Sherlock Imagines

Talk to Me (SherlockxReader)

Quick A/N before this update, just because this is important to me... I've been looking at some books recently, and I've found something that, honestly, pisses me off. There are books that haven't had any updates except a/n after a/n for MONTHS, and they still have a 2:5 voting to reads ratio, with like, 100K reads. Like- What?! So, here's my challenge to you; If you want the Part II of 'Wolf, Sir', go vote on a story you honestly enjoy! Or even a part, or comment on something you just LOVED from it (make sure to tag me, because I value your opinions and love to see what you love)! Obviously, it doesn't have to be ANY of my work, it doesn't have to be a certain genre, heck, it doesn't have to be a full story. I need at LEAST 40 separate people's tags, and a total of 70. (I might lower, we'll have to see how this plays out). Anyways, that's your challenge, let's get on with the update.

Three words never spoken, and now was only the most perfect time to say them. You'd follow that man to case after crime scene after case. Into serial killer's homes, and into where you'd likely be blown to smithereens. Following behind with only a small little notepad, and a heart bigger than yourself.
Okay, so let's cut the crap. This isn't some teen romance story, you and Sherlock never got along. John was your best friend, and you needed a place to live. As a crime reporter you couldn't resist following the famous detective around, but that didn't mean you enjoyed his company. In fact, you loathed the man. So maybe loathed wasn't the perfect term, but you get the picture. Sherlock Holmes was a rude, inconsiderate, smart arse, who only cared for himself. John told you time and time again that Sherlock cared for you (not that you actually believed him), and that the man wasn't as bad as he seemed. You could deal with violin playing at 2 am, body parts mixed in the fridge with your sustenance, and him just ruining every date you'd ever go on before you could get out the door, but you hated the fact he always treated you as if you were just gun on the bottom of his shoe. He was stuck with you, and you were an absolute nuisance. At least, that's how he treated it. However, if you did have some big confession to make to the detective, now was the time. With Moriarty back, and you as Sherlock's new (as the criminal put it) pet, it's a deduction any idiot could make.
"So, Y/N, is it? What do you have to say to the delectably dashing detective, who is here to rescue his pretty girl? To defeat the dragon?" Moriarty had been poking fun at that, and Sherlock was reacting rather negatively, odd because there was nothing going on between you two. In fact, he may've even hated you more then you did. He was constantly using your 'blandness' as a source of amusement, and while he was your type in every other way, you couldn't stand someone who was quick to bully.
"That I'm not his pretty girl?" You sassed in return, your eye roll quite evident. Typically, these responses were ones that, even at the most inappropriate of times, could amuse the drama-queen. But at the moment, he almost looked like his hands tightened around the gun. You could hear Moriarty nearly hitting the ground, his laughter was so full.
"Well... That's not at all menacing." This only served him to be even more in a fit of hysterics, seeing like he may just die from the side-splitting laughter. It almost seemed like he knew something you didn't, which, considering his likeness to Sherlock, that was very likely.
"Oh, I almost feel bad for you, this time, Sherlock!" Tears were nearing the criminals eyes as he couldn't stop the giggles lining his throat, "Once upon a time, the princess broke Sir-Boast-A-Lots' heart, huh?" More hysterics followed, but Sherlock was nothing more than a stone. Finally overcoming hi fit, Moriarty cleared his throat and straightened himself out, wiping the saline from his eyes. He turned back to you, talking directly at you this time, and expecting an answer.
"You know what? You, my dear, are a riot!" He pointed to you, "I'm going to be nice and let you return with your little detective, oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. The little detective, not your, and go home. How does that sound?" His eyes were practically black, yet the gloated from amusement. He was waiting for your snarky response, this time.
"What do you want? A thank you for knocking me out cold, kidnapping me, threatening to kill me, and then deciding to just not do it? Oh, no, I bet you're awaiting your 'amazing human being of the millennia award'." You snapped in response, forcibly yanking your arms from the ruffian behind you's grip. Moriarty chuckled, again, before turning his head to look at Sherlock.
"I can see why you like her." And that's all he said before he snapped, and strutted out of the place like he owned the world. You tried to ignore the ghost feeling of the large blonde man's hands that had 'slipped' when he had first taken you, and turned towards the tall detective.
"Semi-surprised you even came." You admitted, already heading for the door Sherlock had previously entered before the WHY struck you.
"Oh, wait. That was Moriarty, the man you've been hunting, right? Sorry, my mistake, I take back my shock." It wasn't meant in a particularly mean way while you exited through the double-doored entrance, it had just been a thought, and you'd never really been decent at holding your tongue. Yet, Sherlock felt the sting you hadn't meant for there to be...
"I came for you..." He knew you hadn't heard him, but he did know you would've dropped your jaw, had you. It surprised him, too, honestly. When he'd found out you were missing, he panicked. He'd gotten lucky when Moriarty had gotten bored of waiting for him, and pretty much just told him where he'd brought you. Because he hadn't had the capability to think of anything, but what they could possibly be doing to you. Another stroke of luck was when he realized nothing he'd imagined had transpired, and a wright had instantly been taken off his chest.

