King's Cross Station
Sherlock raised his hand and lightly brushed his right cheek where Hermione had kissed him. The touch was delicate and brief, as if it had left an invisible shallow imprint on his face.
His fingertips seed to retain a trace of warmth belonging to Hermione, carrying her body heat.
Sunlight stread through the station's glass do, illuminating his gaze as he looked at Hermione.
Even so, his gray eyes remained their usual calm, like a still, deep pool without ripples.
Only his eyebrows arched upward slightly, betraying a hint of barely perceptible inquiry.
"It seems Gemma told you?"
Despite having just been kissed on the cheek by a young girl in public, his voice was as steady as if he were discussing the weather.
"What are you talking about?"
Hermione had already learned from Gemma about Sherlock's reaction after being kissed by her.
With that psychological preparation, she wasn't surprised by Sherlock's current calm response.
However, upon hearing Sherlock's question, she began playing dumb.
What Gemma?
What told?
I don't know anything!
Yet Hermione had forgotten one thing.
In front of Sherlock, any lie was as transparent as glass, with nowhere to hide.
Moreover, she was different from others.
Sherlock was familiar with every aspect of her, down to the smallest detail.
Of course, from Hermione's perspective, there was another reason—she was sowhat flustered.
The boy who had been kissed by a girl wasn't flustered, but the girl who had kissed the boy was.
This seed absurd, yet was perfectly normal.
Because the boy who had been kissed was Sherlock Hols.
Because the girl who had kissed the boy harbored an even more secret thought in her heart:
If it were possible.
If people weren't coming and going all around.
If their parents and Sherlock's family weren't watching with smiles from not far away.
What she actually wanted to kiss was a place that would express a more intimate relationship.
Rather than, like Gemma, rely kissing Sherlock's cheek.
Precisely because Gemma had kissed Sherlock's left cheek, she had deliberately chosen the right side.
Unfortunately... there were no ifs.
She couldn't do it.
Being able to publicly kiss Sherlock had already exhausted the courage she'd been accumulating for so long; even her fingertips were trembling slightly.
At this mont, just standing here, recalling that hasty yet determined kiss, her heart felt like it would leap out of her chest.
"I think you must have planned this together."
Sherlock chuckled softly, his tone carrying a knowing quality as he looked at Hermione:
"She kissed my left cheek, but you just kissed my right."
This statent should have been sowhat ambiguous, but coming from Sherlock's mouth, it was rely precise. Where was the ambiguity?
Not only was it not ambiguous, but it was like a lightning bolt that shattered the shell of courage Hermione had worked so hard to gather.
The composure she had deliberately maintained on her cheeks was instantly replaced by a burning blush, even her ears began turning slightly red.
"Sherlock, I—I don't know what you're talking about!"
Hermione's voice wavered slightly.
Her toes unconsciously pressed against the ground.
She didn't dare look directly into Sherlock's gray eyes that seed to see through everything.
So, she could only let her gaze frantically shift past his shoulder toward her parents.
However, she discovered that her mother's smile looked too happy!
As for her father... his expression seed sowhat complicated?
"Hey, good afternoon, you two!"
The eagerly anticipated parents didn't appear in ti.
Instead, Mrs. Hols appeared beside Sherlock and Hermione at just the right mont.
She wore a beige trench coat, her face bearing a bright smile that bordered on relief.
Her gaze swept over her son's right cheek where Hermione had kissed him, then landed on Hermione's flushed face, her smile deepening.
It was a kind of relief that ca from setting down a long-held worry.
"Are you discussing sothing interesting?"
Mrs. Hols asked knowingly, her voice carrying a comforting warmth.
She naturally placed one hand lightly on her son's shoulder.
As his mother approached, Sherlock relaxed slightly for a mont.
Mrs. Hols's other hand quite naturally wrapped around Hermione's still-warm shoulder, half-sheltering her at her side.
"That was such a lovely scene just now, wasn't it—youth is wonderful!"
Hermione quickly spoke: "Hello, Mrs. Hols."
Perfect, Mom... no, Sherlock's mom ca at just the right ti!
