Chapter Text
Y/n comes in from a night out only to find the door opposite her room cracked open slightly, light streaming through.
“Do you ever sleep?" No answer.
Sherlock looks very engrossed in a petri dish on his desk, lit by a dim, white light. "Sherlock." "Hm?" "You've been up for at least 48 hours looking at that thing! Give your eyes a rest and come back to it."
"I can't miss anything," he said.
Y/n sighs and stumbles across the hall to retrieve her camera. She plugs it into the wall to charge and balances it on some books so it looks over the dish. Sherlock shoots her a few brief glances, trying to figure out what she was doing. "There, you can watch it back in the morning," she gestures to her mishmash surveillance setup. He eyes the image and must approve, seeing as he gets up and then into the bed behind him, still in his dirty clothes.
“Have you eaten today?”
Her question was met with a loud groan.
Being too tired to deal with his antics, y/n leaves her concern at the door and sighs a goodnight to her half-asleep friend.
"Goodnight... thank you," he mumbles as she leaves to go to her room across the hall.
—————-
Sherlock Holmes wasn't popular. He had no friends at university, as he deemed the concept quite unnecessary. There was also the fact that nobody wanted to be his friend due to his habit of knowing everything about everyone’s private life with a single glance. His impulsive and showoffy nature didn’t allow him to keep his judgement to himself either. During the first few months at uni, he was content with keeping to himself, splitting his time between his room and the lab.
He didn’t even want to be here in the first place, but his family absolutely insisted he get some sort of further education lest he spend the rest of his life being a genius, drug addict, vigilante who gets kicked out of every place he tries to rent. Just to spite them, he put no effort into his studies yet still passed every exam with As and merit, with only a few sarcastic comments about the nature of the questions written in the margin. He never so much as attended a lecture.
Until Y/n.
—————
She had transferred from York in September due to the need to be close to her grandpa. He had fallen gravely ill and could have a seizure at any moment, which doctors said would prove fatal. For her, it was an obvious choice between being there for her grandpa and staying north since he was the only family she had left. This was the man who did his best to take care of her in the wake of heartbreak. It wasn’t his fault he failed. It didn’t matter about the memories that this place she used to call ‘home’ brought up; y/n would see her family to its end.
She arrived without fanfare. Obviously. It was painfully quiet, which made the clunking of her bags down the corridor sound like a stampede of obnoxious wildebeest. The goal was to not wake up the sleep-deprived students at god knows what time in the morning. No need to make any enemies on the first day.
Y/n wanted to make friends, she really did. Proper friends. But all her life she had been trained to think that trust gets you killed, and that way of thinking was a hard habit to break. She was taught to do the whole spy thing of appearing to trust people on the surface but being deeply critical underneath, constantly scanning for inconsistencies or signs that who you’re talking with is a big fat liar. But being constantly suspicious was exhausting and fucking lonely, and she was done with the way she used to be.
After getting to her room as quietly as possible, she looked around at the drab, grey walls and empty desk in misery. She’ll have to buy a plant or two to brighten the place up.
She flopped on the bed.
And a mattress topper.
Being too tired to care about the springs digging into her back, she flicked her shoes off and went to sleep.
————
English and chemistry lectures were at the same time every Monday and Wednesday morning. Therefore, when trying to find her class, y/n asked for directions from the only other person she saw awake at 8 a.m.
She asked Sherlock Holmes.
—————
Upon meeting, Sherlock had told her everything he could deduce about her in one very, very long paragraph. “English student, fan of gothic classics, wary of others, although people still feel drawn to you for some reason. Something happened. You aren’t like that by nature. Smarter when it comes to logic-based problems, yet you still pursue English, why? Probably because it’s been your passion since you were a child. Childhood wasn’t a happy one… No siblings, recovering addict, annndd you keep your shirts folded, not hung. Nervous disposition yet try to appear outgoing to protect yourself, but from what I’m not sure..." Sherlock was particularly proud of this deduction and was well prepared to deal with the angry aftermath; however, instead of doing the usual 'looking frightened or pissed and swiftly walking away', y/n stood quietly stunned until eventually saying, "That was amazing."
"It was simply observation," he said, not letting on to his surprise at her reaction.
"Huh," she gave him an analytical stare that drew him in immediately; he likened it to a look he himself would front when trying to solve a complex puzzle.
“What's your name?" Suddenly, the look was gone and replaced with something more lightly curious.
"Holmes, Sherlock"
"Well Holmes Sherlock, I'm y/n. Nice to meet you. Very impressive, all that, but I still need an answer to my previous question. You know, first day and such. My directional skills are decent, but with the size of this place, I doubt I could make it within the hour." Sherlock studied her, eyes squinting. "I'll walk you; it's on my way."
"Great!" she cracked a smile.
—————
After that first day, Sherlock and y/n saw each other every Monday and Wednesday morning to drink a cup of tea in their shared kitchen and then walk to class. The only reason Sherlock had started going to his lectures was so he would have a reason to study y/n further.
