THE BAKER STREET TRIO (SHERLOCK X READER)

Chapter 68: Sniffles

One ride on the tube was all it took. Just one trip on a particularly humid day in July, and Y/N’s whole week began to unravel.

The woman sitting next to her held a small boy on her lap. He was maybe two or three years old. The boy sniffled, rubbing his face with his hands. Y/N happily played a game of peek-a-boo with him too keep him smiling while the train stopped and started. Then he screwed up his face, nose wrinkled and eyes squinting.

He let out a huge sneeze all over Y/N.

The mother apologized vaguely, concerned with getting the boy to blow into the handkerchief she held to his nose. Y/N sat back, wiping what she could away and trying not to show too much disgust on her face.

Sherlock stood by the window, playing his violin when she arrived home. He watched as she called hello, making a beeline for the bedroom. He finished the cantata he was practicing and sat in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

Sherlock heard her opening the drawers of the dresser for a change of clothes. He listened as she walked into the bathroom and washed her face and hands. Sherlock watched her head for the kitchen next, putting the kettle on and brewing a pot of herbal tea. Y/N selected the biggest mug on the shelf, stirring honey into the warm beverage.

“Is spy sickness going around?” He asked.

Y/N carried the mug into the sitting room and settled in John’s chair with her legs tucked under her. “A toddler sneezed on me on the train.”

Sherlock smiled.

“Stop laughing at me.”

“I don’t hear laughing, do you?” He kept smiling.

“I can’t get sick.” Y/N went on, ignoring his humorous gaze. “I don’t have time to be sick. Not with my cases and the wedding in a few months. I can’t.”

“You can’t.” Sherlock agreed.

“Right.” Y/N nodded, taking a big swig of tea.

Sherlock tapped his fingers to his lips, feeling a mixture of laughter and adoration swelling inside him.

Y/N blew her nose with the same vigor as a Viking warrior blowing a horn at the beginning of a battle. She blinked, trying to clear her head and her sinuses by pure mental will.

“You have Mycroft wrapped around your finger. You can take–”

“I’m fine!” Y/N said, picking up her bag. “It’s just allergies.”

Despite the excuse, she left for work having kissed Sherlock on the cheek, just in case the “allergies” were contagious.

Sherlock spread out the materials for his case on the desk, leaving the board above the sofa for the wedding. A diagram of the tables was pinned to the center, smaller than the one at John and Mary’s reception, but just as carefully planned. The seat beside Sherlock’s parents remained empty. He and Y/N had yet to answer the question of whether Eurus would be coming or not. Even a virtual appearance was risky, but Y/N held firmly to her position that because leaving Eurus out had failed before, the tactic should not be adopted again.

John joined him in the sitting room, leaving Rosie to play with Blue on a mat on the floor. The multi-colored squares each played a different tinny classical song. Rosie and Blue often spent happy hours jumping on and pressing the sections, doing various dog and baby dances to Bach, Mozart, and Vivaldi.

“Right, what have you got? Did the camera catch him?” John asked, opening his laptop and sitting down at the desk.

“I looked over the security footage from the warehouse and found something interesting.” Sherlock said.