He always knew love was a weakness, he just didn't think it would be his.
Imogen Hargreaves is a former detective that finds herself walking right back into the life she'd left behind. Not only does drama ensue but she manages to catch the eye of t...
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Whilst it really hadn't been my intention to get so involved in the life of Sherlock Holmes, it still ended up happening. First I was only popping round for a cup of tea, listening to the clients that walked through the door. Then curiosity started getting the better of me and rather than listening from the kitchen I'd take a seat on the sofa or in Sherlock's chair if he was pacing back and forth. The first few times he sent me a look but it had now become a norm provided I didn't curl my feet on it with dirty shoes.
Of course curiosity got the better of me yet again and I decided to tag along in my free time, first during the Geek Interpreter, then A Speckled Blonde, until it was just expected I'll come if I'm around. It feels good doing the work I used to do before everything with Kromer, whose trial is coming to an end somewhat soon after what feels an eternity, like I can help again. I'd rather this right now than become a detective of Scotland Yard again - I control the workload this way and I don't really intend on giving up on teaching yet.
My pupils are thrilled having me as teacher more than before now that I'm solving crime in my free time and rub shoulders with Sherlock Holmes. They asked me to bring him in but I'd rather he didn't come in and deduce a poor child to tears and god forbid he outs the affairs in the staff room.
"So what's this one, 'The Bellybutton Murders'?" Sherlock guesses in a bored tone. He's just slightly bitter that John's blog is more popular than his in which he differentiated 243 types of tobacco ash; there is also the small thing of John talking about a case that Sherlock couldn't solve. Not even I had a clue.
John chuckles at his friend, shaking his head, 'The Naval Treatment'?" He suggests instead and I let out a short laugh.
"That's quite good." I commend while Sherlock groans, I quickly elbow him for the noise. We turn down a corridor and Lestrade joins us. He'd asked me to come back a couple of times but my answer always remains the same.
"There's a lot of press outside, guys." The greying man informs us.
"Well, they won't be interested in us." Sherlock waves off any concern.
The inspector scoffs, "Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. Couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you two." He retorts and I stifle a laugh. Oh I can't wait to hear how annoyed Sherlock is about this later.
"Well in that case I'll use another exit-" I stop to turn and go in the opposite direction but Lestrade takes my arm and pulls me back to the group.
"And you, Imogen." He tells me with a teasing smile. Why me? Well I suppose I understand why but why? Even on occasions where I've been prepared for pictures in social events I feel like they look awful. God knows what this will look like.
Sherlock stops abruptly in front of us, ducking into the dressing room and grabbing a few things. "John, put this on." He hands the doctor a tweed flat cap and I hold back a laugh. "Cover your face and walk fast."
