RULES: Reblog if you DARE someone to write a fic about you and the character of their choosing and send it in an ask/submit.

Ok so this started as being short but i just took it and ran with it XD. I didn’t realize how old you were until afer i wrote it so sorry but you’re like five years older in this fic DX did my best, please do let me know if you enjoyed it! I kinda spent a lot longer on this than i thought i would, but i just couldnt stop! Sorry for the cornyness and horrible writing but i hope you like it <3

It wasn’t as if you had exactly chosen to live on Baker Street. But when you lost your job, there was only one more place you were left to go. John Watson was the closest thing you had to family anywhere near England, and thus the only option for you if you wanted to remain in London. You had called originally asking to stay a few nights so you could sort out what you wanted to do next, but he insisted that you stay as long as you needed. 

“Between myself and my flatmate, we’ve more than got rent covered. What are friends for? Stay as long as you need, and just let me know if you need anything.” he said, then giving you directions to the door you were knocking at now. 

“Hello, Kate!” John said when he answered the door. “Do you need help with your bags? Let me take them for you.“ 

You laughed at his enthusiasm. You weren’t quite sure you’d seen him so happy to see you the entire time you had been friends. 

"So how’s your flatmate?” you asked, wondering why they had not come down to meet their new flatmate. 

“He’s… Sherlock.” John said, shrugging as if that explained everything. 

“Soo.. is he at home?” you asked, following John up the stairs as he set the bags in your new room.

“Oh yes. He’s home.” John said, “I think he’s in the living room or the kitchen.”

“I’m going to go say hello!” you said cheerily, walking over to the living room. 

“I don’t know if I would-” John said, his voice cut off by your shriek. “Go in there.”

You had walked into the living room, only to find Sherlock using a gas torch to burn what appeared to be a severed brain stem.

“Ah, you must be John’s friend, Kate.” he said, setting the body part into a silver bowl and shutting off the torch. “As a warning, I do play the violin at odd hours, I eat sparatically and go without talking for days on end. A flatmate should know the worst about the other. As for yourself, You can use the telly, erm, excuse me, television, to watch your sci-fi all you like, as long as John has no objections. I also have a set of Tolkien’s works on that shelf over there.” he said, gesturing to a shelf. “Any questions?”

"A Few?” you said. he simply nodded for you to continue.

“Why did you change your statement from telly to television? How did you know I watched sci-fi? How did you know I read Tolkien’s books? Did John tell you all of this?” you spat out all in one breath, rather flustered and shocked that this stranger knew all about what you liked just from looking at you. 

“John told me nothing about you other than your name and that you were a friend.” Sherlock began, stepping over into the living room and pacing back and forth in a small line.

“As for how I know so much about you, it’s simple as looking and listening. Your accent is clearly American, though you’ve picked up a slight London accent in your ten years here. You’re wearing a knitted scarf. To anyone just looking at you, it wouldn’t mean anything, but I happen to know that scarf is a replica of the fourth Doctor’s, something only a fan of the show would own.” His eyes seemed to change color as he spoke, dancing with light as he paced back and forth. His curly dark hair looked quite soft, but you were far from willing to go up and touch it.  "As for the reading of Tolkien, not only does it suit your personality, I realized this because there is a well-worn paperback copy of “the Silmarillion” poking out of your purse.“

There was a slight pause, Sherlock clearly having finished explaining himself and waiting for your reaction. John in the doorway, shaking his head slowly at Sherlock. 

"How the heck did you do that?” you muttered. 

“I simply observe.” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some experimenting to finish.” he stode over into the kitchen and took up his torch, and you turned and headed out of the room.

“I’m sorry about that.” John said, “He can be quite overbearing someti- a lot of the time. He doesn’t realize what he does.”

“Oh, its alright.” you said, walking slowly into your room, “It will just take some getting used to, that’s all." 

"Let me know if he gets to be too much, or if there’s anything else you need.” John said, leaving the room. 

“This will be interesting indeed.” you muttered, falling backwards onto your bed. 

As the next few weeks rolled by, you fell into a rythm with the sparatic schedule that John and Sherlock kept. There was a few times where John would invite you out on a case with them, but you had only accepted once.

Along with the fact that you were sure that you would only get in the way, you found yourself flustered when Sherlock would ask you anything, and you didn’t want to look like a total fool in public. At first you had simply thought him strange and rather annoying at times, his quirky personality was growing on you and you were afraid of what that meant. You were most sure that he would never return feelings of that sort, and you were making it your mission to make sure that he would never see you developing them. Since he saw through everything, there was no better defence than trying to not develop feelings at all. 

But that wasn’t easy when you constantly saw him, he constantly spoke to both you and John. After a short while you realized that it worried you when he would stop being rude about some things, because it usually meant that he had discovered something new and unnerving about Moriarty. You kept to yourself as best you could, but even to your own inspections it was obvious you were falling for the consulting detective. However, Sherlock often was oblivious to the obvious, especially when it came to feelings. Perhaps you had a chance.

“I’m going out for last minute groceries, do either of you need anything?” you asked, putting on your scarf and hat and heading towards the door. It was Christmas eve and you needed a few things for dinner the next day. 

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” John said.

“Sherlock?” you asked.