She darted around him at first, not completely sure how to behave around a man who could so easily read her. Her previous employer had trained her to hide what she didn’t want others to see, but with Sherlock, you could never be sure. The slightest slip, and he would know everything. However, this wary behaviour just caused Sherlock to be even more intrigued. He could tell that she was lonely from the moment he saw her. Obviously, from the fact that she was new and also from the old clothes she wore, which told him that she wasn’t used to making an effort for people. He also knew that she didn’t trust easily from this skittish behaviour that she tried so hard to hide. Still, he wanted to know more, for there was something he couldn’t quite place about his new acquaintance. His initial observations were accurate, but there was something he was missing. Something she was hiding.
Y/n found Sherlock to be quite abrasive at times. Rude. Nosy. But she couldn’t argue that this man was captivating. For all his faults, his brain was extraordinary, and his thought processes often left her stunned. He was honest and mostly kind to her. She had also been making her own observations these past months and had come to the conclusion that he was keeping a little secret from the world.
Sherlock Holmes cares. From the way he committed his own time to solving other people’s problems to the way he went quiet when the twats like Peter Phelps and Sebastian Wilkes made fun of him, she could see it plain as day.
Y/n could see Sherlock was not a trusting man either. Alas, they found themselves drawn to each other. Each morning that passed, opening up more and more. Until true smiles and laughter crept their way into conversations. Sherlock Holmes, with all his eccentricities and slight sociopathic tendencies, was adding a bit more colour to y/n’s life.
—————
On their walks to lectures, Y/n would point out sleep-deprived stragglers for Sherlock to deduce, and she would try her best at doing the same. Sherlock always laughed good-naturedly at her attempts, but in reality, he found her to be quite impressive. He didn’t know if y/n was aware of just how smart she was.
He would dare say he had a friend. His first, in fact. Though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure he could define what exactly a friend does, but he was fairly certain that y/n fit the criteria. He enjoyed her company, and she enjoyed his.
Eventually, they started seeing each other outside the allotted time slots of those class mornings. It was common to find one in the other's room as they lay on the floor together, stared up at the ceiling, or played a violently competitive game of monopoly.
After a few more months, the two were basically inseparable. This came with a lot of mockery from people, calling them ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ or ‘Psycho and sane'. Secretly, y/n quite liked the former. People could just not get their heads around the pair. “What’s the freak doing with the pretty girl?” “She seems nice enough. Don’t know what she’s going around with him for." “Are they together?” “No way”
———-
One night, they were playing 20 questions, which had devolved into just ‘questions’ as more and more drinks were consumed. They were splayed on the floor of Sherlock’s room, surrounded by science equipment and a large bottle of wine.
“Why don’t you trust people?” He slurred. She took a breath. Her heart was beating rapidly as her anxiety spiked at the question. It’s now or never. Cmon, she thought, it’s Sherlock. It’ll be okay.
”We did say no secrets. I know you’ve been hiding something, but I let it slide.” As he said that, Sherlock poked her forehead and then slid his finger down her face. It made her go cross-eyed.
That was true. No secrets. She’s the one who proposed it. Better for the both of them as untrusting individuals if they just didn’t keep secrets. She was going to have to tell him eventually. Better to do it while pissed; it would hurt less this way. So she took another breath and started.
“Everyone I’ve ever known has wanted something from me. The only friends I ever really had was this group in secondary school, who only kept me around because I had some money I inherited from my parents. They thought I was weird for caring about school, but they looked past it because I was easy to guilt into buying them shit if Daddy ever held back their allowance. I wanted friends so badly that I would do anything they asked me to. I had this other friend once, Toby, for a little bit. Turns out he was just waiting to get in my trousers. Once he did, I never heard from him again… Then there’s my parents… they were murdered.”
She started to tear up. The crying made Sherlock uncomfortable, but his curiosity overpowered it.
”And half the time I’d look at someone and just think, Did you do it? Were you the person who ruined my life? I know they didn’t really, but they’re capable, that’s the thing. People are capable of hurting the people I love. And that terrified me. So I guess it was just easier not to keep people around. After my parents died, I fell down a bit of a hole. Got in with the wrong crowd, so to speak. Bad people who made me do bad things that I wish I could take back. They taught me that trusting people got you killed, and in my…’line of work’, it did.”
She had calmed down slightly now and was fixing her gaze on a stain on the wall to avoid looking at Sherlock. That would remind her of how exposed she felt. She felt weak, and she hated it.
”I was so young," she mused.
”So what were you? Runner? Spy?”
"Assassin,” she blurted. God, she was giving away so much.
“Right. So how’d you get out?”
“I had a friend... Sebastian. The boss had a soft spot for him, so with some favours, he let me go. Along with a target on my back for the rest of my life...
Your turn, tell me something about you.”
“I… am a recovering drug addict, and I solve problems to get high.” He admitted still taking in Y/n’s answer.
“Cheers to recovery, I guess,” she sloppily said, raising her glass. “When we first met,” she continued, "you said I was a recovering addict. What gave it away?”
