Sherlock Imagines [ Book 2 ]

The Clumsy and The Badass [S.H.]

Type: Greaserlock ft 

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Warnings: None

Heyo it's your ho

Hey it's ya boi uhhhh skinny-penis

No it's actually @jackskellingtonrulz5 I've just been watching too many rip vine comps

WE BACK WITH ANOTHER COLLAB

K

So

Collab

Shit

Yeah

STORY TIME

mood

*

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you ran the white cloth over Sherlock's cheek, "Remind me again why you did something so stupid?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I can't help it. They irritate me, and I respond."

"Just ignore them." You pulled the now crimson stained cloth away as he shuddered. "That stings."

"Too bad." You retorted. "I'm not a trained medical professional, I shouldn't even be the one doing this," you muttered to yourself as you began to stitch him up, soon biting off the thread and tying it to keep the cut shut.

"Sometimes I question why I'm with you." You offered a smile and his gaze softened, you ran a hand through his curls. You ran your thumb under his eyes, the flesh purple and swelling, threatening to shut. You handed him an ice pack, earning another shudder

"Because I'm ruggedly handsome, perhaps?" He gave you the charming smirk you couldn't resist and you rolled your eyes before shaking your head. "No, I think it's because you buy me food whenever I ask."

This earned a laugh from your lover but it quickly changed into a wince as it seemed to make the cut on his cheek sting even more with the movement. You gave him a reassuring smile, eyes sparkling with sympathy as you squeezed a drop of ointment on your finger before applying it under his cheekbone. He hissed.

"Stings, does it?"

"No, I hissed in pain because it felt so lovely." He snapped back.

"Hang in there, tough guy." You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I've gotta do one more, then we can go get something to eat."

"I'm not feeling up to going out, Y/N. Can we just stay in?" He begged, looking up at her with those mesmerizing eyes of his. You drew in a deep breath before nodding.

"As long as you promise to eat something here." Your words came out in a stern tone, replacing sympathy with a steely glare.

"Fine. You're the boss." Sherlock glared at you, but there was clearly no animosity in his eyes.

Sherlock shrugged his leather jacket back on, smirking as he noticed the dried blood on the wrist. Whether his own or his opposer's, he didn't know, but it was still satisfying to look at. He'd really done a number on Moriarty and his gang. One against three. Not a fair fight, of course, but he'd made it out with only a few cuts and bruises to show for it. Moriarty, Sebastian, and their other lacky had left with more serious injuries, some of which Sherlock was sure were concussions and broken ribs. He smirked. They didn't have Y/N to stitch them up with love and care when they got hurt. . He would never, ever admit it to you, but he knew that he was extremely lucky to have you.