Various x Ftm Reader

*not named that because of triggering themes, but because Sherlock would hate the game

A snow storm raged outside—rendering you guys incapable of leaving. You, John, Lestrade, Mary, and Sherlock sat in a circle around a hat. You didn't think this game would last long—John had just gotten through explaining the rules to Sherlock and he was already criticizing the game. 

You really couldn't blame Sherlock—you and Lestrade had also tried to talk John out of playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, but upon finding out that Sherlock had never played, Lestrade quickly changed his position on the matter. 

And so, both you and Sherlock were outnumbered. You weren't sure if it was good or bad that Sherlock's first (and likely only time) playing Seven Minutes in Heaven would be in a crappy hotel room, and that the closet would be a small cramped closet with a sliding door that didn't close all the way. You didn't see a point in arguing with John, but Sherlock always had to at least try. And while Sherlock usually won, with John giving up—this time Sherlock is the one who ended up giving in. 

You weren't exactly sure what the appeal of the game was, in all honesty. You just supposed it was a way for John to pass the time. John went first, and ended up pulling Lestrade's name. 

You started the timer on your phone, and heard a loud sigh from Sherlock as you did so. 

"You actually set it for seven minutes? It's not like they would know if you set it for less." 

"It's just how you're supposed to play the game." You shrugged. 

"What for? Am I actually supposed to believe they're snogging in there? He isn't even John's type. Not to mention Mary is right here." 

You sighed. This was exactly why you knew it was a bad idea to play the game. It just simply wouldn't pass the time long enough. 

Once they came back out, Lestrade pulled your name out of the hat—which resulted in seven dark-filled minutes of silence interrupted occasionally by one of you asking the other a question. John came and got you once the seven minutes were over. 

"See! I told you nothing would happen." Sherlock shouted. 

John rolled his eyes, and gestured for you to pull a name out of the hat. You swished your fingers around, slightly hoping for a particular name, despite it potentially being against your best interest. When you pulled a piece of paper out, and read the name, you felt your heart flutter. 

You swallowed, trying your best to conceal your expectations—knowing they would only be trampled. 

"Sherlock." 

"What?" The man in question partially snapped. "Let me see." 

You offered the paper to him, for it to get snatched away by his outstretched hand. 

"Fine. Let's go." He said, walking towards the closet quicker than you would've thought. You followed him into the closet, John following the both of you to close the door behind you. Though you honestly didn't need it. 

"Your seven minutes start now." John called in from behind the door. "If you try to get out early, I will barricade the door shut, and double your time in there." 

Sherlock sighed, before fixing his gaze on you—his eyes were intense as ever even in a closet with little light. 

"Hmm?" You hummed, knowing that Sherlock—being Sherlock—likely had something on his mind, and that you did not want to spend another 7 minutes in awkward silence. 

"What did you do in here with Lestrade?" 

You scoffed. "Absolutely nothing. When we weren't sitting in silence, he was asking me about my day or something. Didn't really want to talk about the case." 

"We did just solve it." Sherlock mumbled. 

There were a few moments of silence before Sherlock spoke again. "I don't get the point of this game. What is supposed to happen in a closet between two people that can't happen elsewhere?" 

"The point is whatever you want it to be. And I don't know, I suppose it gives people a sense of anonymity, or secrecy. Sometimes it gives people the confidence to do things they wouldn't normally wouldn't do." 

"Like snogging." 

"That's the idea, yes." 

Sherlock scoffed. "That's stupid." 

"I haven't heard you come up with any better ideas." You joked, though you couldn't see any indication of him smiling or chuckling at it. It wasn't a new sensation, you knew Sherlock didn't have the same sense of humor you did. Though the next thing that came was unexpected. 

He said your name, his voice deep as it rolled off his tongue. 

"Yes?" 

"Can I try something?" 

You felt your heart flutter as you imagined what you wanted it to be—what you had been alluding to during your time in here. 

"What is it?" You ask, not really expecting an answer. 

"You'll have to trust me. Close your eyes." 

"Umm...okay." Despite the fact that you did trust him, you still hesitated before doing as he asked. 

You swore that you could still sense the thin thread of light filtering into the closet, even with your eyes closed. You could swear you saw it get interrupted, and could sense something near your face before you felt Sherlock's cold hand. 

"Keep them closed." He requested, definitely able to tell that you were close to giving in to the desire to keep them open. 

You did so, even as you felt him lean in. You could swear you felt the heat radiating off of him or something, though you tried to convince yourself otherwise. 

You felt his lips shadowing yours—your heart now surely being obvious with its feelings by now as it pounded against your chest—before they made the more sure decision to kiss you. They felt soft and tender, and while you felt the urge to deepen the kiss, you didn't. You let him stay right where he was, with his gentle hesitance before he pulled away. 

His hand lingered on you for a moment or two before he pulled all the way away. 

"You can open them now." He spoke, and you did so almost instantly. 

You looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation, but none came. You opened your mouth to ask him. 

Ask him anything at all—why he did that. If he could tell you liked him. If he was just toying with you. If that had been for an experiment that sprung into his head last-minute. Or perhaps even one that had been brewing for a while now. 

But the closet door opened before the sound could come out. 

"Congratulations! It's been seven minutes and you're not dead." John announced the seven minutes were up, allowing you and Sherlock to exit the closet. 

Returned to your place, doing your best to act normal when so many questions were swimming around your head. But as Sherlock went into the closet with Mary, and the game turned into the next, you realized that there would be no opportunity to clear things up tonight. And there probably never would be.