#elementary oneshot

You saw Sherlock's eyes look you up and down, and you knew what had happened was playing through his mind. The killer, who you thought was working alone at the time, had suck up on you on your search of his apartment. You fought him rather brutally until Sherlock and Bell showed up to help you.

"Are you sure you should be going home? You still look a bit..." he trailed off as he motioned at you vaguely.

You let out a soft laugh. "I'm fine, just a bit bruised and sore, there's no real reason to keep me here."

Sherlock turned and walked to the window. You watched him curiously, noting how fidgety he appeared to be. "Are you alright Sherlock?"

Turning, he met your eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Closing it, he walked up to you and bounced on the balls of his feet. "I'm...frustrated. That the partner is eluding me so well. But...I'd feel much better if you'd let me take you home"

You watched him for a moment, "You don't think the partner will come after me do you?"

Sherlock looked down at his feet, before meeting your eyes again. "I don't know." You noted the seriousness in his tone.

"It would be easier if he did though, wouldn't it?" You asked, not really thinking about what you said.

Sherlock cocked his head lightly. "I'm not here in hopes of catching him, I-" he seemed to grow more flustered as he spoke. "Well, as hard as it might be to believe, I am only here to make sure you get home safely. I do not want the partner to come for you, no matter how easy that might make it to find him."

"So, you came all the way here for me?" You asked softly, knowing that Sherlock lived on the other side of the city.

He nodded once. "Yes. I did."

You couldn't ignore the swelling you seemed to feel in your chest, or the heat that rose up your neck. Not wanting him to notice, you spun around, and grabbed you bag, ignoring the soreness of your body. "Well then, I don't see why I shouldn't let you take me home."

Turning back, you handed your bag to Sherlock, which he took quickly before turning to leave. You smiled softly at the thought of him caring about you this much as you followed him.

The drive back to your apartment was filled with discussion about the case and the partner, and who they could be. You knew Sherlock was frustrated, but you could also tell there was something else bothering him.

As you got into your apartment, you watched as Sherlock quickly walked through, checking every room before he came back. "All clear?" You asked, only mildly serious.

Sherlock nodded as he looked at the locks on your doors. "You should look into getting better security, I could pick these in my sleep."

"Noted." You said softly as you watched him check your windows. "Sherlock." Not reacting, you spoke louder. "Sherlock."

Turning at the sound of your raised voice, he watched you closely as you walked up to him.

"What is bothering you so much? It's not just that you don't know who the partner is. Is it- are you...worried about me?"

"You seem surprised by the prospect."

"Well, you've not really shown this much concern for me before, at least not this noticeably."

"Yes, well..." He let out a huff of air, seemingly unsure of what to say. "I may- I may blame myself, for what happened to you."

"Why?" You asked with a concerned frown.

"I told you to check the apartment. Alone. I was not thinking of your safety as much as I should have been, and you got hurt. I will not neglect to keep you safe this time."

"So it's not that you are worried, its that you feel guilty? Sherlock we were doing our job. Getting hurt tends to happen sometimes. It wasn't your fault. None of us knew he was going to be there. I don't blame you, so you shouldn't either."

"But I do." His voice was louder as emotion became a bit more obvious in his face. His eyes paused on your cheek, where a bruise was still evident.

You felt your body freeze as he reached up, his fingers hovering over your face where the bruise was, before he moved a strand of lose hair from your face, his fingers grazing your skin softly as he did so.

Seemingly realizing what he was doing, he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. "I will find the partner. I will."

You smiled softly, and spoke in a soft voice. "I know you will."

His eyes slowly moved to meet yours. "I wont let them hurt you again." His voice was almost a whisper.

"I believe you."

"I-" He began, but stopped, unsure if he should speak.

"What is is Sherlock?"

He crinkled his nose as he thought, before he swallowed, and met your eyes. "I find that... I have- that my...feelings towards you are changing, and have been for some time. And I'm not quite sure...what to do with them."

You took a deep breath, as you tried to steady your heart. "It's alright to feel Sherlock. And whatever you decide to do with your feelings...I'll still be here."

"And if I decide to....embrace them?" He asked softly.

