Work Text:
221B Baker Street was unusually quiet. Hermione could hear the violin from the main room, which meant Sherlock was up, but that didn’t tell her what kind of mood he was in. Lately, his moods seemed to be getting worse and worse. His last case had ended in a trash fire sort of way. While the case had been solved, it had no real happy ending. It was enough to leave anyone in a bad mood, let alone Sherlock. So far he had managed to run off John and Mrs. Hudson wasn’t leaving her apartment. Not with how he had spoken to her the last time she had come up the stairs.
The only person he hadn’t managed to run off was Hermione and even then, it was a close call. The argument they had had the previous night still weighed heavily on her mind. When Sherlock had stormed out of the apartment, her first thought was he had gone to score. Then a saner, less mad part of her brain said he wouldn’t do that to her. Not after he had promised her he would stay clean. Not after everything they had gone through together. He wouldn’t risk throwing that all away. Not after he had fought so hard to get clean and stay clean.
Her night had been one of inner turmoil when he didn’t return home. The fact she had fallen asleep in an empty bed since the first time she moved into 221B Baker Street wasn’t lost on her. The sun had been peeking over the horizon when Hermione had finally drifted off to sleep.
Their argument from the night before kept playing over and over inside her head. Part of her wondered if she shouldn’t have left. Give him some space to wrap his head around everything. She’d turned his whole world upside down last night.
It was an understandable reaction. Especially considering how driven by logic Sherlock was. Magic was so far outside the realm of possibilities within his world. Hermione should have known that was how this conversation was going to go. Even as the eerie sound of the violin tried to draw her up and out of bed, Hermione fought the allure.
It was best to let Sherlock have time to think. Just because he was back didn’t mean he had wrapped his head around everything yet. It was a lot to take in. Hermione remembered how long it had taken her parents to accept that she was a witch. She figured it would take Sherlock about six times as long.
She couldn’t tell if he was more upset about the fact she hid it from him or the fact he hadn’t figured it on his own.
Either was a strong possibility.
Just as she was getting ready to roll back over and attempt to go back to sleep, the music stopped. Hermione sighed, pushing herself up and out of bed. Pulling on one of his old dress shirts, she slipped on a loose pair of shorts just as the bedroom door opened.
They stared at each other for a moment before he inched closer to her. When he was close enough, he reached out and took one of Hermione’s hands in his. Bringing her hand up, he placed a kiss on the back of it before sitting down on the bed and pulling her down with him.
“I’m sorry I overreacted last night.” His voice was thick; it was obvious he had been upset about the whole ordeal. “I know what you told me last night seemed impossible, but I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. You’ve been so good to be, and you didn’t deserve that.” Hermione sighed, still put up by their argument, but deep down, she understood his reaction.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
“You called me a liar. Said I was delusional.” She really didn’t want to rehash their argument again, but what he had said hurt. Logical argument or not. “Yet I understand why you of all people would have a hard time believing that magic was real.” Sherlock reached out and wiped away a tear Hermione hadn’t even realized was starting to fall. “But you shouldn’t have reacted the way you did. Hard time accepting magic or not.” Sherlock nodded, nuzzling into her neck only to be affronted when she gently pushed him away.
“What do I have to do to make it up to you?” His words were sincere; they’d been together long enough for her to tell that. The problem was, it wasn’t something a person could make up. Once the words were out there, there was no taking them back.
“You can’t.” At his crestfallen look, Hermione rushed to continue. “It’s not something that needs to be made up for. Just do better next time. Actually listen to me when I’m trying to tell you something instead of immediately jumping to the conclusion that I’m insane. You know me Sherlock. You’ve known me for years, and you know I showed no symptoms of having a psychotic break. Yet your first thought was I had one. That stung more than you’ll ever realize.” He interlaced their fingers before he pressed a kiss into the base of her neck.
“I know love. I just needed time to wrap my head around it, but that’s no excuse.” His voice was soft and apologetic. “I can’t promise we won’t argue again. That’s not how human nature works. Yet there’s no excuse. We should have been able to talk about it. Talk it through, and I didn’t even give you a chance to do so.” Hermione sighed, leaning into his touch as his hand trailed the base of her neck.
“Just promise me that it won’t happen again. I don’t care that we argue. We're too much alike not to. What matters is we resolve it. We don’t let it linger. I don’t want to fight like we did last night. That wasn’t arguing, that was down right fighting and that’s not what we do. You know that and I know that.” Hermione sighed, leaning into his touch as the anger slowly began to leave her body. She could never stay angry with him long.
Not when he treated her like she was his whole world. Not when they fit so well together. Not when she finally felt whole when she had found him. Sherlock had saved her. He’d saved her from herself, and that was something she could never repay him for. Nor would he ever ask her to.
That was just how they were. They filled in each other's gaps and softened each other's flaws. Some said their relationship would never work. The years that had passed since they had first gotten together had proven otherwise. Outsiders couldn’t understand what they had with each other.
That was okay because they weren’t meant to.
It was them and when it came down to it that was all that mattered.
“I swear it.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips, smirking at the sigh that escaped her. “I know I don’t say it often enough, but I love you.” It was true, he didn’t say it often enough.
Yet Hermione found she knew he loved her.
He always had, and always would.
That was enough for her.