end of the table. She had to physically bite her tongue just to keep herself from saying something that a court of law would most definitely use against her.

Y/n made her way to the available seat between Geny and Jamal and was, at the very least, grateful it was away from Mario and Amber.

Everyone sat in silence as Amber finished her 'Super Big Gulp’ with seemingly no clue that so many eyes were staring at her. Just as she finished slurping the last of her drink, she looked up and smiled nervously, finally putting her cup down so dinner could commence.

“I am so sorry about your recent loss, my heart goes out to all of you,” Amber began, extending her arm out and gesturing to the rest of us. Y/n held her breath, hoping for Amber’s sake that she was not about to say something stupid. “And as a beneficiary of white privilege-”

Y/n huffed, squeezing her eyes shut.

“These kinds of tragedies are, like, foreign to me,” Amber continued. Y/n could see Geny gritting her teeth in the corner of her eye. “So on behalf of my people. I am sorry for keeping your people down.”

Jamal looked up at his big sister to see if she, too, caught on to the way Amber was glancing between the two of them and Monse when she finished her sentence. From the way Y/n hands were clenched, it was alarmingly clear that she did.

“By the way this all looks so good, mama,” Amber said to Geny, who rose to say something in retaliation before her husband quickly placed a bread roll in her mouth to keep her from doing so.

***

Jamal never gave her a detailed explanation. All he said was that Y/n owed him one after he covered Paula’s shift and that abuelita needed help sewing a dress because her hands were apparently 'cursed’.

Y/n had been seated at abuelita’s sewing machine for a few minutes when she felt her gaze from the opposite side of the able where she sat. They had been working for around an hour, and abuelita was conscious of how quiet her pseudo-granddaughter was being.

“You’ve been gone for a while,” she stated.

It unlike her. Y/n was always stopping by the house. Whether it was to drop off Ruby after she had to pick him and Jamal up from the cemetery at three in the morning. Or to drop off some extra groceries to make up for all the food Jamal and his friends went through during their countless meetings at the house.

When Y/n turned to face her, abuelita simply looked back at the fabric in her fingers, as though her eyes never left the stitch she was working on.

“I think you know why,” Y/n replied.

A week had passed since Mario and Amber made their arrival, and after the New Years Eve dinner, Y/n could not bring herself to face them again. What was she supposed to do? There was no Youtube tutorial on how to cope with life when your first love makes a comeback with his pregnant girlfriend.

“How are you feeing?“

"I told you, abuelita. I’m fine,” Y/n said softly.

Every time she greeted the Martinez matriarch, without fail, she always asked her how she was. That day was no different, and it had been about an hour since Y/n gave her usual response.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Y/n froze, instantly regretting all the times she previously confided in abuelita. That woman had sixth sense for what the kids in her life were up to, and now Y/n realised she was included too. Abuelita took her glasses off and looked at Y/n. Although she struggled to come up with an answer, the pace of her breath and the way she shifted uncomfortably in her seat was enough for the matriarch to know.

She still cared for him.

Abuelita thought of giving her advice. Of giving her comfort. She imagined it was an incredibly difficult position to be in. Prior to their breakup, everyone was expecting Mario and Y/n to make it.

Before Mario came back, abuelita held onto the hope that they still would. That they would reconcile and make it work. That they would learn from their past argument and become a stronger couple because of it. Y/n held onto the same hope.

However, holding onto that hope appeared pointless now. Mario was the kind of person to do everything in power to ensure his kid grew up in a two-parent household. And Y/n was not the kind of person to get in the way of that. Abuelita knew it true and well.

Yet, even so, she could not help but reach out for Y/n’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and frowned apologetically. Pobrecita, she thought to herself. Young heartache was a piercing and gruesome pain.

“Abuelita, I bought the white thread you asked for.”

Mario had just arrived home from a trip to the store when he turned and realised Y/n was there. They had not spoken since the New Years Eve dinner, so he was grateful Amber was treating Ruby to lunch. Perhaps then he could get a minute alone with Y/n.