"I wont reject you, if that's what you are afraid of."

He bounced lightly on his feet as he thought in silence for a moment. "I have thought for quite some time that you had feelings for me, but I wasn't positive if maybe I was just projecting."

"You weren't." You admitted.

He nodded his head as he locked his eyes with yours. Taking a step closer, you held your breath, his face not far from yours. His eyes grazed over your features, as he brought his hand up, and again, gently caressed your face. "Then I will...embrace them. I want to."

As various emotions seemed to rocket through you, you nodded your head softly, and smiled at him.

His lips quirked up a bit, as he slowly leaned forward. His lips hovered in front of yours for a moment, brushing ever so lightly, before he leaned in completely. His hand cupped the back of your head as he deepened the kiss, embracing the feelings he had once pushed away.

For the moments, the thoughts of the case, of the partner, were gone from your minds. But Sherlock's determination to keep you safe would remain, well past the closing of this case.

xx End xx

These arguments in the breakroom have been going on since Sherlock Holmes started to consult here with Gregson, the two of you immediately starting to butt heads about anything and everything. Today’s argument? Snack choices. Even something like that could start to get heated, and cause your coworkers here at the department to start avoiding this breakroom and go outside, no matter the weather.

“Poppycock!” Sherlock said, looking at you with a look of complete disbelief. “There is no way that those little tubes of something that they call cheese is tastier than any biscuit.”

“It is! Why would you want something so crispy and doughy and ew? Cheesestrings are the best. You can peel pieces right off so it’s like you’re eating a toy!” You argued back.

“Hasn’t anyone told you that you’re not supposed to play with your food?” Sherlock retorted mockingly. You stuck your tongue out at him, picked your snack up from off the table and peeled off the plastic wrapper. You did it slowly, keeping eye contact with Sherlock the entire time. Once the wrapper was discarded, you stuck one of your finger nails into the top to isolate a section and slowly, and satisfyingly, peeled the piece of cheese off of the rest.

“Plastic doesn’t go well with tea.” Sherlock said, lifting his mug to take a sip of the liquid that he had already dunked a biscuit into a little while earlier.

“It’s not plastic. It’s cheese, dummy. And you can play with it.” You knew you were acting like a child but you really were passionate about cheese strings. You lifted the stringy snack above your head and slowly lowered it into your mouth. Sherlock looked at you with disgust.

“Most parents teach their children not to play with their food.”

“Most parents teach their children to explore new things, to have a little fun in life.” You said. You opened up your bag, pulled out another cheese string and slid it across the table until it landed right in front of the disgruntled consulting detective. Joan, who had been reading over a newspaper, finally looked away from her words and glanced towards Sherlock to see how this was going to go. “It’s not poisonous, it’s not going to hurt you.”

You peeled more strips of cheese, enjoying it whole-heartedly. “Well, come on then. Or is Sherlock Holmes scared of a little snack.” You taunted.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what chemicals are in this to make it attempt to seem like cheese.” Sherlock sneered. But he picked it up nonetheless, tore the plastic away  and started to feel at the texture of the cheese string. “It doesn’t feel edible.”

“Neither does pineapple.” You pointed out. You leaned forward, eager to see the moment that Sherlock would actually take a bite of the string cheese. You weren’t even sure if he would like it. You didn’t know what sort of reaction would be incoming but if there was one thing that could be said about cheesestrings - you either loved them or you hated them.

Sherlock imitated you, peeling off a piece of the cheese, but put it into his mouth less dramatically. He chewed at the rubbery texture for a couple of seconds then finally swallowed it down. He licked his lips, then took a sip of tea to see how well they accompanied each other.

“You can’t dip it in tea, but it’s not terrible.” He finally decided.

Ever since you mentioned to Sherlock that you had gotten him a present, even after his constant begrudging of Christmas, he had been attempting to guess what it was. He never did like surprises nor really the idea of gifts, for fear of feeling indebted to someone else. So the fact that you consistently kept it hidden from him - certain he had tried to find it - and also refused to tell him what it was, annoyed him to no end.

