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So Tennantbatch is a thing. In case you’d forgotten.

Author’s Note: I understand that the set for the inside of 221B and the set for the exterior of 221B are two different locations, but for the sake of this story please imagine otherwise. Thank you!

You couldn’t believe it. You were standing in the streets of London itself. Winning the contest to see the set of Sherlock during the filming of series three had been a wonderful surprise, but the full gravity of where you were hadn’t hit you until just then. You were in London. You would finally meet the cast, something you have wanted to do since you first saw series one. Today was quite possibly the best day of your life.

 You had been driven from the hotel in a black-windowed sedan, and emerged outside the famed Baker Street address. You stood in front of the door, taking it in, and noticing that the crowd had already begun to gather around the set. A crew member opened the door and ushered you in, guiding you up the stairs. Benedict and Martin were not there yet, but you took the time to explore the Baker street abode. (With permission, of course).

There were cameras and their crews prepping in different areas of the living room of the flat, and people making sure the set looked exactly as it should, putting the props in their proper places. You were wondering whether or not it would be alright if you looked into the refrigerator, placing your hand on the handle when a voice startled you.

 “I wouldn’t look in there if you’re at all squeamish.”

 You spin around to see who had spoken (and if they would be removing you from the set because of your curiosity). But instead of a crew member, you find yourself face to face with Sherlock. Or rather, Benedict Cumberbatch.

 “Umm, err, I’m sorry,“ you say, stepping away from the fridge, mentally slapping yourself for your flustered reply. “My name’s (y/n), it’s an honor to meet you.” You hold out your hand, and he shakes it, his warm hand encasing yours.

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n). I’m not quite sure how much of an ‘honor’ it is to meet myself, however.” He smiles pleasantly, alleviating your nervousness. “Are you enjoying yourself here in London? It must be different than what you’re used to in America.”

 “I haven’t been here very long, I just flew in last night, but so far it’s been amazing. The sights I saw on the way here alone made it totally worth the trip,” you reply, smiling sheepishly.

 “It’s wonderful to hear you’re enjoying it,” he says, returning your smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe we are going to begin shooting soon.”

 You nod, and he turns to enter the living area, greeting Martin and Amanda as they come in. A crew member leads you to where you need to stand to be out of the shot, and you watch as the final few shots on Baker Street are filmed. Sherlock was recovering from being shot by none other than Mary Watson, and John was trying to adjust and figure out what was going on. Every take gave an amazing new performance, a fresh take on each line.

 When filming is completed, the crews move out slowly, one group at a time. Lingering are the actors, and the two crew members in charge of guiding you around. You awkwardly introduce yourself to Martin and Amanda, doing your best not to squeal out loud. They are both very friendly and seem to either ignore or not even notice your awkwardness.

 “Are you planning to do anything else while you’re here in London?” Amanda asks. “There’s lots of things to see and do here.”

 “Oh, I’m sure!” you say, smiling. “I know that tomorrow I will be taking a tour of London atop a double-decker bus, and I was thinking about visiting Buckingham Palace after that. The London Eye also looks like fun, but I’m not sure I’ll have time after the other things.”

 “You’d be surprised how much you can get into a day.” Martin says. “As for the rest of today, would you like to come with us and just relax for the rest of the afternoon? I’m sure you’re still tired from your flight here.”

 “I would love to!” you exclaim excitedly. “That is, as long as it’s alright with everyone.”

 “Oh, I don’t mind in the least!” Amanda says happily, laughing.

 “You seem like a most wonderful person.” Benedict says. “I would have no problem with you tagging along with us for the afternoon.”

 “Well, then we had better get out of our wardrobe and into our street clothes.” Amanda continues. “If you’ll just excuse us, dear.”

 “Of course,“ you nod. “Go right ahead! I’ll give the crew members my cell number so they can reach me if they need to.”

They nod in agreement, exiting to their dressing rooms. You notify the crew where you will be, and give them your number. Martin and Amanda are out first, and they explain to you where they live, so you can tell the cab where to go. Benedict emerges from his own room soon thereafter, talking with one of the crew members briefly and texting at the same time.

 “Are we ready to go?” Martin asks when Benedict walks up to the group.

“I believe so - meet you there?” Benedict replies. “Your house, I presume?”

