BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 3)

Sherlock: The Mistress

My children - sit your butts down, put y'alls seatbelts on, and get ready to enjoy.

~

You had been dating the scrumptious Sherlock Holmes for a little over a month now. Prior, you were nothing more to him than just the other specialist registrar who worked in the morgue at St. Bart's alongside Molly Hooper. Well, you two worked opposite shifts, so it was never really alongside her, but you were friends nonetheless. If she could not assist Sherlock at the morgue whenever he demanded her help, then you were the second choice, which had been fine by you.

The first dozen times you encountered Sherlock, he had called you "Molly" absentmindedly. At first you were pretty peeved, always huffing your name back in correction. Then you realized that Sherlock was in his own little world most of the time (this realization came to you when he spent an hour in the morgue talking to John, who had never even arrived).

Also, Sherlock had never looked at you. And not just in a dramatic, metaphorical way—he literally did not lay eyes on you for 3 months. Anytime you were called in to fill Molly's spot, from the moment him and his big coat and big head shuffled through the door, his eyes were averted. Molly told you all the stories of his amazing deductions, but you never understood how he could deduce you if he never looked at you.

Then one day it all came out.

~ About a month ago ~

You heard the doors to the morgue open and a pair of footsteps enter. They were light, like dancer's feet. They stopped momentarily. You imagined Sherlock standing there, swiveling around and looking for you. His eyes, actually searching for you for once. He said nothing, still paused somewhere in the room. He may be checking his phone, you thought. Oh please don't text Molly, who will then text me. My phone, it's not on silent! You panicked, but knew if you moved your hand to check your phone, the sheet that lay on top of you would move. And dead bodies don't move. Oh yeah, you forgot to mention - you were laying under the sheet on the table, pretending to be the dead body he was supposed to inspect.

Footsteps came closer, and you knew the moment was here. He stopped beside the table, probably taking off his coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves, preparing to dig into the deductions of the dead body before him. So more shuffling happened, and then you watched the shadow of  his hands descending on top of the sheet. Slowly, he peeled it back and you closed your eyes in preparation. When it was just about down your face, you popped your eyes open, and in a strong voice said, "Hello Sherlock."

For the instant you saw his face, it was cloaked in a number of emotions. First, confusion: his eyebrows crinkled together as his eyes dialed in on you. Then shock: his eyes grew big and he opened his mouth and gasped. Then fear: he threw the sheet back on your face and you heard him take stuttering steps back. You sat up, laughter bubbling in your chest. You made sure to hold the sheet close to you since, well, you were only wearing your brassiere and knickers. In your defense, had you worn your regular lab coat, or any real clothes at all, he may have suspected something wasn't right with the dead body you were supposed to be. You had to commit.

Sherlock stood a few steps away from the table that you now sat on, still enjoying yourself. "Was that not clever, Mr. Holmes?"

"I-um-why are you under the sheet?" he stuttered, eyes looking anywhere but at you.

However, he had looked at you, for that split second when he pulled the sheet back. Sure, you had frightened his curls straight, but if he was as good at deductions as Molly, and all of England, made it sound, then he must have had enough time to deduce you.

"Because I wanted you to deduce me," you stated, hopping off the table. Your bum had begun to go numb against the metal and your body ached to stand for awhile. You made sure to, still, cling closely to the sheet and not let it slip. Not that it mattered - Sherlock was still refusing to meet your gaze. "Hello," you said again, padding towards him barefoot and waving a hand in front of his face. "I said—"