Sherlock Imagines & One-Shots

(Sherlock) Part 2

Getting ready for dinner with Sherlock wasn't too difficult. On the outside I would show that I believed that there was no reason for me to impress, but deep down inside something always criticized me on something that I said or did around the man. And now I found my nerves becoming the better of me.

What is wrong with me? 

It's just dinner.

I've had dinner multiple times with him even if it was only for a short period of time and resulted in us saying good night after running through the streets of London with one and other.

So, why am I nervous now?

Is it because I was in the hospital for three months and was unable to move? Most likely. However, he came to visit every so often while I was there. There is no way that could have suddenly changed my inhibitions.

"How does it feel being out of that hospital bed?" Sherlock asked as we were seated at our table.

I sip on the wine that had been poured for us and smiled.

"Good. You never realise how much you miss something until it's been taken away," I answer. "But it was nice of you to visit, Sherlock. The only other person I spoke to was this little old lady that had a habit talking to me."

"Did you know her?"

"No, that's what made it slightly worse."

We laugh and drink a little more. The food arrives quicker than I had anticipated. We ate and Sherlock continued to unravel stories with a mixture of events that had taken place when I was lying in a bed, bored out of my mind. It was enjoyable to listen to. The most I ever spoken to him was for an hour tops, sitting here and watching him prattle on about something was more than just pleasant.

By the end of dinner I had laughed so much that my sides hurt and my cheeks were beginning to tighten. A smile swept across Sherlock's lips. He offered to pay for dinner before we fled the restaurant. I linked arms with him as we strolled down the street. It was dark and street lights lit our way down busy streets of London. Many of the people filling the streets were proceeding to make their ways to clubs and various parties. I laced my fingers together, pulling my body closer to his side. His hands were shoved in his pockets.

"It's good to finally be out again," I sigh. "Being in that stupid accident is giving me a good enough reason to start looking for trouble with you again."

"And risk another hospital visit?" Sherlock asks, looking down at me briefly.

"If it means that you'll buy me more flowers and chocolate then yes," I smile. "And if it also means that you'll buy me dinner every time I'm discharged."

"You're saying as though I need an excuse to buy you gifts."

"Well," I shrug a little. "It wouldn't be the first time."

He laughs. He leans down and lays a kiss on my hair.

We weren't the type for this sort of public affection. It was different and new. Holding hands and linking arms was one thing but sharing a kiss or even hugging was a completely different matter. I enjoyed the closeness I felt to him. The people in my life - even my colleagues back in Scotland Yard - were not the type of people I would spill my heart out to. But, strangely, Sherlock gave me a reason to feel comfortable.

He was the reason that I feel back into rebound so quickly. He was the reason I wanted to escape the dreary hospital room and run around the streets, chasing suspects and feeling rewarded when the correct man - or woman - is put behind bars.

Sherlock Holmes is the reason that I never gave up.