Sherlock Preferences

Small Injury (You)

*now a mostly insignificant injury you gain*

Sherlock Holmes

You hissed in pain, trying not to rub your dry hands. They hurt, a lot, and you were in a meeting at work with no lotion. You tried to fan your hands or discreetly blow on them but it didn't work too great, as the pain always came back.

Then the meeting ended and you were able to leave. You practically ran to your desk. You stared, horrified, to see the last of the lotion had been used. You knew you should've brought more last week, but of course you thought you'd be okay. How wrong you were.

You sat down in your chair and rocked back and forth, glancing around to make sure you were alone. Seeing nobody was there, you spit on your hands and rubbed it around, sighing at yourself but knowing you needed to try.

When you walked out the doors at the end of the day, sure you knew exactly where you were going, you were met with a surprise. Sherlock stood there, looking very antsy to get going.

"Sherlock?" You approached him.

"Come on, I need your help on a case." He took your hand and pulled you along behind him. You hissed inwardly because of the pull on your damaged skin,

"Baby, I'm sorry, I can't."

He paused. "Your hands can wait, there are murders to be solved!" So he already guessed it. "Murder (Y/N)!"

"I'll make it up to you later." You pried your hand from his and took a step back, sending him a sad look. He sighed and crossed his arms.

"Fine."

"Thanks!" You blew him a kiss and headed off to your car, thinking up the nearest lotion-buying place.  

John Watson

You hissed in pain. Another papercut. Honestly when were you going to learn you couldn't slide your fingers along the edge of the page? John noticed your pain and his eyebrows creased in concern.

"Papercut." You informed him, holding up your sliced finger. He winced and you nodded. Nobody likes papercuts. You went back to what you were doing for awhile before anyone spoke again.

"Have you ever had a cardboard cut?" John asked.

"No." You frowned. That sounded painful.

"I've heard they're awful." He made a face, like the very thought sent chills down his spine.

"Hope neither of us ever get one." You stayed on that thought a little longer in your mind before switching back to your current task.  

Greg Lestrade

You whipped your hand away so fast you hit the counter behind you, making you cry out in pain. You had just burned your hand, and the added shock of the counter didn't help. Gritting your teeth, you left the oven door open and rushed to put your hand under some cool water. When you got to the sink you stuck your hand under the nozzle and flipped the stream of water on, making sure it was cold.

You sucked in a big breath through your teeth. Every once in awhile you'd burn yourself, but it usually wasn't this bad. One finger, maybe two, would get singed and you'd go through the same process you were now (except you didn't usually hit that same hand on the island in the middle of the kitchen).

But, this special time, you were lucky enough to burn your whole hand, isn't that wonderful? You huffed.

"Honey are you okay?" Greg popped in, walking over to see what was wrong.