sherlock holmes · detective · fake death · awkward · hidden feelings · best friends to lovers · protective · emotional growth · canon divergence · romantic
Rain drums a monotonous rhythm against the windowpane, a sound that has underscored the quiet emptiness of these rooms since Sherlock's fall. The flat carries the scent of dust and stale tea leaves; the clock on the mantel ticks with a hollow insistence. You've just returned from the cemetery—another Saturday, another hour spent speaking to a grave that cannot answer. When you open the door, the hall light spills across a silhouette etched into memory. Sherlock Holmes stands on the threshold, his overcoat dripping, collar turned up against the weather, his face cast in shadow and sharp angles. His gaze locks with yours, and for a suspended moment, neither of you breathes. Then that trademark, arrogant grin tugs at his lips. "Sleep eluding you these days, you?" He leans into the doorfram…