“I don’t need anything.” he said, but when John shot him a look, he hastily added “Thank you.”

You stepped out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind you. Readjusting your purse on your shoulder, you set off on foot, not wanting to wait for a cab. 

You were almost to the store when you suddenly felt a mist on your face. At first you thought you had imagined it, as it had stopped, but then you felt dizzy and lightheaded. You were out cold in seconds.

When you woke up, it was on an old, dusty floor in a room you had never seen before. You could hear the pitter patter of rain on the rooftop,  and it was very dark outside the window. How long had you been out, and more importantly, where were you and how did you get there?

“Nice to see you’re finally awake.” a cool voice said from somwhere in the shadows of the room. The drug had not yet worn off, and as a result you couldn’t decide where the voice was coming from.

“Who are you?” you said shakily, “What do you want from me?”

“Oh it’s nothing i want from you.” he said, “It’s who I want from you. You’re going to give me Sherlock Holmes.”

"What makes you think I’m going to tell you anything?” you said, your quivering voice betraying your otherwise brave statement. 

“I don’t need you to say a word.” he said. “Sherlock will come to you. And thus, to me.” he stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, with dress shoes to match it. "Let’s just say I’m an old friend who wants to win a game of Chess.“

"Moriarty.” you whispered, internally cringing. “You’re insane!”

He shrugged “You do what you gotta do.”

You heard something slam open below you, and there was the sound of feet running up stairs. A familiar voice was yelling your name, but just as you were about to call out in respose, a pistol was held to your head.

“Shhhhh. Not yet.” he said. 

The door to the room burst open, and Sherlock followed, handgun raised at Moriarty.

“Let her go.” he said sternly, aim unwavering.

Morairty raised his hands above his head, seemingly surprised that Sherlock had brought a weapon. A small part of you noted that it was John’s gun. A larger part of you realized what grave danger you were in, and you began crying quietly. You didn’t want to die. You wanted to go home and tell John and Mrs. Hudson that you loved them, and to wrap Sherlock up in a hug for the first time. Whether he liked it or not didn’t matter, but you wanted to do it before you died. Now it seemed like you wouldn’t get the chance. 

“Fine. Shoot me.” Moriarty said, “But then she’ll die." 

Sherlock glanced at you, suddenly paleing. you didn’t understand until you saw a red dot cross over your arm before finding its way to your chest. Snipers.

"What do you want?” Sherlock said, “What is it that you want from me now?”

“Just to see how quickly it would take you to find me.” Moriarty chuckled. “Think of it as an experament. I’ll be seeing you later." 

Suddenly, the room began to flood with smoke-like fog, making visibility unattainable. Your already tear-filled eyes became itchy and even more irritated, and you gasped for clean air. Your sobs now audible, you coughed and groped about on the floor to find the doorway. You felt hands on your arms, dragging you towards the door and breathable air.

When you were safely out of the room and had been lead tripping down a few flights of stairs(you still couldn’t see clearly), the hands that had pulled you out of the room found their way around your body and held you close. 

It took a moment for your drug-slowed brain to realize that it was Sherlock that was hugging you. Sherlock. Hugging you willingly. You might have had a different reaction were you operating normally, but given your drug-laiden and trauma filled evening, you could only sit in his arms, gripping his shirt and coat in your hands and burying your face in his shoulder. 

Weather from the trauma or the drugs, you weren’t sure, but you didnt’ realize when or how you had been taken back to Baker street. All you could think of was that you weren’t letting go of Sherlock. He struggled and managed to remove his coat and sports jacket, but made no attempt to remove your hands from his shirt. He simply laid down on your bed with you, wrapping his arms around you as you fell into a deep sleep.

When you woke in the morning, your brain was functioning normally once again. Yet you still couldn’t figure out why Sherlock was still in your bed, sleeping peacefully. Figuring it was an effect of the fog on his thinking, you tried to slip out of his arms without waking him. But his arms simply pulled you closer.

"I thought you enjoyed this.” he mumbled into the sheets. 

“I dont think you do.” you sighed, assured that he wasn’t himself. Sherlock would never do this.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he said, a little less groggy this time.

“Because you don’t love me.” you said. “The fog is messing with your brain. You never acted like this before then, and I would know, because i’ve wanted it for the longest time and I would have noticed.” You stopped, realizing that you had said too much. You flushed red, and sat up in the bed.

“John’s always telling me that I can’t see the most obvious of things, even when its about me.” he said quietly. “And when I do see them it’s my first instinct to hide it. After last night i realized that I was done hiding. I’d seen you for the longest time acting strangely, and it took me longer than it should have to figure out why. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Wow.” you whispered, “A hug and an apology first thing in the morning? It must be Christmas.” you laughed, blushing when you realized how close you were to him.

"Certainly feels that way.” he murmered, closing the distance between you as he captured your lips in a kiss. It was short, sweet, and hesitant, but you’d never experienced anything better in your life.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes.” you whispered, recapturing his lips. You lay down, exchanging passionate kisses and tender caresses on the other’s face. You and Sherlock spent Christmas day in bed, enjoying each other’s company and reveling in the knowledge that there was finally another who loved you back. 

And it was the best person you could have ever asked for.