It was several days since the incident with Moriarty, and at first, you thought he was only trying to solve the 'Moriarty case' or, as you had coined it, 'Hot evil guy with cool accent but is still a vile human being case'. The nickname was given while Sherlock was still talking to you, four days ago, and was a joke to try and lighten the mood. You'd always had a knack for giving completely ridiculous names to cases, and that talent had always cheered the grump up a bit. It was almost painful to see Sherlock not talk to you anymore, and you were surprised, albeit a confused surprise, when he stopped talking to you altogether. Actually, you almost wondered if you'd struck a nerve, giving the case that name. I mean, Moriarty was the prime case he an John worked on together, and you'd always had this sinking suspicion that Sherlock secretly was smitten with his blogger. Might've been mean. But now wasn't the time to think about that. It was Friday night, you'd worked for a ridiculous amount of time this week, and you finally had a date. Somehow, leaving Sherlock in his "thinking" state seemed inconsiderate, and though you despised his attitude and hurtful bluntness, the detective had grown on you. You were considering cancelling when you heard the knocks on the flat door, which dissipated that thought dissipated. You rushed to greet Damion, the tall ginger from your work. God's gift to women.
For the first time in three and a half days, Sherlock spoke, "You're going on a date?!" He almost seemed taken aback, but his eyes scanned you once more, as if to confirm what he already knew. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't thrown all the way back to the floor when he got a good look at you. He could feel both your piercing glare and his heart racing.
"Yes, Sherlock, I am. It's what I do on Fridays, now, I need to get the door." You explained like you would to a child. He couldn't take his eyes off you, and barely registered your words. The black dress was definitely one of your nicer ones, and it complimented you well. Your hair was put into an exact place, everything in pristine order. Light jewelry, no necklace, this was a romantic date, too. Why did that hurt him? As typical for your Friday evenings, you wore a bold shade of red lipstick to compliment the small touches of red on your dress.
"Hey there Y/N, man, you are lookin' good!" He complimented the moment he stepped in, not even waiting for invitation. Little did he know, Sherlock was absolutely fuming behind his stoic features.
"Thanks, Damion. Give me a second, I left my purse in my room." You quickly rushed to get it, hoping the man would still be there when you got back. Sherlock's breaking point came after a very disrespectful comment from Damion. The moment you stepped into the room, you were attacked by an enraged Sherlock Holmes.
"HIM?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! YOU'VE BEEN THICK-HEADED BEFORE WHEN GOING OUT WITH MEN, BUT THIS JUST TAKES THE CAKE!" He didn't know if he was mad about the comment, or if it was more towards his own fuming jealousy, but he completely blew up. It was rare for him, being calm gave him the advantage, but he couldn't control it. You'd completely thrown out the idea of being 'his girl' (in all fairness, you weren't, but it still hurt.), accused him of only coming for you because it was Moriarty, four days ago you hadn't hesitated on describing said nemesis as 'hot' with a 'cool accent', and now you were throwing yourself at a random man, who had zero respect for you whatsoever.
"This is the first time you've spoke in four days, surprised you even can talk, honestly. And the only thing you have to say after avoiding about seventeen cases is that I'm an idiot. Yep, you're definitely back to being Sherlock, all right." Your tone didn't go unnoticed by the detective, but after Sherlock's little explosion, Damion
had decided to wait in the hall.
"Stop. Stop that." You didn't know exactly when Sherlock became only inches from you, but you definitely knew now as you got the best look you'd ever had of his fluorescent eyes. Damn, they were beautiful. After a bit of admiring, Sherlock's words finally registered. And so did the clear pain in his features.
"S-Stop? What're you tal-" You didn't get to finish, because that exact moment is when Sherlock had decided he'd waited long enough to kiss you. When he pulled off your lips, he seemed just as shocked as you to learn he'd made such a move.
"Iloveyou." He admitted, saying the three syllables as if they were one word. Your arms snaked around his neck of their own accord, drawing his lips back down to your level for a much needed second kiss.