 “Yep!” Amanda affirms. “We’ll leave in our car, and (y/n) will be taking a cab. We’ll see you all at the house!”

Everyone descends the stairs of 221B, and you hail a cab as Martin and Amanda climb into their car. You are startled when Benedict climbs into the cab right after you, giving the cabbie directions.

 “Um” you say, “I thought you had a car you would be taking?”

“I wasn’t about to let you travel London all by yourself!” he laughs. “And besides, the address you have written on the back of your hand is wrong, you have the numbers all mixed up. It’s eighty, not eighteen.”

 “Oh,” you say sheepishly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he grins. “Do you need anything from your hotel before we get there?”

 “No, I don’t think so.” You’re still unsure about how to react to having the world-famous celebrity in your cab. ‘He’s just being courteous’ you say to yourself; ‘this means nothing other than he wants to be nice to the guest’. Your head is chanting it over and over again, but your heart doesn’t seem to get the message. It thumps erratically in your chest, and you can only hope that he can’t hear it as loudly as you can.

 After what seems both an eternity and a minute in the cab, it pulls to a stop outside Martin and Amanda’s house. Before you can even reach into your purse to pay the cabbie, Benedict has it taken care of.

 “Thank you again,” you mumble, blushing slightly.

 “Very welcome,” he says, stepping out of the cab and holding his hand out for you to take.

 You gingerly accept it, stepping out of the cab as gracefully as you can. It is by no means elegant, but at least you don’t trip.

After the cab has left, Ben walks up the steps and knocks on the door; Martin opens it almost instantly. When you both had enter the house, it takes almost all of your self-control to not gasp in amazement. Their house, while not huge at all, is simply beautiful.

 “Your house is amazing!” you say out loud. “I’ve never seen a house so elegant and beautiful.“

“Thank you very much,” Amanda says with a laugh, “Why don’t we all just gather in the living room instead of standing around in the entryway?”

 Everyone follows Amanda into the sitting room, finding places to sit. There are two individual chairs sitting in front of a fireplace, and then two loveseat sofas facing each other, with a coffee table in between.

 Amanda and Martin sit on one sofa, leaving the other for yourself and Benedict to share. You can feel your skin flush, but you hope that no one else can see.

 “So, (y/n),” Amanda said, “How exactly did you start watching Sherlock? I know it’s not as popular in America as it is here.”

 “Well, actually,” you reply, grateful for an excuse to think of something other than the man sitting next to you, “I started watching it because of all the good things said about it on Tumblr. Tumblr is a fan-based site where people can talk about their favorite shows, books, movies, and pretty much everything else.”

 “I’ve heard of it.” Amanda said, “So that’s what caused you to enter the contest, was it on Tumblr?”

 “Well, when I first started watching Sherlock, I was currently really into a book series, and didn’t really want to get too much into the show. My best friend, however, was convinced that when I watched the show I would instantly fall in love with Ben- I mean the show.” You mentally slap yourself for letting that one slip. “Turns out, as much as I fought it, she was right and I fell in love with the show. I’d read the original books since I was little, so the show was just perfect for me. When I saw the contest on Tumblr, I couldn’t help but enter it.”

 “Well, I’ll bet you’re glad that you did!” Martin laughs.

 “So very glad. After all, if I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have ever met any of you!” you reply, looking at all of the people in the room individually, and trying not to linger on Benedict for too long.

 “Does anyone want to play a game?” Martin asks.

 Everyone agrees that they do, and for the remainder of the afternoon and evening you all play card games and share funny stories. Amanda even makes and serves dinner for everyone. You offer and try to help with the dishes, but Martin and Benedict both override your offer and do it themselves, leaving you and Amanda in the sitting room together.

 “You like him, don’t you?” Amanda remarks quietly, obviously trying to keep the boys from hearing.

 “What?!” you stutter, flustered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “You don’t have to panic, I won’t tell anyone,” she says. “But it is rather obvious that you fancy Ben. I don’t quite know if he fancies you, but it does look hopeful.”

 “Thanks for not saying anything in front of him,” you mumble, completely embarrassed. “I really didn’t want his impression of me to be that I’m just another crazy fangirl.”

