A Few Fluffy Locklyle Oneshots

An Accidental "I Love You" Part I

A/N: This is my first fanficion, constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. With school starting (I read the series over the summer) I have no idea when I can update. I've only got a few ideas, so any suggestions as to what I should write next *might* be taken. This story seems scary at parts, but don't worry, Lucy ends up OK, and the fluff I promised is here. Anyways, thanks for reading!!

Disclaimer: If I owned Lockwood and Co., there would have been at least 6 Locklye kisses by the end of TEG. Alas, I don't, so nada.
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Lucy's POV

Lockwood and I stood together on the doorstep of our most recent client's house, awaiting an answer to our knock. I sighed, whoever lived inside was certainly taking their time.

"Ooh, I wish they'd hurry up already! This one is supposed to be good. You being in mortal danger is so fun to watch!" A voice hissed from my backpack.

I twisted around to glare at it, "Shut up, you little-"

My words were cut short by the timely arrival of our client; a stout man, barely taller than me and much shorter than Lockwood. He had on a rumpled gray shirt and dark blue trousers, pockets bulging with papers or loose change. Stubble littered his face, making him look tired and older than his thirty-some years.

Lockwood-as he always did when meeting a new client-smiled down at him. "Hello," he chirped "My name is Anthony Lockwood and this is my associate Lucy Carlyle."

We extended our hands, the man shaking each in turn. When he grasped my hand, unlike when he had taken Lockwood's, his eyes weren't level with mine. Instead they traveled up and down my figure, before flicking back to Lockwood.

"And I'm John White." He told us.

"Excellent. Well, Mr. White, during our phone conversation this morning, you told us there was an unwelcome presence in your house, taking the shape of someone you once knew and looming threateningly over you while whispering something you couldn't understand. This all holds true, correct?" Lockwood, courteous as ever.

"Correct. My niece was the first to see it when she visited last week, but to her it took the form of her dead mother. When I saw it two days later, it looked like my best friend from high school who was killed in an automobile accident several years ago. The past three nights it's been wandering around the house, and I haven't gotten any sleep!" As if to prove his point, Mr. White stretched and yawned.

"Aww, poor baby needs his sleepsy-weepsy." The skull's mock infiltrated my head. As we were in the presence of a client, an adult nonetheless, there was nothing I could do to make the cursed skull quiet.

Lockwood flashed his meggawatt grin, "Yes, of course you wouldn't be able to sleep with a dangerous type two lurking in your home." This was standard Lockwood. I found the man irritating, and would have let that be known, and though Lockwood surely felt the same way, you would never have guessed it had you not known him well.

Lockwood, with his pale skin contrasting fantastically with his dark hair and glittering eyes. His slender hands were tucked into the pockets if his greatcoat, the tails of which hung elegantly behind his slim frame. His grin faded on his face, to be replaced by a bitten lip, a habit of his I'd noticed.

Mr. White seemed pleased by Lockwood's reaction to his dripping-with-self-pity person. He nodded and gestured for us to come inside. Lockwood stepped through the doorway and I followed. In the little landing of the house, Mr. White explained that the haunting seemed concentrated on the second floor, and he would be residing in the guest bedroom in his basement for the night.