"It's distracting. I have more important things to focus on." He said with a hint of resignation.

"You've never had trouble before ignoring things." You said indifferently, causing him to glance at you for a moment before standing up.

"Well? It is Christmas morning, isn't that when people are supposed to open presents?"

You smiled to yourself as you took a drink of your tea before setting it down. You ran upstairs to retrieve Sherlock's gift that you had hidden in your room since the night before, having had a friend hold onto it before for you.

Sherlock was not doing a very good job at hiding his true emotions. He attempted to convey annoyance and indifference, but you could see beneath the surface, he was excited. Knowing Sherlock as you did, this surprised you, but unlike on many occasion, it was a good type of surprise.

When you arrived back down stairs, Sherlock was looking out the window, as the frost began to disappear from the window panes, revealing the cold streets of New York.

"Here you go Sherlock."

As he spun around, and looked at the wrapped object in your hands, you grew nervous. Sherlock was a hard person to understand on an average day. Understanding him well enough to get him a gift was more than anxiety inducing.

Walking towards you, he slowly took the gift from you, almost hesitating for a moment. You took a breath and told yourself, that even if he did not like it, at least you were kind enough to try.

Sherlock flipped the present over in his hands and glance at you. "A book?"

You rolled your eyes a bit, playfully. "Come on Sherlock, no one likes a guesser, just open it."

You saw the faint hint of a smile play at his lips before tearing the wrapping paper from the bottom. Pulling out the object, he was not surprised to find he was correct in guessing it was a book. Though it is one of the more obvious objects when wrapped.

He was surprised however, at seeing what book it was. His hands brushed across the vintage books cover as he read the cover. It was written in Mandarin, and appeared to be nearly a hundred years old. It was an old book about bees, and beekeeping. As Sherlock looked at the book, he recalled he had told you all about the history of beekeeping, and in particular it's history in China.

He had a few books on bees and beekeeping, but none as old or as informative as this one seemed to be, as he flipped through the pages.

As you watched Sherlock read over the cover and began to flip through the pages, his face seemed to hold a hint of interest, though you were unsure of whether or not he liked it. You found yourself desperate to find something that he would truly appreciate, not only because you were determined too, but because you had feelings for him. Though you were sure they would always be unrequited.

"So...did I do good or bad?"

Sherlock looked up at you, and saw the apprehension on your face. A faint smile appeared as he spoke. He was unsure of how to reply for a moment, but, taking a short breath he spoke fluently. "This is a very thoughtful gift Y/n, and unlike many of the books in my collection. In this case, I would say you did very good." Your eyes lit up at his words, and he saw the anxiety fade away. His own heart beat a bit faster at the sight as he saw how much you truly wished to get him something he would like.

"May I ask, where you got it?" He questioned as he looked back at the book.

"When I went to Chinatown to get some more of that tea you like, I saw it in an old vintage shop. I couldn't not get it." You smiled at him as you spoke, delighted that he seemed to appreciate it.

"I must admit, I was unsure of whether I would appreciate your gift, in some ways I thought you might get me a gag gift of sorts, to put me in my place, as it was."

You shook your head, "Oh, no. I always take Christmas gifts seriously. Well, on most occasions that is."

Sherlock smiled softly, "Well, in that case, I will not feel too brazen to give you this."

You watched as Sherlock stepped toward his chair, and reaching down behind it, pulled out a large box, wrapped in what appeared to be various newspapers.

"I could not find any wrapping paper, so I improvised." He admitted as he looked at the box in his hands.

Your face showed obvious surprise, that, admittingly, gave Sherlock a hint of gratification. He knew it would take you by surprise that he got you something, especially a Christmas present. He had been entertaining the idea of getting you a gift, well before you let it slip that you had gotten him something. Then the idea became a reality as he knew he must. Not because you would expect it, but because you wouldn't.

But more than that, he wished to find some way of showing you, even a little, how much he cared about you, even if you only saw it as a platonic feeling, which had long since not felt himself.

"Sherlock, you didn't have to get me anything." You said as Sherlock held the box out for you.

"Of course I did not." He said a bit rushed, but then gaining his composure he gestured for you to take the box. "I wanted to."