Mrs. Hols gently patted Hermione, that intimacy instantly dispelled much of Hermione's embarrassnt.
"Indeed, quite an impressive scene."
A sowhat deep but gentle male voice ca—it was Mr. Granger.
After Mrs. Hols took the initiative, he couldn't stand back any longer and hurried over.
Only now, the smile on his face was sowhat professional, as if he were trying even harder than when receiving patients at the clinic.
His gaze lingered on Hermione with affection, but when it turned to Sherlock, it beca sharp and complex, full of scrutiny.
No one knows a child better than their father.
Hermione was intelligent and had her own opinions, but whenever she was in front of Sherlock, she always seed like a different person.
Especially that proactive kiss just now.
As a father, even if he rationally knew this was just an expression of youthful friendship, he couldn't help but feel the sour sensation.
This feeling surged up irrepressibly, though he ultimately suppressed it, not letting it show too obviously.
But when eting Sherlock's eyes, that brief pause and his slightly pressed lips still revealed a hint of his inner turmoil.
Just then, Mrs. Granger followed quickly with an enthusiastic smile.
Always open-minded, her gaze toward Sherlock was completely different from Mr. Granger's—she looked at him as if he were her own child.
"Hey, Sherlock! You're looking quite well!
How was this school year? Hermione ntioned quite a few of the little troubles you solved together in her letters."
She deliberately emphasized the word "together," her eyes glinting with a mischievous light.
"That lovely scene just now really ward our parental hearts."
She made no effort to hide her fondness for Sherlock, or her approval of Hermione taking the initiative to kiss him.
Her gaze even carried a hint of satisfaction—as if thinking, "My girl has such good taste."
"Happy holidays, Mr. and Mrs. Granger."
Sherlock nodded slightly, his etiquette was impeccable, as if he hadn't just been kissed.
His gaze lingered for half a second on the barely perceptible complex expression on Mr. Granger's face.
Mr. Granger's hidden discomfort naturally didn't escape Sherlock's observation.
But Sherlock didn't understand why Mr. Granger would have such feelings toward him.
This scene felt familiar.
"It's just a kiss on the cheek, is it really such a big deal?"
Sherlock tilted his head, finding it sowhat incomprehensible.
As for his mother's overly enthusiastic relief, he seed quite accustod to and accepting of it.
Mr. Hols finally walked over, standing beside his wife.
At this mont, his lips also bore a rare but genuine faint smile.
He didn't look at Sherlock's cheek, but swept his son over with a aningful gaze, then nodded at Hermione,
"You must be tired from the journey. Hermione, thank you for looking after Sherlock at school. He didn't give you any trouble, did he?"
"Not at all! Hermione relied entirely on Sherlock's care at school."
Mrs. Granger responded with a smile, affectionately linking her arm with her still-embarrassed daughter's, giving it a gentle squeeze.
After an exchange of mutual complints, a small circle ford on the platform.
Both mothers wore warm and aningful smiles, their gazes shuttling back and forth between Sherlock and Hermione, the air filled with a tacit and pleasant atmosphere.
The Hols couple's gazes t, Violet blinking lightly at Tarquin, conveying unspoken joy.
Their worry about Sherlock following in Mycroft's footsteps seed to have dissipated because of Hermione's brave gesture just now.
Mr. Granger quietly took a deep breath.
He looked at his daughter, who was sheltered between Mrs. Hols and his wife, her cheeks still had a rosy tinge.
Then he looked at that boy who was always so calm, unlike his peers, noticing his complete lack of awkwardness about the subtle atmosphere around them.
This extraordinary rationality diluted so of Mr. Granger's sour feeling about his daughter being led away.
But he still couldn't help clearing his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to everyday matters, "Ahem, so, do you have any plans for the holiday? Sherlock."
"I'm planning them now, Mr. Granger."
Sherlock's gaze returned, looking at Hermione's father. "If all goes as expected, it should involve enhancing my personal qualities and exploring truth.
Of course, I'll also ensure sufficient rest ti."
His answer was as logically clear as always.
