Imagines and Preferences: Book 1

Let's Play a Game | Sherlock Holmes

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Summary: You work for Moriarty and you're in a "relationship" with Sherlock.

QOTP: How do you feel about Irene Adler?

Word Count: 753

You're in 221B with Sherlock, you two being the only ones there. Sherlock is sitting in his chair, and you're sitting in John's, leaning towards him.

You're in a relationship, have been for some time, but the thing is... it's not exactly the best situation.

You work for Moriarty. You're high up in his little food chain; you have a lot of clearance. Therefore, you know a lot about Moriarty and his plans. It also helps that the man himself finds you attractive and has made advances on you.

Yet here you are with Sherlock Holmes. His enemy.

He's on his phone, texting Lestrade about some case involving both a shovel and a squirrel. You sigh. "Are you done yet?"

"Well, I think it may have been the brother and the third cousin twice-removed, but it could also be the grandmother and the squirrel," he says, not looking up.

You nod, standing, moving over to him. "Very interesting... You know what's even more entertaining?"

At this he slowly looks up. "What?"

Immediately, your lips are on his. For a few seconds, he's torn between the case and you. Eventually, he decides you're a better option.

He starts kissing back, wrapping his arms around you. You run your hands through his hair and he pulls you closer, but then you pull away. He makes a disappointed face for a second, then reverts back to his usual expression.

"We need to talk," you say.

He turns his phone back on. "Do we?"

"I know how you are, Sherlock. I know you'd do anything to get to Moriarty. So, it's likely you're suffering through this to get information," you say.

He continues to text. "Interesting assumption."

"However," you continue, slowly taking his phone out of his hand, "you never talk about him - never ask. I haven't told you a word of what I know. And it's the same every time - I sit here, you talk, I try to kiss you, you push me away, I try to kiss you again, and you give in. Yeah, we talk sometimes, but it's never about him.

"Of course, it's plausible that you're biding your time, waiting for me to open up so as to not be obvious about why I'm really here, which is sort of clever. But you've done so much better...

"And you underestimate me, Holmes."

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm terribly impatient, Y/N. If I wanted information, I'd have gotten it by now."

"Maybe so... but, even if that's not why I'm here, you still want information."

This piques his interest. "That'd be a perk, yes."

You sit back down in John's chair, smirking. "Let's play a game."

"What sort of game?" Sherlock asks, leaning forward.

Your eyes glint with mischief. "I'll tell you something about James Moriarty, then I get to ask you a question and you have to answer honestly."

"Okay."

"And there's a twist."

"...Yes?"

"I might be lying."

Sherlock sighs, takes a deep breath, then says, "Okay."

"Alright," you reply, leaning forward, leaving only a few inches between you. "Let's begin.

"His mother died from cancer."

"What kind?" Sherlock asks.

You don't hesitate. "Brain cancer."

He thinks for a few moments, then says, "True."

"Correct. My turn...

"Am I a good kisser?"

Sherlock seems taken aback. "Really? That's what you want to know?"

"No judgement, just answer," you reply, smirking.

He struggles to reply, which is exactly what you wanted. "... Yes."

"He has a sister," you shoot back.

Sherlock shakes his head. "False."

You chuckle, leaning back in the chair. "You're quite good at this... Let's see... What was your first impression of me?"

"Pretty."

"I said honestly, Holmes."

"... Intelligent, beautiful, and a little bit unnerving."

You think for a moment. "I can live with that...

"Oh, look, it's seems I'm out of information."

"False," Sherlock frustratingly replies.

You laugh, "Anything more will cost you."

"You've been spending way too much time with him," Sherlock says, a hint of strain in his voice.

You shake your head. "Actually, I've been spending most of my time with you. Speaking of, I'd better be off."

You start to walk out, but he stops you. "Wait."

"Yes?" you ask, standing in the doorway, your back to him.

"What will it cost me?"

You turn. "Your evening; I want dinner."

He smiles. "... I can live with that."