BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock: The Crush (Part 2)

Request for @elsa_the_great_1

(Got a lot of requests for a part two so here ya go. (It's been ages since part 1.))

~

Previously

"I just wanted to let you know," she started pointedly, talking specifically to Sherlock, "even the barista said I was in line first." Then she walked out of Speedy's, right out of Sherlock's grip. He stared after her in awe. Finally, getting his thoughts together, and in mere wonderment he asked, "why do I feel an urge to go chase after her John?"

Now

"Well maybe you should," suggested John, watching his best friend carefully. Sherlock stared after the door, an unreadable look on his face. Then he snapped his head away, and began to study his silverware with intense interest. John awaited Sherlock's response. "Well?" he tried again. Sherlock shook his head in a nonchalant manner, ignoring the question, and began to look at the menu. That's when John knew something wasn't right - Sherlock never looked at menus, that is, unless he was trying to hide something. "Sherlock, that girl-"

"As far as I'm concerned 'that girl' never existed."

"Does that mean your feelings towards her don't exist either?"

"Feelings don't exist, period, end of discussion. Now what's the soup of the day?"

~

It had been three days since that odd occurrence in Speedy's when Sherlock Holmes was intrigued by that mystery woman. Since then he had put four assassins behind bars, implied that John was fat twice, and called Lestrade the wrong name 12 times. Multiply all those numbers together and that is how many times Sherlock thought about her. And yes, he counted. 96. And then it became 97. His phone rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he groaned.

"What?" he greeted. It was Lestrade.

"Holmes, I need you down at the corner of 12th and Brickston. Once you get there-"

"Don't waste your breath Detective Inspector, I can you find on my own. I once found a lost tarantula with only a compass and a fig leaf."

"I know, but-". Sherlock hung up hastily, putting on his essential accessories (that's what John referred to them as).

"Hamish!" he called up the stairs, "We have a case!"

~

The puddles on the ground made by the rainy London sky were spotted with red. Two cars, perpendicular to each other, laid smoking. Scotland Yard flooded the small parking area and caution tape was plastered all over. Sherlock lifted it up, allowing John to walk through first. Lestrade approached them.

"Here's the story: that grey car over there blew up at random. Mechanics say there were bombs put on the breaks, and when a certain amount of pressure was applied, they blew. The blue car was just unlucky to be there."

"Is everyone okay?" asked John, grimacing at the scene surrounding him. Glass and metal was scattered everywhere, not to mention blood.

"The.. the two people in the car that blew up are gone," Lestrade muttered, sadness coating his throat. "But the person who owns the blue car was walking out to it as it happened and received minor cuts. Also bumped her head on the ground when she fell back from the blast, but she'll be okay." John nodded in sympathy; being a doctor and witnessing death did not make it any easier.

"Well," he said, looking to Sherlock, "shall we get started? Perhaps by looking at the parts of the car still left?" John crinkled his eyebrows in annoyance when he realized Sherlock wasn't listening to him. He was too busy staring off. John looked towards where Sherlock's eyes were stationed, and he realized why he was so engrossed. It was the woman from Speedy's. She sat on the back lip of an ambulance, a paramedic bandaging up her leg, and another wiping the blood and dust off her face. She must have felt them staring because seconds later her eyes darted over. Her face twisted into annoyance and she rolled her eyes at the sight of Sherlock. John noticed his best mate's jaw lock, then he swiftly turned around and followed Lestrade to the beaten up cars, away from the ambulance. Once there, Sherlock leaned down next to the scraps of car, meticulously investigating every piece, or so he seemed to be. In reality, he was running laps around the fact that the mystery woman, by some wind of fate, had ended up back in front of him. Of course, he would not instigate nor take part in a conversation with her. Sherlock clenched his teeth as two sides of him fought over control - the human side that said "she has exemplary face structure and a red hot temper which gets your pulse racing, so go talk to her", and the devoid side that said, "sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side." Sherlock shook his curls in a rage, forcing his eyes to deduce the engine.

"What do you think?"

"I think humans are very very stupid." Lestrade looked taken aback, but not surprised, by Sherlock's comment. Sherlock, not being able to resist, stole a glance behind him towards the ambulance. He could no longer see the mystery woman, and his heart sank a little in disappointment. He turned back around to find a pair of feet, with painted blue toenails, standing in front of him. He looked up, meeting that dark stare once again.

"So are you here to cut me in line again or something?" she asked jokingly, her voice like a sweet violin tune to Sherlock's ears. He shook his head silently. She stared hard into his eyes. "I know I was kind of rude the other day, so I just came to apologize." Sherlock looked up in surprise, he had definitely not been expecting that.

"It's okay," he choked out, his voice cracking a bit. She narrowed her eyes.

"Aren't you going to apologize too?"

"For what?" Sherlock asked incredulously, no longer under her spell.

"For being a pompous know-it-all who thinks he's right all the time." Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at her description of him; it seemed as if she knew him well already. "Why are you smiling? This isn't funny," she accused, crossing her arms in a very cross manner. He liked it when she did that.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," introduced Sherlock, holding out his hand proudly. "I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world, I do know it all 99.9% of the time, and I am very very pompous." Sherlock gave her his best smirk, the one he only used for emergencies - or really pretty girls. The mystery woman, whom Sherlock still did not know her name, looked down at his outstretched hand, her features stony. He started to panic, thinking his arrogantly charming persona had failed yet again. He began to retract his hand, but when it had moved only an inch, she reached out and shook it.

"You annoy me. A lot." Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself for the rejection. "But it's nice to meet you. I'm (y/f/n) (y/l/n)." And he happily breathed it out as he saw her crack a smile.

A/N

WOOOOOHOOOOOO two updates in one weekend. Probably helps that I had no homework for once.

Ya'll should go check out myfirstnameisagent and her Sherlock imagines! I personally enjoy them, and she is a great writer :)

Soooooo I'm almost to 50k reads... I want to do something special for y'all. I don't know what. And I should probably figure it out.......... But until then send in your requests of imagines! (Or ideas of what I could do besides write a ton of imagines, unless that's what you guys want!) Any characters - John, Sherlock, Mycroft, Lestrade, Moriarty...
(Really hoping someone sends in a good Moriarty idea because my inner killer is dying to come out)

Well anywho.

So I love Sherlock. But it has ruined other movies and shows for me because now I expect there to be some twisted and deep and interconnecting plot line in every show or movie I watch. Doesn't matter if it's a romantic comedy or New Girl or what, I just feel like I'm missing something BIG! So thanks Moffat and Gatiss for upping my standards for basic television and films.

I think that's all I have for my A/N tonight.. I know I usually go on and on about random stuff.

I hope you guys have a spectacular week! And I hope you sleep well because sleep is amazing and the best thing ever. And I hope you dream about Sherlock. And I hope you enjoyed this story.

Night night