 “It’s alright, I understand how you feel!” Amanda soothes. “I do have one bit of advice for you, though. I know it’s hard to do around people that you look up to, and people that you fancy, but do try to just be yourself. Hiding parts of who you are, or pretending to like and dislike things you don’t really will get you nowhere with anyone.”

“Thank you,” you reply gratefully. “I’m just sorry I won’t be seeing any of you after today.”

 “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Amanda says, winking.

Before you can ask what she meant, Benedict and Martin come back in, laughing about something. The rest of the night speeds on faster than you believe possible, and it is soon time for you to go back to your hotel. After many hugs and farewells, Benedict leaves with you again in the cab, insisting on walking you to the doors of the hotel.

It is a quiet cab ride, though part of you is glad for it. You aren’t sure you’d be able to keep your voice steady if you had to speak. When the cab pulls to a stop, Benedict steps out first, again lending you a hand to get out of the cab. After asking the cabbie to wait for him, he leads you up to the entrance doors of the hotel.

 “It was wonderful meeting you, (y/n),” he smiles.

 “Same to you, Benedict,” you murmur, cheeks warming.

 “Please, do call me Ben,” he replies, still smiling. He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses it before turning to leave. “Goodnight, (y/n)!”

“Goodnight, Ben,” you say, just barely loud enough for him to hear. You can barely hear it yourself, the blood is rushing through your ears so loudly. When you lie down to sleep that night, your dreams are filled with echoes of the day you have just had.

 The next morning, the crew members call you and tell you to be ready by ten a.m. for your tour. The sights that you see are amazing, and you even make easy conversation with a few locals that are also on the bus.

Buckingham Palace is amazing, the elegance and the flawless architecture entertaining your eyes for hours. You stay in the Palace until closing at seven pm, and then decide to find a place to eat. Before you can decide where you want to eat, your phone’s ringtone catches your attention. An unread text appears on the screen, and you open it.

 “Are you available for dinner? –SH”

 “Uh, yea. Who is this?” you type back.

“You just saw me yesterday! I’ll meet you at the Cantinetta on 162-164 Lower Richmond Road. –SH”

You consider ignoring the stranger’s texts, until you realize what the signature line means. ‘SH’ has to stand for Sherlock Holmes. Which means Benedict has to be asking you out to dinner. Your heart dances inside your chest as the cab takes you to your destination. You get out and see him standing in slacks and a dress shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

 “Glad to see you made it,” he smirks, helping you out of the cab and into the restaurant.

 “I was confused by the text at first, but I realized it was you when I saw the signature line,” you say lightly, sitting at a table as you try to compose yourself.

“I suppose I probably should have told you who it was in the first text,” he says sheepishly, “But thankfully you were smart enough to figure it out on your own. I’m glad that the crew member I asked had your mobile number.”

“So that’s how you got it!” you exclaim, then snicker. “I’m rather impressed with your supreme level of secrecy. I thought you were just texting someone.” Amanda’s words echo in your mind, reminding you to be yourself to the best of your ability.

 “Yes, I wasn’t sure how to go about it with you directly, so I resorted to secrecy.” he says, perhaps a little embarrassed. “Did you see everything you wanted to?”

“Everything but the London Eye.” you reply. “But it’s a little late for that now. I doubt it will be open after we’re done eating.”

“I don’t know,” he says, and smiles mysteriously. “But now that the whole texting mess is over, shall we eat?”

You eat dinner between stories and laughs, and soon you forget you’re out with a celebrity, instead imagining that he is an old friend. When you have finished dinner, he pays the ticket before you can even look at it.

“Is this it  - am I headed back to my hotel then?” you ask teasingly as he hails a cab for you.

 “Not quite yet,” he says. He leans in, and tells the cabbie where he wants to go, though you can’t hear where. He helps you into the cab, then enters himself, closing the door. Instead of sitting across from you, as he had the last time you had ridden together, he sits next to you, causing you to turn a bright shade of pink. You are glad for the dark night; it makes your blush much easier to hide.

 “Now, cover your eyes,” he says quietly.

 You do as you are told, though curiosity is creeping up quickly. What on earth would he be doing that you had to close your eyes for? He helps you out of the now stopped cab, making sure you keep your eyes closed. You hear the cab drive away, and Benedict pulls gently on your arms.

 “You can look now, (y/n).”

