BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock: The Arranged Marriage (Part 2)

The cab ride was silent. The flat was silent. You were silent. Sherlock was silent. That how's your life could be described in one word for the past week - silent. Besides the periodic times during the day when Sherlock would play his violin and the melody floated up the stairs, enveloping you in a hug. Other than that, you both barely muttered a word to each other. You sat in your room upstairs reading, sleeping, doing anything to keep your boredom from reaching an all time high. The only person you had talked to was Mrs. Hudson when she asked if you wanted tea. Mycroft had stopped by once to give you your documents, but other than that, your social life consisted of saying "yes please" or "no thank you" to Mrs. Hudson. Occasionally, she'd try to strike up a conversation, but you would always sink back into your shell of quietness. It was the shock. The shock of losing your only family member still left - your father. It was the shock of having to leave your home country, to not be able to protect it like a member of the ruling family should. It was the shock of almost facing death and somehow managing to escape. It was the shock of having to marry a man you didn't even know. A man who didn't even look at you. That was the worst part, he didn't look at you. He avoided you. But, you also avoided him, in fear he would try to talk to you, try to apologize. In a way, you wanted him to apologize, wanted him to say that he wanted to try to get to know you. But, if he did that, you knew that all this would be real, that it would be permanent. You didn't want this to be your life. Him apologizing would mean you accepting to live this life, and you weren't ready for that. And you definitely weren't ready for the knock that came at your door seconds later.

"(Y/n), it's me, John." Ah John, the man that tripped you that night in the forest and dragged you to safety. He even carried you when you passed out from shock. Although you had nothing against him, you did not go to answer the door. You hoped he would think you were asleep. "I know you're awake, Mrs. Hudson said you were just downstairs minutes ago." Drab. You shuffled to the door and opened it up, revealing a short man with greying hair. He smiled warmly at you, a welcoming presence wafting from him. "Would you like to join us for dinner?" Us. Would that include Sherlock? You ran the idea over in your mind - dinner with Sherlock? Not wanting to be more rude than you already were, you nodded lightly and followed him down the stairs. You came into the living room and found Sherlock sitting on his chair, violin in hand, eyes concentrating on somewhere in space. His eyes flicked up and awkwardly met yours for a second, but you felt his scrutinizing look all the same as the first time you met him. His eyes still sparkled.

"Dinner is ready," announced Mrs. Hudson. You popped your head in the kitchen and noticed the table decorated in mounds of food. In the week you lived here you did not know such food existed, you had been living off of microwave meals. "Take a seat dear," offered Mrs. Hudson. You smiled slightly, deciding to take the first open seat in front of you. Before you sat down, the chair was moved back, and you looked up to find Sherlock pulling it back for you in a gentleman manner. A pained smile was spread across his face, and you blushed at his endearing action, although you guessed it was forced. After you pushed it in after you, you saw John give him a look. It was forced.

The food was great. The conversation, not so great. Like Sherlock's nice deed, it was forced. John asked how you were liking it here in London, and you responded with blank replies of how you hadn't even seen London yet. He responded kindly still, telling you his wife would have to take you out one day. Then hesuggested Sherlock could do it.

"I'd be honored," he muttered sarcastically through gritted teeth, then continued to pick at his food like a little kid. Once in awhile you'd catch his eye, and he'd give you a stony look. After awhile, you were fed up with it. You were fed up with everything. Fed up with being holed inside this damn flat with this damn man that hated you.

"You know Sherlock, I can leave if I bother you that much. I know you hate me and that you don't want me here. You make that bloody apparent. So why keep me around? You didn't sign the contract with my father, you owe him nothing, so why keep me around if you're just going to ignore me? Is it because of your brother? Last time I checked you didn't need his praise or anything, so why Sherlock, why keep me trapped here? If it's because you think you have some duty to me as a husband, trust me, you don't. Obviously you don't care about me. I mean I don't expect you to, but a little welcome would be nice." In the time you had gone off on him, you had stood from your seat, with each piercing word you had inched closer to him. Now you stood, your beet red face inches from his marble white one. You didn't care that Mrs. Hudson and John were staring at you with jaws dropped, it was probably the most they ever heard you talk. All that mattered was making it aware to Sherlock how much he sucked at being a husband, if you could even call him that. In a rush of anger, you flew up the stairs and slammed the door behind you. Your head was pounding, you yourself hadn't heard yourself talk out loud that much in awhile. You threw yourself under your covers, covered your face, and started to cry.

~

You awoke to the sound of rain pounding like nails on the roof. Your eyes hurt as you pried them open, the puffiness making it almost impossible to see. The gray light from the outside lit up the room lightly. The clock read 9:32, you had slept for a good 10 hours. While your head hurt like a bad hangover, your body felt fresh. Ready to start the day right, you jumped out of bed and flung open the door. You ran into something, falling to the ground and taking it with you. You waited for the hard fall, but all you felt was warm arms and heard a light "oomph". You had landed on Sherlock Holmes.

"Oh, (y/n), I was uh coming to, to," he froze. You realized that you still lay on top of him, and scrambled up. He stood up gracefully, smoothing out his shirt, then finally meeting your eyes. His gaze softened as he took in your puffy eyes and red cheeks. Sadness passed over his chiseled features, and you looked down at the ground nervously.

"I came to, uh-apologize." Your eyes widened. This is exactly what you hadn't wanted to happen. In a panic, you turned and ran right back into your room and shut the door. Before you closed it though, you watched his hopeful smile fade. You waited to hear his footsteps retreat, but no sound was to be heard.

"I may have said some things to upset you. Also, I'll admit, I've been ignoring you. But I'm trying to make it right and say sorry, and you're not making it any easier (y/n)," he accused. You opened the door cautiously.

"You think apologizing will make it better? Make it all go away?" His eyes, they sparkled, happy that you opened the door, happy you answered.

"I don't know, but it may help?" he finished unsurely. You rolled your eyes, John probably put him up to this "apology", and you tried to close the door. He slipped in before you could shut it. "I'm not leaving till you say you forgive me."

"What does that do?"

"It means you're not mad anymore."

"No it doesn't, it means I'm saying it to get you to go away." He frowned, and came closer to you.

"I am sorry. And you should know I don't apologize to just anybody."

"So why am I so special?" you asked, playing along, waiting for him to snap back with a smartarse comment, waiting for him to start the fight this time.

"Because you're my wife." You pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear in an anxious habit, trying not make it known that your cheeks burned at his use of the word "wife". You both stayed still. Finally, you peered up at him, and locked eyes. A million words were exchanged between you two, apologies and promises. Something had changed. Like now. - you had noticed before how attractive he was. But now, it was more noticeable. Only because he called you his wife, you still hate him, remember that. But slowly, you felt the hate melt away, that look you two shared changing everything. You no longer felt his eyes to be nosy, but like gentle friends that knew every part of you.

"Perhaps," he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, "I should take you on a proper honeymoon. Isn't that was people do when they get married?"

A/N

Please keep in mind while you read this I was half asleep while writing it. I hope the ending wasn't too cheesy, what'd you think of it? This was a fun story to write. Definitely different than other ones I've done, but it was a nice change. If you all have any questions or need clarifying, feel free to ask.

Other than that.

I really don't have much to say.

I had a great day today. How was your guys' day? (I actually want to know.)

I love you all for reading my story. Pretty sure I say this same thing every time in my author's note, but it's only because it's true. Continue to read please, and vote, and comment. Ya'll rule the school (ew, I haven't even started school yet, still a week of summer left)

Okay goodnight

Enjoy