Taking the box carefully from him, you were surprised at how heavy it was. What could he possibly have gotten you? You thought back on the other gifts he had bestowed, or forced upon you. Self defense gadgets, weapons, or various science kits to get you more involved in his cases.

Setting the box down, you ripped the paper away, revealing a rounded carrying case. Your interest piqued as you wondered it it was just some form of luggage. But from beside you Sherlock whispered, with an obvious hint of elation.

You glanced at him as you undid the clips, he rose his brow a bit and nodded. Lifting the lid of the case, you were awe to find a beautiful violin set, containing the instrument itself, a bow, cleaning supplies, and a manual.

You were so surprised at the gift, that you were only able to let out a small sound of astonishment.

Sherlock smiled to himself before speaking softly. "I remember you once mentioning you had an interest in learned."

You looked over at him. "Yeah, I did. But, I didn't think you had heard me."

Sherlock smiled a bit at you. “I always hear you. It may not always seem like it, but I do always listen to you. You are not someone I can ignore, nor do I want to.”

His tone was gentle and held sweetness behind it that almost startled you. And his gaze was soft as he peered at you with an unfamiliar fondness.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you considered his words, and you smiled at him before expressing your gratitude. "Thank you Sherlock, I love it. I promise I'll do it justice."

His smile widened a bit, and he almost chuckled. "I am sure you will. You are quite quick at learning new skills. And, if you do not object, I would be glad to help you begin."

You smiled brightly at him. "I would not object, I would be very happy if you did."

He nodded his head a bit. "Good. We shall soon be playing duets."

You let out a soft laugh, which he returned with a pleased smile. Your gazes were locked in mutual delight, and though neither of you expressed it, you both saw something you hadn't seen before. And it gave you hope, that this Christmas was just the beginning of something much more.

xx End xx

This is my first time writing for Elementary, so I hope you enjoyed it!

Jamie Moriarty wanted to see you. This was a huge deal to you, since you had felt drawn to her. You had seen her a few times on the streets before she got arrested. You had been two tables over when she had lunch with Joan Watson. You had been sitting on a bench, reading a book by the bus stop closest to her hideout. Oh yes, you knew all about Jamie Moriarty because you were an officer who was supposed to be hunting her down, and watching Sherlock during this to make sure that he didn’t get too close. Your lack of looking like a police officer, or even acting like one according to everyone in the academy, had helped with the task, and you had fit in looking like an ordinary citizen of New York.

You took your time dressing yourself. It would be a shame to appear anything less than impeccable in front of  Jamie Moriarty. Because of her, you were feeling a small rush of life. You smiled at your reflection, before realizing that you looked much too friendly, and there was no way that you could appear to be that way to Jamie - even though you knew she was smart enough to see through any facade that you would project. The mask that you would wear would have to match hers, at least for the sake of the prison guards that would be watching you like a hawk. These were people you were not familiar with, and they were less likely to see the intrigue that was in your eyes. Of course, there would be speculation on the reason for why you of all people were called towards Jamie. Before this moment, you did not think that she would even know your name and yet she had asked for you in full, phone number included.

You’re keeping your attitude in check, the utmost professional in fact, as rehearsed from watching quite a few of the training videos that you haven’t seen since your days at the Academy. When you walked into that high-security prison, your back was as straight as a board, your hands clasped in front of you and only broken as you walked through security, getting completely approved of course because you were not stupid enough to try to bring anything in. She’s smart enough to find her own way out without your help. That was the mind of Jamie Moriarty - not something that should be taken lightly.

You were brought to her. She looked perfect, like she had just exited a salon instead of a jail cell. Her influence had spread in here, and your meeting room was much more plush than any you had ever been in before. Her hair was in a perfect coif at the nape of her neck, her clothing was somewhat stylish and not at all like the polyester suit that you had seen on many other inmates. You took your seat, back remaining straight, trying to keep the excitement off of your face.

“You’re not afraid of me,” Is the first thing that Jamie had ever said to you. It was not the first words you had heard her speak, or the first time that it was this exact phrase. You had your answer ready.