Hermione couldn't help muttering quietly: "The definition of 'sufficient rest ti' is likely very different from us ordinary people..."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it drew simultaneous light laughter from both mothers.
Mr. Granger looked at the boy's serious expression and his daughter's helpless yet habitually complaining tone, and finally relaxed his pressed lips.
A resigned-looking smile appeared on his face.
"That's good. Studies are important, but you should also enjoy the holiday."
He extended his hand, finally saying these words and patting Sherlock's shoulder.
Seeing this, Mrs. Hols's smile beca even brighter.
"Alright, the children just got off the train and must be tired. Let's not stand here any longer.
There's plenty of ti to get together during the holiday. Sherlock, say goodbye to Hermione."
Sherlock turned to Hermione as instructed, his tone as usual, as if that kiss had never happened,
"Goodbye, Hermione."
"Go—goodbye, Sherlock." Hermione tried to make her voice sound natural. "Have a pleasant holiday."
The two families bid each other farewell and walked in different directions on the platform.
Mrs. Hols linked her arm with her husband's, unable to suppress the smile at her lips, sighing quietly.
"It seems our dear Sherlock has finally co around?
Or rather, that Miss Granger has really done us a great favor!"
Mr. Hols's smile also deepened.
He looked back just as Mr. Granger, pushing luggage, glanced in their direction, and he waved in greeting.
Once the family was settled and he had steadily started the car, driving along the road, he couldn't help but ask: "Sherlock, how did you feel after being kissed by Hermione?"
"Nothing much," Sherlock said calmly. "Isn't it a perfectly normal thing?"
"Normal? How can this be considered normal?"
Mrs. Hols suddenly realized sothing. "Don't tell this wasn't your first ti..."
"How could that be?"
Mr. Hols laughed. "Looking at little Hermione just now, you could tell it was definitely her first ti."
"Well, that's true..."
"It wasn't my first ti."
"What?"
"What!"
The couple were both shocked.
Especially Mr. Hols—he simply pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped before turning to look at Sherlock in the back seat.
"Say that again?"
"I said, this wasn't my first ti."
Under the shocked gazes of the Hols couple, Sherlock said calmly and composedly: "Just last night, Gemma also kissed my cheek at school—the left side."
"You both seem very surprised?"
Sherlock tilted his head and finally said the words he'd wanted to say but hadn't had the chance to: "It's just a kiss on the cheek, is it really such a big deal?"
Of course it was!
Mr. Hols had just said Hermione was definitely having her first ti.
He hadn't expected that while Hermione was indeed having her first ti, their son wasn't!
Gemma Farley—the image of a beautiful and elegant young girl simultaneously appeared in both their minds.
She had actually beaten Hermione to it?
Well done!
Ahem
But...
Mr. and Mrs. Hols exchanged glances, both suddenly realizing sothing important.
Although two young girls had already taken the initiative to clearly express their affection for Sherlock.
Their son, however, was a complete blockhead!
"Sherlock, you..."
Mrs. Hols especially felt like she was about to die of frustration with her son.
Did a girl really have to pin him against a wall and kiss him on the lips before he'd understand what this ant?
On the other side, Mrs. Granger linked arms with Hermione, in excellent spirits discussing holiday plans.
Mr. Granger walked beside them, was silently pushing the luggage.
His gaze lingered on his daughter for a long ti, finally transforming into a deep, tender light.
He instinctively looked back, and the Hols family was just getting into their car.
Tarquin noticed his gaze and waved at him in a friendly manner.
Mr. Granger withdrew his gaze and began quietly convincing himself.
Well, if it must be this way...
At least that boy was excellent enough, and he was soone who could make Hermione brave enough to take the initiative.
He tightened his grip on the luggage handle, feeling that heavy yet sweet sense of responsibility.
It was obviously far too early to discuss these things; the road ahead was still long.
For these two fourteen or fifteen-year-old teenagers, their story had just turned to a new chapter.
Mr. Granger took a deep breath of the station air that seed to carry the sll of coal smoke, and finally smiled with relief.
In any case, at least Hermione appeared brave and happy.
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