SHERLOCK STRANGE IMAGINE

Shy [S.H]

You adjusted the glasses( so sorry if you don't wear glasses) on your nose and leaned in to look through the microscope again. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you pulled them off completely, microscopes are not particularly friendly to those with glasses and in truth you really only needed them when you were tired. The slide with blood came through clearly this time and you scribbled some notes on a pad next to you.

You were the top forensic blood spatter analyst in the UK and it kept you rather busy and alone most of the time. Honestly that was how you preferred it, the living were cruel and overly complex and the dead were quiet and, frankly, simple.

When your jazzy ringtone broke the silence in your lab, you scooted your chair to where it was with a kick of your legs and then answered it, “(F/n) (L/n), h-how may I help you?”

Lestrade’s voice rang out on the other end with the words that you both hated and loved to hear, “(L/n) You are needed at a crime scene Asap.” He gave you a location, you gathered your things, and you were on your way.

You ducked under the police tape, flashing your badge at an officer who tried to stop you and made your way into the house. Once inside it was easy to understand why they had called you, there was blood everywhere and lots of it.

“Oh look they called the Hemophilic lab freak,” sneered Donovan nudging Anderson.

You ducked your head as a blush scorched your cheeks and another voice rang out, “Do you always ridicule those with higher intelligence than you or are you just trying to hide the fact that you are in no way useful for anything besides being a door stop?”

You lifted your eyes slowly to find Sherlock across the room, crouched to examine something of interest on the floor, and gave a small but genuine smile, “H-hello S-Sherlock.”

He glanced up briefly, returning you the slightest of smiles as a way of greeting you, and then went back to his work as Anderson started to pull Donovan towards the door, “Come on. Let’s give the freaks some privacy. If we're lucky maybe they’ll eat each other.”

Your breath caught at the insult as you ducked your head again and you jumped when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked nervously up at its owner, John, who was giving you a reassuring smile, “Forget them (F/n). How can I help?”

You brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and turned to survey the scene, “Uhhh… W-well I would s-say that there are m-multiple victims f-from the amount of b-blood. I-it would p-probably be best if y-you just stood back.”

John nodded and found a place out of the way to watch you work. You took a couple of deep breaths to calm your nerves before losing yourself in the task at hand. Once you’d blocked out the world, you displayed a sense of confidence that was rare from you and occurred only when you were working.

You collected a number of samples and then began to map the splatters with long lengths of string, elegantly avoiding the blood that seemed to surround you as you gracefully unraveled and pinned each piece. Sherlock watched you carefully with a little smile playing at his lips; it was moments like these that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. The moments when you showed your true self, the one hidden under your shy tendencies, and your brilliance came through almost blindingly.

You finished with your work, giving a little huff as you put your hands on your hips and tilted your head to survey the finished product. Sherlock came to stand next to you just as Lestrade strode in, “Please tell me you have something.”

Sherlock answered for both of you, using what he had observed and the work you had done to come to a reasonable conclusion of number of victims, number of assailants, motive, and weapon type. You watched his lips move as his words mirrored the thoughts you had had just moments before. In the end you made a good pair. He liked to talk and you didn't.

You had known the consulting detective for quite some time and worked a number of cases with him. He was one of the few people you actually enjoyed being in the presence of because, even if he was brutally honest, he was still honest and he was much kinder to you than most people were.

You looked back at the room, itching to get back to your lab and test some theories, and the distraction allowed you to speak with out stuttering, “I need to get back and go over some things to be certain but at the moment I agree with Sherlock.”

Your eyes snapped to your tall friend when he responded, “I’ll come with you.” He had sent John home at some point during your work and wanted to test some theories of his own. You went red and just nodded.

Once you were back at your lab, you squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze as he watched you work, “S-Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“C-could you face the o-other way? You’re p-putting me o-off.” There was a hint of a smirk on your face as you said it, recalling when he had said the same thing to Anderson.

He chuckled but didn’t look away and you turned to face him, gazing into his eyes briefly before looking down at your feet, “I-I’m being serious. W-why do you h-have to stare at m-me like that? I-It makes me n-nervous.”

His fingers were suddenly on your chin, lifting your face to meet his, and he leaned to press his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before pulling away to say, “Should one not admire a thing of beauty and brilliance?”

You were too stunned to respond, a dark blush coloring your cheeks, and Sherlock smirked. This was the exact reaction he expected, he was curious as to how far your shyness and nervousness would go, if it was something that could be unlearned with time and positive reinforcement, and this was a fantastic way to test it.

What he did not expect was that he would enjoy it or that, after a moment, you would gently tug him down by the front of his shirt and capture his lips with yours. He found himself responding to your kiss almost immediately, his hands finding their way to your hips instinctually and yours tangling into his mess of ink dipped curls.

It wasn’t until he nipped at your lower lip, hoping to gain entrance to your mouth, that you pulled away, turning from him as you mumbled, “S-s-s-sorry.”

Your stutter was stronger than ever, making it very difficult to even get the word out, an interesting development indeed Sherlock noted. He spun you carefully and cupped your blush-ridden face in one hand, his thumb caressing your cheek, “Don’t ever apologize for being bold love. It suits you.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes and then gave a small shy smile and a nod, which he rewarded with a kiss. This was going to be a particularly enjoyable experiment.