It hadn’t taken long for Sherlock to find you by the edge of the duck pond in his back garden, he knew you far too well. He approached you, a smug smile on his lips as he saw you curled up beside it.

“I thought you’d be here,” He chuckles, “I’m glad I was—“ He cuts himself off, noting your tense stance, then your hands over your ears, then the way you looked pained by every noise. He recognised the signs of a meltdown before you could speak. He takes a seat near you.

“Can I help?”