 When you open your eyes, you gasp. The London Eye looms above you, changing colors in the starlight. He leads you to the loading area, handing the attendant two tickets that he has in his pocket. You sit next to each other, and the attendant closes the pod’s door. It isn’t long before you are being lifted up above the Thames to see London at night. Everything is alight, and you can see the steady streams of traffic moving through on streets far away.

 “This is… amazing,” you whisper, in awe of the urban beauty.

 “I’m glad you like it,” Benedict says warmly, “It was the least I could do to make your stay in London the best it could be.”

 “This is just icing on the cake, really,” you say softly. “I mean, you have been nothing but kind and sweet and amazing to me since I first laid eyes on you. I can’t even begin to think of how to thank you.”

 “You don’t have to,” he says. “Your eyes say it all.”

“I’m sorry if I at all seemed like a crazy fangirl,” you mutter. “I tried so hard to contain my excitement with everything with you, and Martin and Amanda, of course. There’s times I’m sure I slipped, though.”

“I never noticed anything too strange,” he replied, smiling. “The only slightly fangirly thing you did is when you said you instantly fell in love with the show… except you started saying something else before you corrected yourself. I’m curious as to what you were going to say, though I think I have a good idea.”

 Your mind battles with what to say, but as the Eye changes colors, and Benedict looks at you with his own eyes that change colors, you can’t make yourself lie. You can only hope Amanda was right.

“I was starting to say your name, because you’re who my friend told me I’d fall in love with,” you mumble quickly, looking down in shame. “And she is still right about that. I hope you don’t think of me any less for it. I completely understand that this is just to give me a fun time in London, and that there’s nothing at all between us aside from perhaps a new friendship. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me while I’m here, and-“

Your words are cut off mid-rant by a pair of lips pressed to yours. You flush beet red, and can’t stop yourself from putting a hand in his hair, responding to the surprise kiss. When you break apart, you continue to blush red, and look down at your toes while you fiddle with your hands.

 “It’s not just that I wanted you to have a good time,” he murmurs. “I liked you the moment I set eyes on you. You’re beautiful without trying, you’re funny without overdoing it. You, (y/n), are positively stunning in every way.”

“I don’t know what to say to that…” you whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he promises, grasping your hand with his.

 You lean closer, and this time it is your turn to kiss him, burying your fingers in his curly hair. You feel like you are on top of the world.

And so it is at the top of the London Eye, on Westminster Bridge road, that you and Benedict share your first kisses. The first of many more to come.

RULES: Reblog if you DARE someone to write a fic about you and the character of their choosing and send it in an ask/submit.

Ok so this started as being short but i just took it and ran with it XD. I didn’t realize how old you were until afer i wrote it so sorry but you’re like five years older in this fic DX did my best, please do let me know if you enjoyed it! I kinda spent a lot longer on this than i thought i would, but i just couldnt stop! Sorry for the cornyness and horrible writing but i hope you like it <3

It wasn’t as if you had exactly chosen to live on Baker Street. But when you lost your job, there was only one more place you were left to go. John Watson was the closest thing you had to family anywhere near England, and thus the only option for you if you wanted to remain in London. You had called originally asking to stay a few nights so you could sort out what you wanted to do next, but he insisted that you stay as long as you needed. 

“Between myself and my flatmate, we’ve more than got rent covered. What are friends for? Stay as long as you need, and just let me know if you need anything.” he said, then giving you directions to the door you were knocking at now. 

“Hello, Kate!” John said when he answered the door. “Do you need help with your bags? Let me take them for you.“ 

You laughed at his enthusiasm. You weren’t quite sure you’d seen him so happy to see you the entire time you had been friends. 

"So how’s your flatmate?” you asked, wondering why they had not come down to meet their new flatmate. 

“He’s… Sherlock.” John said, shrugging as if that explained everything. 

“Soo.. is he at home?” you asked, following John up the stairs as he set the bags in your new room.

“Oh yes. He’s home.” John said, “I think he’s in the living room or the kitchen.”

“I’m going to go say hello!” you said cheerily, walking over to the living room. 

“I don’t know if I would-” John said, his voice cut off by your shriek. “Go in there.”

You had walked into the living room, only to find Sherlock using a gas torch to burn what appeared to be a severed brain stem.