“Ah thank you Mario,” abuelita said as she took the thread from Mario’s hand. She glanced between him and Y/n, contemplating whether she would leave or stay. Much to Y/n’s dismay, abuelita decided to go, leaving her and Mario with nothing but thick tension.

Y/n quietly prayed that Mario would leave as well, but when he did nothing but stand silent, she cough aloud and headed to the kitchen, hoping he would not follow her. She seemed to have no luck.

“Can we talk?” Mario said quietly, gently grasping Y/n’s arm. Her breath hitched at the feeling of his hand and, against her better judgement, she stopped in her tracks.

When she mustered enough courage to look him in the eye, they exchanged a look that only the poets would be able to describe. Suffice to say, it was clear they were both conflicted by the situation they were in and the feelings that never left even after their fight at the barbecue joint.

“I think we both know that’s not a good idea,” Y/n sighed.

“Please,” he begged, his voice beginning to waver at the thought of letting her go again when there was so much left to be said.

She was still as she tried to calculate whether or not sticking around would be abandoning her principles. Mario was a soon-to-be father. He was not hers to have intimate conversations with. Not anymore.

“I’m so sorry,“ Mario whispered.

She did not think he noticed the way she clenched her jaw every time Amber called him 'baby’ or how her hands shook when she had to set an extra plate down for her. But he did, and he had been filled with guilt ever since.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Y/n said.

“Y/n-”

“No really, Mario,” she assured. Perhaps she was kidding herself trying to respond rationally to a situation that had her reeling, but it felt just as ridiculous trying to punish him for a crime that simply did not occur. “We broke up and you… moved on and now you’re having a baby. You did nothing wrong.”

It should have brought him great comfort to hear her say that. After all, it was the very thing he tried to convince himself of after his one-night stand with Amber, after finding out she was pregnant and every moment since. But it did not.

“Then why doesn’t it feel right?”

Y/n was quiet. How was she supposed to respond to that? Mario shook his head. He hated how he felt, but he had little control over the matter. Moreover, talking his feeling out with Y/n was his go-to medicine for conflicted feelings. It came natural to him.

“We were really something, don’t you think so?”

She did not dare answer, even though she was dying to say yes.

“I know I’m responsible for what’s happened and I don’t… I’m not trying to dismiss that, but I just,” Mario paused and thought. “Ever since Amber told me she was pregnant… Even before then. Ever since we broke up, really, I just keep thinking to myself…”

Y/n inhaled sharply and braced herself. She knew where he was going. She would be lying if she said her thoughts did not take her down a similar route.

“If one thing had been different-”

“Don’t,“ Y/n interrupted, her voice growing quiet. She shook her head. He was the one who moved on. He did not also get to be the one haunted by regret and what-ifs. “Don’t do this to me, Mario.”

He pursed his lips and nodded sheepishly. Perhaps it was unfair of him to ask her if she thought about how things would be if they hadn’t broken up. If he had just told her about the damn application sooner. If he had not

Y/n could have sworn he was turning to leave, but just when his feet shifted, he turned back. There was one other question he had. One that had been eating away at him for over two weeks.

“Were you in Berkeley last month?” He huffed. Y/n’s eyes immediately widened, and he took it as a sign of confusion. "I don’t know, I… I passed a bus stop there and I thought it might’ve been you.”

Since seeing her, Mario questioned if it was a sign. Was it meant to be Y/n all along? He was already feeling conflicted by his situation, but seeing the familiar girl at the bus stop sent him spiralling down an endless path of loaded questions that had no clear answer.

There was no way, Y/n tried to convince herself. He could have easily been referring to a different bus stop to the one she sat at while waiting for hers after the burger convention. And even if he was not, what good would it do if he knew it was her?

“No.”

His heart sank. He was not sure what he would have done if she said yes. Maybe he would have believed it was a sign. Maybe he would have held hope. However, now that her answer was no, he had no choice but to let those possibilities go and, with them, her.

Y/n glanced at the clock and cursed herself for sticking around. She was due back at the restaurant in five minutes and Amber was likely to be back in around the same time. She had to cut the conversation off before either of them said something they could not take back.

“Mario.”