”Takes one to know one. Plus, the light sweating, red eyes, and heart palpitations helped. What was your poison?”
“Mainly Adderall. Got me through school, but I did a lot of shit. I don’t even know what half of it was. You?”
“Morphine and cocaine,” Sherlock said. They clink glasses.
"Why do you trust me?” he wonders.
Y/n sits quietly for a moment to contemplate her answer.
“There’s just… something about you. God, that sounds stupid. It’s just- I feel like I’ve known you for years. You don’t lie; you’re too brutal for that. And I can tell you care about people, really. Your brother, for instance. I know he annoys you, but I can tell you love him. I think you care about me too; otherwise, you wouldn’t have helped me like you did when my grandpa died. A sociopath wouldn’t do that. Helping me had no benefit to you. I think you tell yourself that because it’s easier than caring because caring gets you hurt, so you try to convince yourself that you feel nothing at all. And even if I’m wrong, you’re so fucking extraordinary, it makes it difficult to care.”
She turns her head to look at him. He smirks.
”Besides,” she smiled, “if you betray me, I’ll just kill you."
They looked at each other seriously before bursting into laughter.
“I’d like to see you try.”
—————-
The friendship with Sherlock had started to develop Y/n’s confidence towards others as well. God forbid she truly let anyone in properly; that was far too dangerous, but she did start to meet a few people in her English lecture and even gained herself a girlfriend for a while. She knew it probably wouldn’t end up as much but decided it was worth a shot. Y/n liked Jasmine; she was pretty and smart and funny and they liked the same books. But the relationship really was just light conversations and sex—no real depth, no emotion. Y/n would become bristly whenever Jasmine asked about her childhood or family, and it felt like the two didn’t actually know each other. And y/n believed that Jasmine knew too that the relationship wouldn’t last. It was fun, though. Neither regretted it, but Jasmine had been pulling away, hoping to make an inevitable breakup easier for the both of them.
But y/n still had Sherlock. Her friend. Her best friend.
——-
"BORRREDDD!" Sherlock shouted as he barged into a sleeping y/ns room. That woke her up. Just as she was opening her eyes, she saw a giant sherlock flopping on top of her. "Boorreddd," he complained into the pillow.
"I don’t care, Sherly. I'm hungover and tired, and I have a massive headache. If you want something to do, you can pass me the ibuprofen." He sloppily grabbed some from the bedside table and passed it to her. They both sat up against the headboard.
"Uugh," y/n groaned from the motion. "Have fun last night?"
"Must’ve done"
"how’s Jasmine?"
"she’s good. How could you tell I was with her?"
"Well, she’s put you off so many times that probability states she said yes this time, annd you're wearing her T-shirt."
"oh shit. OH SHIT. Sherlock I'm not wearing pants." He chuckled and got a pair out of her draw, chucking them at her face. "Thank you," she said innocently, putting them on under her duvet.
"Break up with her. You’ve avoided each other for weeks; it’s inevitable. You’re just using each other for sex, and it’s going to hurt more in the long run."
“I agree... Look at you looking out for my feelings," y/n said with a small smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Secretly, he was glad she was going to end things. When Jasmine was around, y/n didn’t pay nearly as much attention to him as he would like. Seeing his best friend be so intimate with someone else caused a twinge in his chest that he couldn’t label. But he was glad she was happy, he supposed. For a time. Seeing her genuinely smile was a rare privilege, and before things took a downturn with Jasmine, they had become more common. He looked at her. "You were out with someone else?" "Patrick," "the twat?" "Yes, Patrick the twat," "you really need to rethink your company, y/n."
"Well then I assume that includes you?"
"OF COURSE NOT you are well aware you could not find a more BRILLIANT best friend," Sherlock shouted extravagantly. Y/n winced.
"I could definitely find a quieter one. What's got you coming in here all shouty?"
"I solved it, y/n, I solved the case!"
She properly smiled at that, excitement in her eyes.
"Oh my GOD! FINALLY! You've been in that room for weeks." She got up, gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek, and went to pull some trousers on.
"It was Professor Roland. He's cheating on his wife in the science block toilets and needed to cover it up. The mould matches perfectly," Sherlock explained.
"Oh wow. Kev Roland, I swear. That’s absolutely vile. Please tell me you threw the Petri dish into a proper bin.”
“I don’t remember.”
"Right, do that. After, do you wanna go get coffee?" "No, but I'll come while you get coffee," he answered, quickly speeding down the corridor.
He does that a lot. "Fine, let’s just forget the toilet mould in your bedroom, why don’t we," she muttered to herself.
“Come along, poet!” He shouted from ahead.
Y/n jogged to catch up while Sherlock spoke to himself about fungi.
”poet, ey? That’s a new one,” she interrupted, finally matching Sherlock’s pace and hoping to move away from his current gross conversation topic.
"Well, it’s true. Full of pretty words, my poet,” he said, without a hint of insincerity.
She smiled. “Shall I compare thee to a summers day?”
”you shall”
They linked arms and headed into town.