“Ah, you must be John’s friend, Kate.” he said, setting the body part into a silver bowl and shutting off the torch. “As a warning, I do play the violin at odd hours, I eat sparatically and go without talking for days on end. A flatmate should know the worst about the other. As for yourself, You can use the telly, erm, excuse me, television, to watch your sci-fi all you like, as long as John has no objections. I also have a set of Tolkien’s works on that shelf over there.” he said, gesturing to a shelf. “Any questions?”

"A Few?” you said. he simply nodded for you to continue.

“Why did you change your statement from telly to television? How did you know I watched sci-fi? How did you know I read Tolkien’s books? Did John tell you all of this?” you spat out all in one breath, rather flustered and shocked that this stranger knew all about what you liked just from looking at you. 

“John told me nothing about you other than your name and that you were a friend.” Sherlock began, stepping over into the living room and pacing back and forth in a small line.

“As for how I know so much about you, it’s simple as looking and listening. Your accent is clearly American, though you’ve picked up a slight London accent in your ten years here. You’re wearing a knitted scarf. To anyone just looking at you, it wouldn’t mean anything, but I happen to know that scarf is a replica of the fourth Doctor’s, something only a fan of the show would own.” His eyes seemed to change color as he spoke, dancing with light as he paced back and forth. His curly dark hair looked quite soft, but you were far from willing to go up and touch it.  "As for the reading of Tolkien, not only does it suit your personality, I realized this because there is a well-worn paperback copy of “the Silmarillion” poking out of your purse.“

There was a slight pause, Sherlock clearly having finished explaining himself and waiting for your reaction. John in the doorway, shaking his head slowly at Sherlock. 

"How the heck did you do that?” you muttered. 

“I simply observe.” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some experimenting to finish.” he stode over into the kitchen and took up his torch, and you turned and headed out of the room.

“I’m sorry about that.” John said, “He can be quite overbearing someti- a lot of the time. He doesn’t realize what he does.”

“Oh, its alright.” you said, walking slowly into your room, “It will just take some getting used to, that’s all." 

"Let me know if he gets to be too much, or if there’s anything else you need.” John said, leaving the room. 

“This will be interesting indeed.” you muttered, falling backwards onto your bed. 

As the next few weeks rolled by, you fell into a rythm with the sparatic schedule that John and Sherlock kept. There was a few times where John would invite you out on a case with them, but you had only accepted once.

Along with the fact that you were sure that you would only get in the way, you found yourself flustered when Sherlock would ask you anything, and you didn’t want to look like a total fool in public. At first you had simply thought him strange and rather annoying at times, his quirky personality was growing on you and you were afraid of what that meant. You were most sure that he would never return feelings of that sort, and you were making it your mission to make sure that he would never see you developing them. Since he saw through everything, there was no better defence than trying to not develop feelings at all. 

But that wasn’t easy when you constantly saw him, he constantly spoke to both you and John. After a short while you realized that it worried you when he would stop being rude about some things, because it usually meant that he had discovered something new and unnerving about Moriarty. You kept to yourself as best you could, but even to your own inspections it was obvious you were falling for the consulting detective. However, Sherlock often was oblivious to the obvious, especially when it came to feelings. Perhaps you had a chance.

“I’m going out for last minute groceries, do either of you need anything?” you asked, putting on your scarf and hat and heading towards the door. It was Christmas eve and you needed a few things for dinner the next day. 

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” John said.

“Sherlock?” you asked.

“I don’t need anything.” he said, but when John shot him a look, he hastily added “Thank you.”

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind you. Readjusting your purse on your shoulder, you set off on foot, not wanting to wait for a cab. 

You were almost to the store when you suddenly felt a mist on your face. At first you thought you had imagined it, as it had stopped, but then you felt dizzy and lightheaded. You were out cold in seconds.

When you woke up, it was on an old, dusty floor in a room you had never seen before. You could hear the pitter patter of rain on the rooftop,  and it was very dark outside the window. How long had you been out, and more importantly, where were you and how did you get there?

“Nice to see you’re finally awake.” a cool voice said from somwhere in the shadows of the room. The drug had not yet worn off, and as a result you couldn’t decide where the voice was coming from.

“Who are you?” you said shakily, “What do you want from me?”

“Oh it’s nothing i want from you.” he said, “It’s who I want from you. You’re going to give me Sherlock Holmes.”