“No, I’m not.” You spoke, your voice even. “I know that you could kill me a hundred different ways while it’s just us in the room, and that there are thousands that you can outside of these walls. It doesn’t scare me because I know about it. And I know about you. If you wanted me dead for some odd reason, it would have happened by now. You wouldn’t have called attention to either of us by calling me in here.”

“There’s worse things that death out there to be scared of.” Jamie said, crossing her legs, giving you a glimpse of the smooth skin that was under those trousers, just a quick flash of pale ankle. She was very aware of her body and how to use it to get what she wanted.

“I’m single, no kids, not close to any of my family. I don’t even have pets. There’s not a lot that you can use against me.” You picked a piece of fluff off of your jacket. “But I don’t think that I’m here for you to threaten me. You’ve already proved you know a lot about me, just by the information you gave to get me here. So am I just here to fill time or?”

“No, no.” Jamie said, shaking her head. “I am more so amazed that you are not scared of me. It’s not everyday that happens. The ones who know what I am capable of are often the ones that try to hide from it. But you’ve been watching me for some time, and you’ve never stopped. You may not  believe me, but I would like to be friends with you. You claim that you have nothing to lose and there must be a story behind that. Believe me, in this room you are kept safe from harm. I am not some sort of bomb, like the way that they think that I am.”

“You’re right, I’m not sure I belive you.” You said, but you made no motions to move, not yet. “But I’m willing to at least pretend that I do. As I’ve said, I don’t have all that much to lose. Seems like it would be hard to go and hit up a coffee shop like most friends do while you’re stuck in here.”

“On the contrary.” Jamie said. With a snap of her fingers, a guard came inside of the room, setting down two cups of coffee. Yours was just the way that you liked it, with the right amount of sugar and cream inside of it. Jamie had to have been watching you very closely to have picked that up.

“Connections get you everywhere.” You said, picking it up and taking a sip.

You constantly went to visit her, she requested your presence every week and you always obliged. Even once when you were sick, you mustered up the energy and went to her decorated cell. She somehow knew that you were sick, for tea was set out rather than the usual coffee, with lemon and honey. You grew to enjoy these visits, and you gave her details to your life that she had not found out from other means, and she had brought up her own little details, nothing that could incriminate her of course.

It was strange, being friends with Jamie Moriarty. It got you into trouble. Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson kept an eye on you, and they were hardly subtle. Chief had to talk to them, since they nearly blew your cover more than once. It was easy to suspect you but you had done nothing wrong.

When a week went by and she didn’t call, you didn’t think too much of it. But when two weeks went by and there was still nothing, you began to worry. The prison wouldn’t tell you anything. But it was not the last time you would hear from Jamie.

Two months later, while you were trailing a man who was suspected to be running an underground dog-fighting ring, she popped up, cool as a cucumber as she always was. Her eyes were hidden behind cat eye sunglasses, but that posture, those sunglasses. You knew well enough who it was, and she knew you. She had been looking for you.

She beckoned you over to her car and you got in willingly, and you never returned to your house again.

Getting home wasn’t a problem - you worked only a short distance away. It was far from the best neighborhood in New York, but with the three locks on your door, and the bars on the window, you felt relatively safe. Along with the gun that you had secured under your nightstand for those just-in-case nights. New York has a way of hardening a person, of making them more aware of what dangers could be lurking if you weren’t smart.

However, no matter how hard-hearted and smart New York might make you, it couldn’t make you deaf to the sounds of someone needing help. From an alley that you had to walk through to get to your apartment, you heard the sound of a door slamming shut, and then some groaning, and then some cursing. It didn’t sound sexual from as far as you could tell, but the metallic smell of blood reached your nostrils and you were definitely sure it wasn’t anything erotic. “Who is there? What happened?” You called out. Both of your hands went into your pocket. One held your keys, which you grabbed in a manner so that each key was sticking out of the space between your fingers, and the other had grabbed your cellphone. You hardly had to look at it long enough to swipe to make an emergency call. “I’m going to call the police if you don’t say something to me.” The voice had gone quiet, but it was hard to hear. The darkness of the alley was overwhelming your senses. The streetlight had gone out, and all of the windows had their lights off. It would have been hard to make out your own hand in front of your face.

