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

Sherlock Holmes Imagine

Sherlock Holmes Imagine

Note: Everyone excited for thanksgiving? I dropped my phone in the tub and unfortunately, Sir Maurice DeSteph passed away in a bowl of rice. May he rest in peace.

Warnings: PG-13 for covering my ass.

Sherlock Holmes Imagine

Sherlock wasn't very knowledgeable when it came to love, romance, and other such trivial issues. He also wasn't passionately interested in sex. On the other side of the spectrum, he wasn't an inexperienced pre-pubescent boy with shaky hands and an issue with shirt buttons. He wasn't invested in any romantic relationships because he considered them boring, time-consuming, simple little things--actions of a species hyper-focused on breeding with fancy terms like dinner and drinks three times before consummation of a relationship. He didn't want to put the effort into charming a woman into dating him because he didn't need to, want to, and some part of him wasn't sure he could. That was just doubt. Of course he could. Wouldn't be easy, though.

The tie was too much, he didn't want to wear the tie, Y/n didn't want to see him wear a tie--so why was he wearing a tie? He wasn't. He undid the tie, tossed it back to the depths of hell, the tie was gone from the plan. He regarded himself in the window, reflection weak but still there. He wasn't nervous about it. The concept had been simple, boring, but simple. Compliment her. Open conversation, direct it towards her hopes and dreams. Dinner. Open doors. Pull out chairs. Take/offer coats. Pay. Take her home. More compliments, kiss at the door, express interest in further mind-numbingly dull interactions.

That wasn't what had him worried--he wasn't worried at all, actually--it was more John's insistence that he wasn't to do anything by the book, or behave oddly at all. However, the fact that he was taking a woman on a date was inherently odd. Then again, the woman he was taking on the date was inherently odd.

Y/n L/n, Ph.D. Hates to be called 'Doctor', technically a doctor, only her patients call her what she is. She got her degree in family therapy, but she went back for more and nabbed another title in Criminal Psychology. Double doctor. Consulted for Lestrade--her friend, Greg--met Sherlock. Heatedly debated the whole 'high-functioning-sociopath' thing. Started working cases with him. Devastated by his faked suicide. Didn't forgive him until they reconciled at John and Mary's wedding. Deceitfully coerced him into a romantic relationship.

Yes, current, everpresent, relationship. He hadn't even realized it until he was laying on the couch one day, taking up the whole thing and more, and she sat at the end his feet were towards, right between his legs, with tea and her laptop in hand. She didn't speak a word to him, just carried on like complete natural. It felt disturbingly normal to him, too. Like what she'd done was correct, and not strange. It was strange for a friend or a business partner to do. Not for a girlfriend to do.

He hated 'girlfriend' just as much as she hated 'doctor'.

Then again, Y/n was almost as socially inept at him. Maybe she just forgot to tell him they were dating. Sure, that's how he rationalized it, but her behavior increased and he did nothing to stop it. He didn't really want to. It didn't bother him--he almost liked it. Almost. Too close to call. After they solved a rather satisfying case, however, she quite abruptly kissed him, unapologetically, in front of sensitive eyes. He hadn't responded, but he hadn't objected. When she'd relented, and John recovered from the shock he'd gotten, he'd asked the dreadful question that all people of similar mind would be obligated to ask. Are you dating? Were they? If they were, someone forgot to tell him--but on the other hand, he'd picked up on it, he'd known, he'd realized. When in doubt, pretend otherwise.

'Obviously.' He'd responded. Obviously. She'd looked so happy, then, which had been rare. Less rare, now. Perhaps he was happier, too.

However, just because Y/n wasn't traditional--she was still a woman, and women liked certain things. Stereotypical things. Things that made men want to whip themselves in the street from town to town and apologize to god for everything they'd done. If he was right, then dinner and a movie. If he was wrong, he was severely out of luck.