"What makes you think I’m going to tell you anything?” you said, your quivering voice betraying your otherwise brave statement. 

“I don’t need you to say a word.” he said. “Sherlock will come to you. And thus, to me.” he stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, with dress shoes to match it. "Let’s just say I’m an old friend who wants to win a game of Chess.“

"Moriarty.” you whispered, internally cringing. “You’re insane!”

He shrugged “You do what you gotta do.”

You heard something slam open below you, and there was the sound of feet running up stairs. A familiar voice was yelling your name, but just as you were about to call out in respose, a pistol was held to your head.

“Shhhhh. Not yet.” he said. 

The door to the room burst open, and Sherlock followed, handgun raised at Moriarty.

“Let her go.” he said sternly, aim unwavering.

Morairty raised his hands above his head, seemingly surprised that Sherlock had brought a weapon. A small part of you noted that it was John’s gun. A larger part of you realized what grave danger you were in, and you began crying quietly. You didn’t want to die. You wanted to go home and tell John and Mrs. Hudson that you loved them, and to wrap Sherlock up in a hug for the first time. Whether he liked it or not didn’t matter, but you wanted to do it before you died. Now it seemed like you wouldn’t get the chance. 

“Fine. Shoot me.” Moriarty said, “But then she’ll die." 

Sherlock glanced at you, suddenly paleing. you didn’t understand until you saw a red dot cross over your arm before finding its way to your chest. Snipers.

"What do you want?” Sherlock said, “What is it that you want from me now?”

“Just to see how quickly it would take you to find me.” Moriarty chuckled. “Think of it as an experament. I’ll be seeing you later." 

Suddenly, the room began to flood with smoke-like fog, making visibility unattainable. Your already tear-filled eyes became itchy and even more irritated, and you gasped for clean air. Your sobs now audible, you coughed and groped about on the floor to find the doorway. You felt hands on your arms, dragging you towards the door and breathable air.

When you were safely out of the room and had been lead tripping down a few flights of stairs(you still couldn’t see clearly), the hands that had pulled you out of the room found their way around your body and held you close. 

It took a moment for your drug-slowed brain to realize that it was Sherlock that was hugging you. Sherlock. Hugging you willingly. You might have had a different reaction were you operating normally, but given your drug-laiden and trauma filled evening, you could only sit in his arms, gripping his shirt and coat in your hands and burying your face in his shoulder. 

Weather from the trauma or the drugs, you weren’t sure, but you didnt’ realize when or how you had been taken back to Baker street. All you could think of was that you weren’t letting go of Sherlock. He struggled and managed to remove his coat and sports jacket, but made no attempt to remove your hands from his shirt. He simply laid down on your bed with you, wrapping his arms around you as you fell into a deep sleep.

When you woke in the morning, your brain was functioning normally once again. Yet you still couldn’t figure out why Sherlock was still in your bed, sleeping peacefully. Figuring it was an effect of the fog on his thinking, you tried to slip out of his arms without waking him. But his arms simply pulled you closer.

"I thought you enjoyed this.” he mumbled into the sheets. 

“I dont think you do.” you sighed, assured that he wasn’t himself. Sherlock would never do this.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he said, a little less groggy this time.

“Because you don’t love me.” you said. “The fog is messing with your brain. You never acted like this before then, and I would know, because i’ve wanted it for the longest time and I would have noticed.” You stopped, realizing that you had said too much. You flushed red, and sat up in the bed.

“John’s always telling me that I can’t see the most obvious of things, even when its about me.” he said quietly. “And when I do see them it’s my first instinct to hide it. After last night i realized that I was done hiding. I’d seen you for the longest time acting strangely, and it took me longer than it should have to figure out why. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Wow.” you whispered, “A hug and an apology first thing in the morning? It must be Christmas.” you laughed, blushing when you realized how close you were to him.

"Certainly feels that way.” he murmered, closing the distance between you as he captured your lips in a kiss. It was short, sweet, and hesitant, but you’d never experienced anything better in your life.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes.” you whispered, recapturing his lips. You lay down, exchanging passionate kisses and tender caresses on the other’s face. You and Sherlock spent Christmas day in bed, enjoying each other’s company and reveling in the knowledge that there was finally another who loved you back. 

And it was the best person you could have ever asked for.

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