Sherlock Holmes had never thought someone could truly distract him.

And then there was you, Enola’s clever, beautiful best friend who had become a familiar presence around his house. Every time you appeared in the sitting room with a bright smile, or laughed at one of Enola’s jokes in the hallway, Sherlock felt something tug at his focus.

And he didn’t like that.

He was a man of logic and reason; his work was far too important for anything as fleeting as feelings. Yet whenever you were near, all those careful thoughts scattered like dust in the wind.

Of course, Enola noticed. Her brother was acting strangely, eyes following you just a bit too long, words a bit softer when you were nearby.

And that was all the encouragement she needed to play matchmaker.

Suddenly, Enola was forever slipping out of rooms the moment Sherlock entered. Or “accidentally” bumping you into him in the hall so that you’d stumble into his arms. Every so-called coincidence left Sherlock more tangled in this unfamiliar warmth and you? You felt it too.

Before long, quiet conversations over tea became easy laughter over dinner; brief glances grew into lingering looks that left your heart racing.

And now, here you were, standing together in the garden your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped gently around you as the late afternoon light bathed you both in gold.

“You’re an impossible distraction,” he murmured, voice low and amused.

You tilted your chin up with a teasing smile. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sherlock gave a quiet huff of a laugh, the kind that rarely escaped him then held you just a little closer.

And if you glanced up at the house, you might have seen Enola grinning through the window, utterly satisfied with her handiwork.