⚜️Elementary my dear readers!⚜
This book is a collection of imagines that I have put together for:
-Sherlock Holmes
-John Watson
-Jim Moriarty
⚜~Requests are Open~⚜~Also accepting Oneshot requests~⚜Enjoy⚜
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Disclaimer:
I unfortunately do not own an...
This one-shot was requested by the wonderful @duckiemcduck /Lindsay! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
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Much love, ~Stéph❤️Redangel259~ _____________________________
This was it. This was how you were going to die. You couldn't breathe, your head was burning, and your face was pale. You had the flu. You timidly pinched your cheeks, trying to get colour into them. As you looked towards your clock, you realized that you slept in. You tripped over your bed, leaping towards your mirror to get ready for work. The reflection in the mirror looked rather tiring, as you put on a baggy sweatshirt and black trousers. "Ugh god, I look horrible!" You exclaimed to yourself as you looked closer at your appearance. Shrugging, you left your room and went off to work. As you grabbed your keys, you remembered something. Sherlock. Now Sherlock was going to be a whole other set of problems. He wasn't the most attentive, affectionate, or romantic boyfriend, but he can deduct when something isn't right with you. Especially if you're sick. He refuses to let you work when you're sick, because he says that "it will only make you worse" and "only an idiot would do so." But despite your sickness, today you actually wanted to get some work done.
When you arrived to the scene, you already saw the tall detective and his shorter companion. As you walked closer towards them, Sherlock spun around seeming to know of your circumstances. "Sorry I'm late," you spoke, clearing your throat as Sherlock raised an eyebrow at you. "(Y/N), are you sick? That would explain why you are late, and why you also have cleared your throat less than six seconds ago. I also noticed that your nose is irritated, likely from the constant wiping of your sleeve. Ah ha, mucus on the sleeve. Evidence of course." Sherlock lifted up your coat sleeve and carefully placed it back to your side. Deducing you already? You had barely said anything and he already knew that you were sick. You needed to take a chance and lie to him, even though he would probably figure you out. You took a deep breath and let out a small smile. "Not to worry Sherlock, they're just allergies. They tend to act up this time of year around autumn. Plus, my alarm clock wasn't set to the right time this morning." You lied, quickly walking over to the dead body on the ground. "Wait, you have allergies?" Sherlock questioned before John nudged him sharply in the side. You had managed to stay at the scene for the rest of the day, by successfully lying to the great Sherlock Holmes! You had to put this on your blog.
"Alright, looks like it's a wrap! I'll take the pictures back to my lab tomorrow and run some final tests on the weapons that were used." You sighed as you rubbed your forehead. Your headache was acting up again. You gathered the pictures and put them in your knapsack. As soon as you were about to leave for your car, Sherlock grabbed you by the shoulder as turned you around. "You've lied to me. Why?" Sherlock stated abruptly, looking into your eyes. "Damnit," you thought to yourself as you fiddled with the hem of your coat. "I don't know what you're talking about," you tried to lie, Sherlock rolling his eyes dramatically. "You're a horrid liar (Y/N), I do hope you know that." He answered back in a monotone voice. You finally gave in to his deducing and leaned your forehead against his jacket. "I feel horrid." You mumbled into his chest, his warm chuckle filling the crisp air. "I know." He said smirking down at you as you miserably started to walk back to your car.
When you got home, you immediately flopped down on the couch. You took a few pain relievers and covered yourself with a blanket. "You should've gone home earlier." Sherlock spoke, sipping his tea as he read a newspaper. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I just wanted to help with the case, that's all." You groaned into a pillow. Sherlock came over to you and gave you the rest of his tea to finish. He propped your head up onto the pillow better, and rearranged your blanket. You gave him a kiss on the hand and watched him walk over to his violin. "What would I do without you Sherlock?" You giggled as he picked up his bow and placed the violin up to his chin. "You'd become ill, crazy, and terribly lonesome. Also with a lower pay check." He smirked as he began to play. "Not valid. I'm already two of those things, and you're still standing next to me. Also, your second statement isn't true either. I'm in charge of my own business thank you very much. You're just jealous because I have an official laboratory and you don't!" You smiled cheekily. "Wow, that sickness must really be getting into your head." He answered back. You shook your head as you started to daze off. The last thing you remember was the beautiful playing of the violin, and Sherlocks lips gently kissing your forehead.