Y/N pulled away and Sherlock opened his eyes again, curiously. "Why have you stopped?"
"Was that our doorbell or Mrs Hudson's?"
Sherlock knew but by no means did he care. If Y/N hadn't have pointed it out he probably wouldn't have registered the irritating little sound at all. "It doesn't matter. Kiss me again. Please."
Grinning at his desperacy, one of her hands was cupping his jawline, her forehead inches from his, and she rubbed her thumb over his cheek. He looked very nice with his curls all messed up over the pillow. Pecking the space between his eyebrows: "I think it was for us. Shouldn't we get it?"
Shaking his head, Sherlock took the back of Y/N's and tugged her back down, kissing her lips slowly until she moaned, the sound making him roll back his eyes. But it was his turn to tease her now, he wanted to get back at her for tormenting him so. He broke the kiss, moving his lips to the corner of her mouth instead, smirking at her little noise of irritation. He'd forgotten the doorbell already. All Sherlock was currently aware of was the pleasing weight of Y/N's body over his, and her fingers that were now running through his hair as she tried to chase his lips.
Downstairs, the door opened and the low buzz of voices drifted up through the floor. Someone with a gruff London accent was talking to a woman.
Y/N muttered against Sherlock's cheek as he made a trail of caresses over her nose. "Sherlock, it's Lestrade. We should see what he wants."
Sherlock's skin tingled at her breathily gasping his name. Suddenly he wished they had their own house so there was no landlord living below them to let in random police officers. The mental image of owning a house with Y/N sent a little thrill through him and he took her hips and pushed her quickly back onto the bed. She squealed with laughter as he straddled her waist, beaming. The sun was seeping through the curtains, casting the woman below him into brilliant light and he almost chuckled at how it seemed to make her glow. Like gold at the end of a rainbow, or treasure at the end of a quest. Sherlock let his gaze rover over her, her sparkling eyes, her smile. He bent down to kiss over her forehead and down, over her cheek lovingly, tantalisingly slowly, the corners of his lips drawn back in a grin. "Lets not."Â Let's stay here forever.
Y/N couldn't help her legs moving up to wrap around Sherlock's narrow waist and he thought, triumphantly, that he'd won as she said: "I want to stay here and cuddle with you all morning too---"
"Then we shall."
Y/N giggled at his neediness. "---But what if Lestrade is here for something important, though? Like last week---" she gasped as Sherlock nipped her ear between his teeth. "When those kids were missing?"
Sherlock stopped what he'd been doing at her neck, the mood very much ruined, but he didn't mind so much now. She had a point. Lestrade rarely comes over for cases that weren't really important. Someone might need help, and it was his job to do that. He sighed moodily. "Fine. We'll go see what he wants. But if it's stupid can we come straight back up here?" He'd let Y/N go, moving off her and helping her up from the bed. Well, more like directing her off the bed and into his arms again so he could press another kiss to her lips.
'Wow, kissing is addictive,'Â he thought.' Or maybe Y/N is addictive. Can you get addicted to a person? Because I think I am.'
Not that that seems to be a bad thing. All those times he'd stood in this exact spot feeling lonely, bored, his footprints being the only ones pressed into the carpet, and now suddenly here he was with Y/N. Naked. Kissing after the best night of his life.
She stroked a hand over his head. "Perfect. Or we could..." She nestled closer to him, the room brisk against their still-bare skin. "...cuddle up on the sofa and watch some Netflix..."
Sherlock looked down at her, confused. "But we do that most days---" then be blushed at the glint in her eyes, the penny metaphorically dropping. "O-oh. Yes, please."
Y/N's face broke out in a smile. "Did you just stutter?"
Doing a poor job at being convincing, especially because his cheekbones were candyfloss-coloured at the feeling of Y/N standing so close with no clothes on: "No, of course not. I don't stutter."
