Sherlock Imagines and Preferences

Wrong

Requested by MariWhoLock 

Warning: Self-harm is mentioned in this oneshot.

~***~

Holding each other's hands, you and Sherlock arrived at the crime scene. It wasn't a pretty sight. The body was dumped in a container in a dark alley, the walls covered in blood. Sherlock approached the body and pulled a face, obviously disgusted. ''Maybe you shouldn't look at this, Love.'' He suggested, blocking your view. You smiled at him. ''I can handle it, Sherl.'' He raised an eyebrow. ''You sure?'' You nodded confidently and he stepped away, giving you a full view of the victim. The same grossed out look as Sherlock had earlier appeared on your face, but you didn't step away nor did you vomit like Anderson did. The victim was clearly male, but one vital part of his body was missing. His head. It had been cut off by a rather sharp object and a lot of force. This wasn't an ordinary case, you realised. ''The one who did this must've been very angry, so the victim knew the murderer personally.'' Sherlock deduced. He grabbed his magnifying glass and inspected the edges of where the victim's head was cut off. 

He was stating his deductions out loud as you quietly stood behind him, making your own deductions. ''The deceased is a male in his early thirties. He recently lost his wife due to... an illness. He was heartbroken about it, judging by the fresh self-harm marks on his arms. No sign of any older scars, so it had to be because of the loss of his wife. His family forced him to speak to a therapist, but he refused.'' Sherlock rambled as he inspected the body. ''That doesn't explain who killed him,'' Lestrade interjected, getting impatient. ''Shut up, Graham.'' Lestrade sighed, but kept his mouth shut. Agreeing with all the deductions Sherlock had made, you kept quiet as well and tried to figure out who the murderer was for yourself.

Sherlock slipped his hands into the man's pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. A grin spread on his face as he unfolded it. ''Oooh! This is fantastic!'' He exclaimed. ''What are you talking about?'' Lestrade inquired, fearing the answer. Sherlock held up the piece of paper. ''This symbol is a sign of one of the most feared active gangs here in London. They're vicious and kill everyone who gets in their way. I believe they call themselves The Black Panthers.'' The detective explained. 

Sherlock continued to ramble about them, but you blocked him out. Something wasn't right about his deduction. Taking a closer look at the body, you realised what was going on. ''Uhm, Sherlock.'' You interrupted. He stopped talking and looked at you, a questioning look on his face. ''This is not a victim of The Black Panthers.'' You stated. Everyone stared at you, mouths hanging open. They couldn't believe you just stated that the consulting detective, the man who could solve any case, was wrong. ''Wh-What do you mean?'' Sherlock asked, shocked. ''Look at the victim's hands.'' You instructed. ''He's a surgeon. Long, slender fingers accustomed to doing precise work. Like you said earlier, his wife died of a disease. As a surgeon he should've been able to heal her. At least, that's how his in-laws must feel after losing someone who was very important in their lives. The murderer was obviously a family member of the wife.'' You deduced. ''Lestrade, I suggest you find out who the close relatives of the victim's wife are. You'll be able to find the murderer rather quickly. He or she probably has a violent criminal record.''

Sherlock stared at you in awe. He had followed your every word and he realised you were right. ''The murderer probably tried to frame The Black Panthers for the murder, knowing it wouldn't matter to them at all.'' The detective mumbled, agreeing with your theory. ''Exactly!'' You smiled. Sherlock looked at you, cheeks flushed red from utter embarrassment for getting it wrong, but also because you had never been so irresistible to him. He was struggling to keep himself from making out with you in front of everyone. ''Thank you, (Y/N). We'll take it from here.'' Lestrade smiled, shaking your hand. ''Anytime.'' You grinned, enjoying the attention. Sherlock started walking away and you quickly ran after him.

~At 221B~

You gracefully let yourself fall onto the couch, sighing in relief as you could finally rest your tired feet. ''That was fun.'' You said, smiling happily as Sherlock entered the flat as well. ''Yes. Yes, it was.'' He muttered, sitting down in his chair instead of joining you. The smile on your face faded and your happiness was replaced by guilt. Proving him wrong in front of all those cops must've been incredibly embarrassing for him. You stood up and quietly walked over to him. ''Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in front of everyone. I really didn't mean to. I just saw what was going on, so I explained it to the others.'' You apologised, chewing on your bottom lip. Sherlock looked up at you and smiled widely, guiding you to sit on his lap. ''Darling, you don't need to apologise for solving the case. Your deductions were amazing and I couldn't be more proud of you!'' He stated. You smiled at him and leant in to press a soft kiss on his lips, which he happily returned. ''I love you, my smart detective.'' You whispered. ''I love you more, my brilliant girlfriend.'' You grinned and got up from his lap, heading to the kitchen to make the two of you some tea.

''Darling, I have a surprise for you,'' Sherlock stated as soon as you returned to the living room, holding two steaming teacups. ''You do?'' He stood up and placed the deerstalker he hated more than anything on your head. ''Now there are two consulting detectives in the world.'' He announced. You chuckled and kissed him before throwing the horrendous hat in the fireplace.