“Don’t,” he whispered pleadingly. He may have been away from Freeridge for 5 months, but no amount of time could rid him of the ability to know her tones of voice. And this one was telling him goodbye. “Please don’t say my name like that.”

Like it was the last time. Like she was gonna miss saying it.

Y/n had to turn away for a moment. She could not look at him when he was like that. When he was begging her not to say goodbye to him and to their long history together in Freeridge. Not when she was trying so hard to go.

“Look, maybe if things happened differently, things between us would be different,” she reasoned, hoping it was enough of an answer to the question he never got to ask. “But this is how it’s turned out. I think we should both accept that and… and move on.”

It would have been nice to grow old with her high school sweetheart. It would have been sweet for it to have been Mario. For their epic love story to live to see another era. But it was painfully clear that fate had other plans.

“Yeah,” he sighed after a long moment of deliberation. He was not fully convinced. Perhaps he never would be. But there was nothing else either of them could do. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Y/n sniffled and wiped her damp cheeks before reach for his shoulder. She contemplated kissing his cheek, for old time’s sake, but decided against it. It would only do more harm than good.

It was a bitter sense of familiarity for Mario; watching Y/n leave and being left with nothing but all the words he wished he had said.

She had looked at him sorrowfully. Her lips parted for a moment, as if she was about to say something, but instead she just walked away. Y/n had said many things to Mario during their time together in Freeridge. Many awful jokes, many corny pick-up lines and many many words.

But, so long as she had a say, goodbye would not be one.

***

A full month had passed and Y/n was doing surprisingly well with keeping her distance. She and Mario managed to avoid each other thanks to her keeping her distance from his home and him eating at any and every other establishment in Freeridge.

She was sitting in the storeroom on step-box, scrolling through Ruby’s instagram page in search for intel on how Mario was doing, when Jamal bursted in.

“Y/n, table four,” he muttered, placing the tray of food he held in his older sister’s hands. She furrowed her brows in annoyance, but not after quickly putting her phone away before Jamal caught on to what she was doing.

“I’m on my break,” Y/n scowled, handing the platter back.

“Customer specifically requested you,” Jamal retorted, shoving the platter back to Y/n whose frustration grew tenfold.

“Customer can bite me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Customer has annoyingly refused my service three times now, so I’m leaving his food here.”

Jamal placed the platter on a nearby empty shelf before walking away to avoid his sister’s wrath. She grumbled as she went to serve the platter and vowed to get back at him someway somehow after.

It did not take long for Y/n to realise why the customer was so adamant on her service. She could recognise that blue cap anywhere. Y/n hesitantly placed the platter down in front of Mario, but not without glancing back to Jamal and narrowing her eyes.

“Um- Are… Are you free to talk?” Mario asked sheepishly.

Y/n was still looking at Jamal and was puzzled by the way he looked at Mario. There was definitely something he knew that she did not. Given the fact that he was at Amber’s baby shower, Y/n presumed it had something to do with that.

She was far more curious than she was nervous. After all, she had spent the first five minutes of her break cyber-stalking her ex-boyfriend’s little brother. Y/n huffed and reluctantly sat opposite to Mario.

“Everything alright?” She would not have asked has she not noticed how puffy his eyes were. Mario was an emotional man, she knew that better than most people, but he never cried without some reasoning.

“Amber gave birth yesterday,” Mario began. Y/n nodded slowly. She would have jumped to the conclusion that his tears were from the joy of entering fatherhood, but judging from his expression, she knew that was not it. “… It wasn’t mine.”

“Oh, Mario.“ Y/n’s heart sank. Casting aside their history, she knew becoming a father was a big deal to Mario, because family was a big deal to him. She could not imagine how gut-wrenching it must have been to have that taken away from him after months of getting his head around it. "I’m so sorry… Are you ok?”

“I am,” he answered sincerely. After spending the rest of the night eating cake with his family and laughing about what had happened, he got through one way or another. “Obviously, I wasn’t at first, but it’s ok… I guess she just wasn’t the one.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you may have dodged a bullet.”

Mario chuckled. His parents and friends had been telling him that the night before but hearing it from Y/n hit different, and it was nice to have a light-hearted conversation with her. He missed them so damn much.