"You absolutely did." She'd moved away from Sherlock, now, much to his disappointment, and they reluctantly started donning the pyjamas they'd had on last night; when Y/N had walked into his bedroom, back when they were just friends. "I'm going to nip upstairs to get dressed before we let Lestrade in. See you in the living room. There will be plenty of time for playing around in bed another day." She leant up to kiss his cheek before she left, leaving Sherlock with a swell of happiness in his chest.
He quickly stopped her, taking her wrist gently and pulling her to face him. "So there will be another day? They'll be more of this? We are...you know...together, now? Definitely?" That had come out a lot more hopeful than he'd meant it to.
Y/N didn't seem to mind. She seemed to find it the most adorable thing she'd ever seen. "Yes. I'd like there to be very much. So much." She was blushing now. "You know...If you do."
To say Sherlock was elated was an understatement. "More than anything in the world," his voice was muffled because he'd scooped Y/N up in a hug, burying his nose into the crook of her neck.
...
With that settled, Y/N then brought Sherlock's attention to the matter of telling people they were dating; more precisely, when and whether he wanted to. She told him that they'd do everything at his own pace, which he was grateful for, but he felt it was also rather unnecessary. He didn't mind people knowing he was dating Y/N. In fact, he wanted them to know. He was proud of it. He wanted to stand on a very high building and yell about it for all the world to hear.
He told Y/N that, which got him more kisses.
Lestrade was clearly getting impatient with waiting for them to answer because he'd climbed the stairs up to 221B some time ago and was now banging on their door and shouting something about not having all day.
When Sherlock broke the kiss to breathe, Y/N said: "Okay, so do you want to tell Lestrade today? Because I'm ready too. You know...usually people wait a little while before telling people they're dating. So they know they're happy before they make it public. But I think, for me personally, I knew I'd be happy dating you before I even was."
Sherlock bit his lip to hold in his grin because he'd been smiling so much recently that his cheeks were beginning to hurt. "Really?"
Y/N nodded, sort of avoiding his eyes as if she thought she'd said something wrong, was being too forward, or something. Her muscles slackened when Sherlock murmured back:
"I knew I'd be happy with you too. I think..." he held Y/N close again, stooping so her chin could come to rest on his shoulder. "I'm the happiest I've ever been when I'm with you." He noted, with a smile, how he didn't even think twice before being openly emotional with Y/N now. It was a very freeing feeling.
They couldn't see each other's faces but Sherlock knew he'd made Y/N giggle because he could feel her shaking a little against him. "Are you really? Or are you just saying that because I made you groan so loud last night you won't be able to look our neighbours in the eyes ever again?"
He went crimson at that realisation and pressed his face into the side of Y/N's neck like he was trying to hide from the world he'd embarrassed himself in. "Oh God, you don't think they heard, did you?"
"I think they probably did." She rubbed his back in a way she hoped was comforting and he made a small distraught sound, then surfaced, pushing their foreheads together again.
Being serious now: "Really, though, I mean it. You said earlier that I seem different. Happier. So happy you could tell without even looking at me. That's because I am."
There was another indignant knock at the door and Sherlock sighed, releasing Y/N so he could shout to the man knocking: "Give me a minute! I'm not dressed!" Turning back to Y/N, in that intimate tone he uses only for her: "Do you want me to take him to the kitchen? You can sneak to your room so he doesn't see you in pyjamas."
Y/N thought about it, then a twinkle came to her eyes. "What if I sneak to my room and get dressed, and pretend like I was there all night." She noted Sherlock's confused---and bordering on hurt---expression and hurriedly continued: "I want to tell people we are together, I do, but it just occurred to me that it might be fun to...date in private for a few days. Just me and you. It could be exciting; sneaking kisses whilst on cases, finding ways to hold hands without anyone seeing. I just thought that...well, you know, people are going to ask a lot of questions and everything. We don't have to, it might be nice to just have a few days where it's just...us."
