Oneshots, imagines, and ideas, oh my! *discontinued*

Sherlock Imagine

Sherlock Imagine--Teamwork

Warnings; british sex slang words, you know how it is, case solving, sniper rifles.

It's  a pretty short little thing, but I couldn't resist. I should have a Sherlock set of preferences out in a few days. Until then, enjoy.

Sherlock Imagine

You sighed and then patted your boyfriends back a bit, gearing him up for the whole thing. You were standing right outside 221b, and he was practically shaking.

"So, he's really gonna-"

"Yeah, (Y/bf/N). He's gonna do that. And then John is going to-" The door suddenly swung open, revealing John, mouth creased in a hard line. "Welcome home, Y/N. And you must be (Y/bf/N)." He held out his hand and (Y/bf/N) kind of stared at it for a moment, before he realized what was happening and shook his hand. You almost let out a groan. John wasn't even your actual father, and he was already screwing (bf/n) up.

"Uh, John, why don't we, you know, come in?" You glared at him. You had practically begged him not to be so hard on him. He grunted and stepped to the side, and you had to practically pull him inside. Sherlock was sitting across from Mycroft, absentmindedly plucking at his violin strings. You stood there for a moment before clearing your throat. "Father. Uncle. This is (bf/n). He wanted to meet you because-"

"Don't be daft, Y/N. We are meeting him because we need to understand if he is a worthy fit." You almost face palmed, but kept it to yourself. "Uncle Mycroft, if I could be frank, you have absolutely no reason to worry. He's a perfect gentleman." Sherlock turned to see him, and then grunted.

"Really? Because judging by the tin of mints in his back pocket and the condoms in his right, he's planning on shagging you, perhaps even tonight. Besides, who wears jeans and a bloody polo shirt to make a good impression? You may as well dump him now." You locked your jaw. "Don't be so critical, Sherlock. He isn't going to shag me, and I helped him choose clothes for this meeting. Would you rather him show up in a Westwood?"

Mycroft gestured to his apparel. "I did. I obviously value you and my brother more."
"You practically run the British government!" You snapped. "You have to look nice all the time. We're just going out for coffee."
"Ah, yeah. 'Going out for coffee'." John scoffed. "I know exactly what that means."

"Honestly, I don't think you should be so hard on him." You rubbed his back soothingly. "He treats me well."
"Doesn't matter." Sherlock jerked up and set his violin on the coffee table. "He's nervous because he knows I know."
"Knows what?" You looked from Sherlock to him. "Why don't you tell her, (Y/bf/n)? Afraid she'll do something you'll regret?" You were now focused on Y/bf/n, eyes accusing. "What haven't you told me?" He stood, still as a rock, eyes wide open, fists clenched. Even John could read that he was nervous as hell.

"Oh, hell with it. He didn't want to come over because he isn't that serious about you."
"Well, it's been a few months, and-"
"And he's been waiting patiently to get a good shag. I believe he's also winning a bet. He's been seeing other women on the side, of course, and that was another reason he was so afraid. He was hoping I wouldn't see, but this case was solved before he even came in."

Mycroft stood up and revealed a file before tossing it to you. Confused, you opened it, to see pictures of him snogging other girls, walking hand in hand, all the disgusting couple things you refused to do with him. All dated in the past few months.

"Why, y/bf/n?"
"Look, you're an alright chick, but you won't even let me kiss you in public! Like, what the hell?! So yeah, I need a woman's touch. Jerry, my bro, dared me to-" You broke out laughing, because there was a small red dot trained on his forehead. "What? What's so funny babe?" Shaking, you pointed at his forehead. "I wouldn't make any sudden movements, if I were you." John snapped a Polaroid and shook it before showing it to him.

He immediately let out a large, girlish scream, and ran through the front door, slamming it behind him. You sighed and leaned against it as John gave Mycroft the polaroid. "Put it in the file." Sherlock's phone buzzed, and you grabbed it.

That's how many? Eight?

-JM x

Sherlock snatched it from you, and carefully typed. You grabbed it after he pressed send.

Nine and counting.

-SH

You narrowed your eyes at the three men, hoping that Moriarty could see you as well.

"I hope you're all very proud of yourselves." John sighed and put an arm around your shoulders. "We only care, Y/N. You have horrible taste in men."

"That one boy was nice. What's his name, Edward?"
"Yeah, but he refused to have any type of contact."
"As do you."
"I give them kisses in private, and hugs, and we occasionally hold hands in poorly lit rooms. He made me feel uncomfortable."
"Your loss, we all liked him." You rolled your eyes. "Besides, he was too whiny, and oddly pale. He kept trying to get me to meet his family." You sighed and shook your head. "I'm going to bed."
"It's four thirty."
"Quiet, Sherlock!"
"That's father, to you." You grumbled and walked to your room.

"And Supper's at Six, dear!" You furrowed your brow. "Mrs. Hudson?"
"She put eggs in his coat pockets." John called, and you let out a groan of frustration before closing your bedroom door, secretly proud of the men in your life.

Bonus

After you went to your room, Sherlock and his brother shared a half-hearted high five, and John went to make some tea. Suddenly, Sherlock's phone buzzed, and he answered it immediately.

"Did we get him?!" Jim yelled excitedly. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Stop calling me. The job's done."
"Not until you give me what you promised! I helped you for a reason, Sherly!" Sherlock sighed again.

"Thank you Moriarty, consulting criminal, cock-block extraordinaire. What would my daughter do without you, her uncle Jim, the kindest most loving uncle in the world." Jim made a sound of satisfaction and then hung up.

"You know, we could just put one of my men up there."
"No, she too greatly enjoys visits from her 'uncle' Jim."
"He tries to kill the both of you constantly!"
"Red bicycle, she was twelve. He's her uncle." John interjected, setting three cups down.

"She never wanted a bicycle. I would know." Mycroft frowned. "I found out she wanted the microscope."
"Well, you should've seen her face when she got it. Unfortunately, there was a card, so we couldn't take credit."