Once his and her laughter faded, Mario got up the courage to ask her the one question he thought about since seeing an old photo of the two of them after two days in Berkeley.

“Did you ever think about me? Or about us?” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Y'know after the last time we were here?”

She was dying to tell him about it all. About all the nights she spent recalling their conversation at the very booth they were sitting in. About all the ways she overanalysed their last exchange before he left for college.

However, now it was different. Now, they had time. Perhaps she would tell him over dinner at his place after she clocked out for the day. In any case, she could settle for the short answer now and bore him with the finer details later.

“…Yeah,” she answered. It felt freeing be able to talk to him without worrying about everything else that was happening. To just tell him how she truly felt. “I thought a lot about how I shouldn’t have left.”

“I should have told you about U-Cal.”

Y/n smiled, grateful to hear him say that. If he had said it five months sooner maybe they would have saved each other a bit of heartache. Nonetheless, he said it and she was thankful.

“I’m guessing you’ll be on the next bus back to Berkeley?”

She was sad to think about it. They were finally somewhat reconciling, but it would only be a matter of time before he was to leave again.

“Actually, I’ve decided to sit this semester out,” he answered, his smile growing when he noticed the way Y/n immediately perked up. “There’s some things I wanna sort out here before I go back.”

“Oh yeah?” She asked teasingly, doing a terrible job at stifling her smirk. “Like what?”

“My mom wants me to repaint the deck.”

Mario grinned, prompting Y/n to scoff offendedly. He laughed as he rose from his seat and slid next to her, reaching for her hands with ease like they were home for his.

“I’m kidding! C'mon, you know it’s you,” he chuckled. From the way she smiled proudly at him, it was clear she did know. Even so, it did not stop him from inching closer to her and meeting her gaze. “It’s always been you.”

It was all he could think about on his way to the barbecue joint. Even as he was brushing his teeth in the morning thinking about what he was gonna say when he finally saw her again.

“I didn’t mean what I said when we were here before,” he whispered, regret still weighing heavy on his chest.

“I know,” Y/n murmured, intertwining her fingers with his.

She came to that realisation a long time ago. She cursed herself for thinking that Mario would intentionally hurt her. The same Mario who carried her books to class and fell asleep in the parking lot waiting for Y/n to finish her shift so he could drive her home.

“I think I just… felt scared, I guess?” Y/n looked up at Mario and he raised his brows in confusion. “You always talked about wanting to get out and it just felt like it’d only be a matter of time before getting out meant leaving me too.”

“When I used to think of where I wanted to be in the future,” Mario began, wrapping one arm around Y/n and his other rested on the table, intertwined with her hands. “Sometimes I saw myself as a successful entrepreneur. Sometimes I’m in the NFL. Sometimes I’m a trophy husband. And sometimes I’m in a fancy office job, living in Brentwood with my seven kids. ”

Y/n bursted out laughing. She had heard the NFL dream and the trophy husband dream, but the office job with seven kids was new. However, she was quite fond of that one and of the idea that he’d be only a few neighbourhoods away.

“But, no matter what,” Mario added. “I was always with you.”

Y/n untangled her fingers and placed them against the side of his face, pulling him closer until their lips were connected. She could feel him grinning, and it only added to her joy.

Maybe they would get to grow old in a townhouse in Brentwood, or a flat on the very block they fell in love in. Maybe he really was the one.

Y/n moved away for a moment and smirked at the way Mario immediately began to pout.

“We’re not having seven kids,” she stated.

“Of course that’s the part you take away from what I said.”

Mario missed her so damn much. He did not waste another second and quickly pulled her close again. Her giggles were muffled by his lips on hers. Eventually her break would be over, or Dwayne would get back, or Jamal would become fed up with having to watch his sister suck faces with his best friend’s brother. But for now, they were gonna make up for lost time.

“When we finish kissing,” Y/n muttered after pulling away momentarily. “I’m gonna need you to explain how you fell for the walking micro-aggression that is Amber.”

“Guess I’m just gonna to have kiss you forever then.”