BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock: The Arranged Marriage (Part 3)

Epilogue

Not only did you fall on Sherlock Holmes that day, but you fell in love with him.

Still, today, it was hard for you to admit. He continued to drive you insane to the point that some days you threatened to hunt down Dame and go live with him because anywhere was better than being stuck in 221B with a high functioning sociopath. But you both knew you were lying, 221B was home. Sherlock was home. You couldn't leave if you tried. And you had tried. One day, Sherlock and you had been arguing over whether he should take you on a case or not.

"I'm not a child Sherlock, I can take care of myself if anything happens to you, which nothing ever does!"

"As much as I appreciate your faith in me, the answer is still no." You stomped your foot in frustration. "How very unchildlike of you," he added, smirking. Fine, I'll show him I can survive on my own. You hurried to to the bedroom, packing some clothes in a knapsack, and stomping extra loud to the front door. He was on his laptop, didn't even glance up. You slammed the door, loudly, and stomped down the stairs, one by one. Reaching the front door, you opened it. Gusts of wind blew you back, and you were pelted with giant raindrops. Bugger. You looked up the staircase hoping he wouldn't see you wimping out, but you had to keep the charade going. You slammed the door hard, hoping it rattled his chair upstairs. Then you went to Mrs. Hudson's.

After explaining the whole situation to her, she fussed over how adorable you and Sherlock were and made you tea. Then you helped her bake some cookies and a pie. A couple hours had passed when suddenly the door swung open, and there stood Sherlock.

"MRS. HUDSON SHE'S GONE!" He was drenched head to toe, a scared and wild look in his eyes, till he spotted you. You froze, afraid he would start yelling. But instead, he strode over to you, only two steps it took, and placed his face mere inches from yours. Now you had been in this spot before, 7 months ago, when you had fallen on him, and you had not taken the chance to kiss him, even though you had wanted nothing more. But this time, you did. At first, he stood there, stunned. Despite him being soaked, his lips were oddly warm. And soft. And tasted like mint. But they stayed still. You pulled away, and he looked down at you.

"Don't do that again." You had not expected that response. Were you really that bad of a kisser? "Don't ever leave me again." Then he grasped the sides of your face, and finished off the kiss.

There were other times, like that one, that reminded you how lucky you had been to come across him, even though the circumstances had not been ideal. You had never truly gotten over your father's death. Some nights you spent sobbing; some days you spent in a daze. Sherlock helped though.

"Can I get you anything? A cuppa? A pillow? A skull?"

"What would a skull do for me?" you asked him, drying the tears on your cheeks for the hundredth time.

"Sometimes all you need is for someone to be there to listen, even if it's just a hunk of bone with eye sockets and rotted teeth."

"Why can't you listen to me?"

"Because you said I don't listen, I deduce."

"Well pretend I didn't say that and come sit with me." He sat close to you - close enough that his thigh touched yours and when he took breaths your shoulders bumped. You closed the distance, resting your head on his shoulder. A peaceful silence ensued for a couple minutes where you forgot about the mournful details of you father and instead focused on Sherlock's breathing patters and the way your head fit into the crevice between his head and shoulders.

"I'm listening," he said. You had forgotten that's why he came here, to listen.

"I know."

"Well, you're not saying anything."

"I know, but sometimes all you need is to know that someone is there to listen when you're ready to talk."

"When will you be ready?"

"I don't know," you whispered hoarsely. He stayed quiet for a few moments, then spoke.

"Well when you're ready, I'll be here, I'll always be here."

He was right, he was always there. Even when you didn't want him to be there, he still was. And you couldn't be more thankful for that.

"Just leave, please."

"No. I'm staying."

"Sherlock, I'm not going to ask again, go." He continued to stand there, ignoring your pleading requests. You turned back to the doctor, but he was too zoned in on the paperwork to say anything. You covered your face in embarrassment. If you had wanted Sherlock to not know one thing about you, it was your biggest flaw. When the doctor ordered, you lifted your shirt up a ways, just past your bellybutton. The skin was pink, a thin line that stretched the length of you. It was jagged, not straight by any means. You cringed at the memory of the knife being drug across you, and shut your eyes tightly. Although it had happened over 10 years ago, you still felt the pain. You didn't want to look at Sherlock, didn't want to see the disgusted look on his face. It was an ugly thing, something that had marked you, that reminded you of all your pain and struggle.

"Well, I don't think it's infected, just keep taking your medicine." You thanked the doctor and slipped your shirt back down quickly and marched out of the room. Every year, you had to make a trip to the doctor's office. The cut had been made by a knife that had bacteria on it, it had been infected in the first year you got it, almost killing you, and now you had check ups just to be safe.

"(Y/n) wait, what's wrong?" asked Sherlock, catching up to you.

"What's wrong?" you asked, tears already coming, "what's wrong is that I asked you to leave so you didn't have to see that filthy thing on me, but you didn't listen. Like usual."

"What filthy thing? They didn't make you wear the ugly hospital gown this time so I really don't know what you're talking about."

"THE BLOODY SCAR."

"You mean that tiny line on your stomach?" he asked incredulously. You could have kissed right there, you almost did, but he would go into freak out mode due to the PDA.

"You didn't think it was gross?"

"I thought it was quite fascinating, the skin had totally transformed to a different color!"

Leave it to Sherlock Holmes to turn a bad situation into a humorous one. But that was part of the reason you loved him. Only part of it though. There were many more; little parts that all added up. At the end of the day, no matter how crazy he had driven you that day, he was always yours, and you couldn't be happier, couldn't have asked for better. Which was why, right now, you were looking into the mirror at your sleeveless white gown that waded over the floor, smiling at the memories you had made with your true love, and the many more that were to come.

A/N

There it is, part 3. Some of you asked for it, and I couldn't say no to the people! Also, I couldn't leave you folks with that wimpy 400 word story I just posted. I owed you folks a good one, and I hope this is!

Thank you all so much. You know I always must give you folks thanks. For the ideas, the comments, the votes, the reads, the everything. I love you all.

So please, I invite you to keep commenting, reading, requesting, voting, et cetera.

It's only 12:50 and I'm super tired. Only 2 more days of freedom and then I'm back at school, I better live them out... Have any of you guys started school? (Yes this question is meant to be answered.)

Okay well off I go

I hope you enjoyed it

I enjoyed writing it

I look forward to enjoy writing another one

Night children