Sherlock Preferences

How You Meet

Sherlock:
You were taking Sally Donovan's place at Scotland Yard. It was your third day on the job, when a case came in that Sherlock Holmes was consulted on.

You were at the scene, talking to Greg. He was lecturing you about Sherlock, when a tall man with dark, curly hair came up to the tape. You lifted the tape for him, and he ducked under. A short, sandy- haired man follows suit.

The taller man looks to you in confusion. "Where's Donovan?" He asks. You snort and roll your eyes. "She was fired," you say. Sherlock nods. "You are in your mid- twenties, live alone, have a tendency to not speak your opinion, you are extremely intelligent, you play the piano, cello, violin, viola, and flute. You are fluent in French, German, English, and Portuguese. You have two brothers and a sister. You have Ad-Hd. May I see your phone?" You give it to him. He unlocks it and messes around with it. He then gives it back.

"And you now have my number," he says, smiling cheekily and going to investigate the crime scene. You nod and put your phone up. You look around to see people staring at you in awe. You just shrug it off.

Mycroft:
You had just returned from the back of your bakery to check on your customers. You finish up an order and begin to get it prepared. The bell on the door of your bakery dings as a very well- dressed man enters. He takes a good look around. Eventually, he makes his way to the counter.

He stands a good head taller than you. You look up to the figure towering above you and smile politely. "What can I get you today?" You ask. He returns the smile and observes the baked goods in the display cabinet. "A slice of the Victoria sponge cake, please,"he says.

He pulls out a wad of cash and peels a few bills off the stack. He hands them to you, and you gladly accept them. You give him the receipt and his change. He smiles as he takes the receipt.

"Keep the change as a tip. Such a beautiful woman like you should keep a couple bills," he says. You blush and put the money in your apron.

"Thank you, sir. I'll just prepare your order," you say, taking the cake and slicing it. You put the slice in a baggie. You take a sharpie and write your number on it. He seems to be watching the people around the bakery. You slowly push the baggie across the counter.

When he notices it, he takes it and says, "good day." He smiles at the note you left on it and winks at you. He heads out of the bakery, turning back to wink once more.

Moriarty:
You had just stabbed a member of Parliament. Federal agents were after you. You were running down the street, when someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you into an alley.

You struggle in their grasp. They put a hand over your mouth and pull you to their chest. "They'll find you if you scream," the person says. You sigh and nod. They slowly release their hold on you.

You turn to look into dark brown eyes. It's a man just a few inches taller than you, with a smirk painted on his face. "James. James Moriarty. You are (Y/F/N),"he says. You roll your eyes, as this isn't unusual. Many criminals know you, simply because you'd been on the telly a time or two. Okay, maybe twelve times in the past month, but still.

You nod. "Yep, that's my name. Don't wear it out," you say. He chuckles. "I like you," he says. You roll your eyes. "I get that a lot,"you say, walking out of the alley and making a run for it.

John:
You were mugged in front of 221B Baker Street. You were laying under a street lamp, trying to move your ankle. Every time you tried to move it, you couldn't and the pain was unbearable. You knew that your eye would be black, for you could feel a bruise forming. You had a gash on your side from impact on the sidewalk. Eventually, you passed out.

When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed. There was a figure hunched over in the corner of the room. As your vision cleared, you saw that he was asleep and his head was rested in his hand. He had sand coloured hair and bags under his eyes.

You tried to sit up to see the room better, but found that you were to weak. You grunted, still trying, until hands pshed you back to the bed. "It would be better if you didn't try to move. You could hurt yourself worse," he said.
He had a concerned, yet authoritative look in his eyes. You sighed, sitting back in your original position. "Who are you? I don't remember coming here," you say. The man clears his throat and stands by your bedside.

"I'm John Watson. I brought you here after I found you unconscious and under a streetlamp outside of my flat." You groan. "Did you find my purse?" You ask. He shakes his head. "No. My friend, Sherlock, went out to look for it. He should be along whenever he finds it," John says.

You nod. "Thank you, John. Thank you for bringing me here. I would probably be dead by now of not for you," you say. John smiles. "You are very welcome..." "(Y/N)." "You are very welcome (Y/N)," he says.

Greg:
Your brother, Sherlock, let you go on a case with him. You were at the crime scene, watching him examine the body and make his deductions.

An older man with olive skin stands by your side. "How can you stand him calling you idiots?" You ask the guy. He chuckles. "It happens so much, sometimes I don't even realise he says it. What's a pretty woman doing here?" He asks. You smile. "Sherlock's my older brother. He sort of dragged me here to see him in action," you say.

Greg chuckles slightly. "Typical Sherlock," he says. "Jeff, we need to find this woman's sister. The sister is the murderer," Sherlock says. Greg sighs. "He never gets my name right," he mutters. "Alright team, get on it. You heard the man. Look for the sister,"he says.

He turns to you. "Nice talking..." "(Y/N). The youngest and dumbest Holmes child," you say. Greg chuckles. "I'm Greg Lestrade. I've got to go, but see you?" He asks. You nod. "Of course," you say.

Sherlock is suddenly beside you. "He likes you. You like him. I'm telling Mycroft," Sherlock says, smiling widely. You punch him playfully. "Can you not? Can we just let him find out on his own?" You ask. Sherlock nods. "Of course. I wasn't going to call him anyways. God knows that he would think I'm high," he says. You laugh.

"Anyone would, Sherlock. Either that, or they would think that you're crazy," you say. Sherlock chuckles. "They already do," he says. You smile and slap him playfully. "Not I, nor mum, nor dad," you say. Sherlock rolls his eyes.