Sherlock turned the idea over in his head. He liked the sound of it being 'just us'. And Y/N did have a point. He could hear it now, everyone at Scotland yard expressing their surprise that he's 'interested in that sort of thing', Mycroft's disapproving frown when he realises his little brother has done something as utterly stupid as falling in love. And sneaking kisses whilst on cases did sound like tremendous fun. It would definitely make them a lot more interesting. It sounded kind of like a game. "A few days of 'just us'? Yes, please."
...
Sherlock was dressed but still rubbing his hair dry with a towel when he let Lestrade into the flat. Greg took one look at his ruffled curls and gave him that look a father gives you when you---well, when you're in this exact situation.
"It's the middle of the day and you're not even dressed!"
Bluntly: "Nice to see you too, Geoffry."
"Greg."
"That's what I said." Sherlock started guiding Lestrade to the kitchen so Y/N could sneak out of his room and up to her own to get changed. Despite it being very low-stakes, he still felt little butterflies of adrenaline flutter their wings in his chest at the thought that he was hiding the fact that a woman was sneaking out of his room. Not that it was a difficult thing to hide, Lestrade seemed utterly focused on precisely two things: Sherlock's late start to the day, and---
"Could I have a cuppa? I'm parched, I stood for bloody ages outside your door waiting for you to roll your arse out of bed."
Pouring water into the kettle: "Harsh."
"---I mean, honestly, Sherlock. You can't spend the whole day just laying in bed because you can't think of anything better to do." He took the mug Sherlock handed him and dropped a teabag into it, muttering under his breath: "Although God knows I would if I could. But you're young, you should be---"
Sherlock was pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes by now, planning to patiently let Lestrade wear himself out. His plan fell to pieces however, as he said: "Actually, I wasn't just laying in bed." He mushed his cornflakes down into their milk with the back of his spoon irritably, the crunching noise surprisingly effective at relieving some of his frustration. He was frustrated that he'd only woken up half an hour ago and was already being lectured about how to live his life. He was frustrated about having to even get out of bed in the first place, let alone give up sex for breakfast with the detective inspector. And he was also frustrated that he couldn't shove why he'd slept so late in the inspector's disapproving face.
He took a cleansing breath. It would be worth it. Having Y/N to himself for a few days was worth it.
And, actually, now that he was sitting across from Lestrade, he found himself realising that telling Greg that he was in a relationship would actually be...rather difficult. It wasn't embarrassing, as such, he just..didn't like the idea of his basically-surrogate-father knowing he'd...seemed to have changed so much? Been so wrong about relationships? Melted into a puddle just because a woman had kissed his thigh?
That was a pleasing mental image. His lips twitched as he remembered last night, how it felt when---
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?" He woke from his stupor, Greg watching him critically like he knew something had changed about him but he wasn't quite sure what. Like a shirt that had shrunk in the wash. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly getting the feeling that if the man across from him stared at his head long enough he'd be able to read what had been going on inside it.
"...I said, well what were you doing, if you weren't sleeping? And don't say 'thinking', because that doesn't count and you know it."
"I was---"
Luckily, the gods move in mysterious ways to do wonderful things for Sherlock Holmes because at that very second Y/N approached the table in her day clothes, a book under one arm which she put on the table. "Hi, Lestrade, I didn't know you were here, sorry, I was reading." She took her usual seat by the fridge after getting a box of cereal from the cupboard.
Sherlock tried not to look at her as she stretched up to do so, because he knew he'd blush like Hell, which would blow their cover stupidly early. 'Will this just be my life, now?' He mentally asked himself. 'Will every single little thing Y/N does send shivers coursing up my spine?'
She gave him a welcoming smile, pretending to not have seen him since yesterday. "Good morning. Hey, could you pass me the milk, Sherlock?"
At hearing her say his name, said man realised that, yes, this was his life now. He should probably get used to blushing and stuttering because that's what he's going to be doing a lot of, even more than before. He thought that he'd embarrassed himself a lot when he'd just had a crush on Y/N. Now there were memories, mental images to go with it, and a yearning to make more of those kinds of memories.
And he didn't mind at all.