You ventured forward, using the light of your phone to guide the way, your finger just about tapping the call key, when you felt a hand go onto your shoulder. In your panic, you pressed the button, the call being dispatched through. “Hang up the phone, the police do not need to be involved.” A smooth, feminine voice said. You turned around, using the faint light to shine down on the woman. Her one hand was on your shoulder, and the other one was on her side. Through the dark green material of her shirt, a black was starting to show. The blood that you had smelt was getting even more odorous. “Please. No police.”

Your attention was brought back to your phone, and the woman talking through it. You raised it to your ear, remaining in eye contact with the strange blonde. “Sorry, I thought I heard something. It was just cats. Sorry to bother you.” You said, having no other choice.

“Thank you. I need you to take me to a first aid kit. No funny business. If you so much as look at somebody for help, I’ll get you killed, do you understand me?” Her voice was curt, very firm. Her accent obviously came from overseas, and if you weren’t so frightened, you might have been attracted to it.

“I have a first aid kit in my apartment. It’s just right there.” You said, pointing towards your building which was on the other side of the alley, across the road.

“Good.” The woman said. She continued to hold onto your shoulder as you lead her through the dark alleyway, still using your phone for light, and slipped it safely into your pocket once you were back out on the street. Despite the strength in this woman, there seemed to be a vulnerability. You had the feeling she wasn’t just going to rob you blind, but she was in some real trouble. Something had gone wrong.

You fumbled with your keys, getting nervous that this woman was going to bleed out. The smell had followed you from the alleyway, up to your apartment building and even into the lobby when you finally got through those doors. “The elevator doesn’t work.” You said, turning to look at her. This was your first good look at her. Though the florescent lights were not meant to make people look even slightly attractive, they worked well for this woman. Her bone structure was perfect. “If you put your arm around me, and allow me to help you, this’ll go a lot faster.”

This woman was clearly not used to being given instructions. She looked like she wasn’t about to accept the help under my conditions, but she quickly did what was asked of her. Her arm went around my shoulders, and I put mine around her waist, but had to go a bit lower to avoid hitting her where she was obviously wounded. It was a bit tough, but we managed to get up to the second floor, and into my apartment. It was when we got there, that she immediately took charge. She went and sat on my couch, not even caring if she got blood on the striped fabric.

“Go and get that first aid kit. And alcohol if you have any. And don’t even think about calling a hospital. I will not be sent there, and I will not go without a fight.”

“Understood, ma’am.” You said, slightly sarcastically. You left her on the couch, wincing as you could see the blood with the light from your lamps, but got the first aid kit regardless. Setting it down on the table, you grabbed a half-full bottle of tequila that was left by someone the last time you had a party, and placed it in front of her. She took the bottle and drank it straight out of the bottle. “Here we go.” You said. You helped her to take off the jacket, and you even had to cut up her expensive-looking blouse to get a closer look.

With the use of rubbing alcohol - which she took with a very resilient calmness, a small sewing kit to make some crude but acceptable stitches and some gauze, you managed to cover the wound and prevent it from infection. After all of this work, you went into the bathroom and washed your hands, expecting her to be gone by the time that you were done, but to your surprise, she was still there on the couch. But she was no longer sitting, she was laying down on her good side now, blonde curls sprawled out around her, her face in a state of bliss that you had not seen yet. She was clearly exhausted, and affected by the pain so you couldn’t well wake her up. You slipped a throw-blanket over her shoulders, turned out the light and retired to bed for the evening.

When you woke up the next morning, your apartment was empty. There was only a quarter bottle of tequila placed on the table, your first aid kit was packed back up neatly, and a piece of paper was propped up on the cushion the mysterious blonde had used the night before. You picked it up, and read it briefly.

‘J.M. If you ever need a favor.’ with a phone number written under it. You smiled to yourself, picked up your cellphone and called the number right away. The memory of her skin was embedded in your mind, the smooth paleness that you had helped to wipe blood off of. A man answered, asking if you wanted to leave a message.