Sherlock fic. I'm scared and need pats on the head.
Fandom: Sherlock
Title: Smoking Ban
Characters: Sally Donovon, Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: Around 600
Summary: Sherlock and Sally cloistered together in a smoking area. Sherlock tries to figure out why Sally's with Anderson because he's bored and Sally interprets this as him fancying her and freaks the fuck out. No pairings except for a bit of Sherlock/Sally's cigarette
Disclaimer: I am not Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss or Arthur Conan Doyle. Actually, fuck it, it's out of copyright, I am Arthur Conan Doyle. Deal with that.
Author's Note: Help with a less fail title would be appreciated. Also, love to siyamau who gave me the bottle to post Sherlock fic.
“God, I could kiss you”
The five words that Sally Donovan wanted to hear from the freak less did not exist. And that was including “I killed your little cat”. She spun around to stare at him wide eyed.
“Talking to your cigarette,” he said, frowning, and waving his hand dismissively. Oh right. Well, that made his intense looming a little less distressing, but not much. She wasn’t sure what the frown was in disapproval of, that she’d gotten it wrong or that anyone wouldn’t want to kiss him.
“You want one?” she asked, flicking the ash off the end of her fag towards him, trying to hit his shoe. She shouldn’t be encouraging him to stay, she thought as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but he’d probably be staying for at least until she’d finished hers and could escape --bloody smoking ban-- and maybe he wouldn’t talk to her if he had something to put in his mouth. Ew. She cursed her imagination and tried to forcibly shut it down.
“I quit,” he said, still looking at her smoke in a way that would make a human file a restraining order. “I have nicotine patches now. I’m doing well.”
“Well done, you, you want a prize?” she rolled her eyes and looked away from him.
“No, I want a cigarette.”
“Right.”
They stood in awkward silence for about thirty second before the freak started staring at her again.
“What?”
“I’m trying to figure you out,” he said in his flat voice. The one that made her want to poke him in the eye.
“Do you have to?”
“I’m bored.”
God, he was annoying.
“Well I’m not a sudoku, leave it,” she snapped at him and took a deep drag on her cigarette.
“You’re better looking than Anderson. You’re at your job than him too. Not that that’s saying much on either count, but-”
“What the hell?” Sally’s head felt like it was going to implode, nicotine or no nicotine. No one wanted Sherlock bloody Holmes fancying them, or at least no one should. It was flirting with being found dead in some very interesting and horrible way. She shuddered at the thought and glowered at Sherlock like her life depended on it.
“He’s married too. He won’t leave her, so your relationship can’t go anywhere. You don’t want him to leave her though. Why? If you just wanted an uncomplicated sexual relationship with no ties, there are better looking men than Anderson, who also have the overwhelming advantage of not being Anderson, who’d be more than happy to facilitate you.”
“What, like you?” she asked, the question dripping with poison, while she tried to keep her hands and her voice from shaking.
“Hmm? Oh, no,” he did that dismissive little wave again, “Just trying to figure it out. Women aren’t really my... No.”
Gay? That was new. She should warn Dr. Watson again, he was a good bloke, she wouldn’t like to see him-
“Not gay, don’t be so pedestrian.”
Bastard.
“Why do you even care?”
“I don’t. Just making conversation.” He rolled his eyes and faced away from her, casting a lustful little side glance at her cigarette before he looked away from her.
“Right.”
Sally stubbed her cigarette out prematurely and put it in her pocket for later. There was only so much of the freak she could take before she needed a change of scene.
Three days later she called it off with Anderson. She didn’t connect her decision to the conversation she’d had with the freak, but then, he’d never thought much of her detective skills anyway.
Title: Smoking Ban
Characters: Sally Donovon, Sherlock Holmes
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: Around 600
Summary: Sherlock and Sally cloistered together in a smoking area. Sherlock tries to figure out why Sally's with Anderson because he's bored and Sally interprets this as him fancying her and freaks the fuck out. No pairings except for a bit of Sherlock/Sally's cigarette
Disclaimer: I am not Stephen Moffat, Mark Gatiss or Arthur Conan Doyle. Actually, fuck it, it's out of copyright, I am Arthur Conan Doyle. Deal with that.
Author's Note: Help with a less fail title would be appreciated. Also, love to siyamau who gave me the bottle to post Sherlock fic.
“God, I could kiss you”
The five words that Sally Donovan wanted to hear from the freak less did not exist. And that was including “I killed your little cat”. She spun around to stare at him wide eyed.
“Talking to your cigarette,” he said, frowning, and waving his hand dismissively. Oh right. Well, that made his intense looming a little less distressing, but not much. She wasn’t sure what the frown was in disapproval of, that she’d gotten it wrong or that anyone wouldn’t want to kiss him.
“You want one?” she asked, flicking the ash off the end of her fag towards him, trying to hit his shoe. She shouldn’t be encouraging him to stay, she thought as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but he’d probably be staying for at least until she’d finished hers and could escape --bloody smoking ban-- and maybe he wouldn’t talk to her if he had something to put in his mouth. Ew. She cursed her imagination and tried to forcibly shut it down.
“I quit,” he said, still looking at her smoke in a way that would make a human file a restraining order. “I have nicotine patches now. I’m doing well.”
“Well done, you, you want a prize?” she rolled her eyes and looked away from him.
“No, I want a cigarette.”
“Right.”
They stood in awkward silence for about thirty second before the freak started staring at her again.
“What?”
“I’m trying to figure you out,” he said in his flat voice. The one that made her want to poke him in the eye.
“Do you have to?”
“I’m bored.”
God, he was annoying.
“Well I’m not a sudoku, leave it,” she snapped at him and took a deep drag on her cigarette.
“You’re better looking than Anderson. You’re at your job than him too. Not that that’s saying much on either count, but-”
“What the hell?” Sally’s head felt like it was going to implode, nicotine or no nicotine. No one wanted Sherlock bloody Holmes fancying them, or at least no one should. It was flirting with being found dead in some very interesting and horrible way. She shuddered at the thought and glowered at Sherlock like her life depended on it.
“He’s married too. He won’t leave her, so your relationship can’t go anywhere. You don’t want him to leave her though. Why? If you just wanted an uncomplicated sexual relationship with no ties, there are better looking men than Anderson, who also have the overwhelming advantage of not being Anderson, who’d be more than happy to facilitate you.”
“What, like you?” she asked, the question dripping with poison, while she tried to keep her hands and her voice from shaking.
“Hmm? Oh, no,” he did that dismissive little wave again, “Just trying to figure it out. Women aren’t really my... No.”
Gay? That was new. She should warn Dr. Watson again, he was a good bloke, she wouldn’t like to see him-
“Not gay, don’t be so pedestrian.”
Bastard.
“Why do you even care?”
“I don’t. Just making conversation.” He rolled his eyes and faced away from her, casting a lustful little side glance at her cigarette before he looked away from her.
“Right.”
Sally stubbed her cigarette out prematurely and put it in her pocket for later. There was only so much of the freak she could take before she needed a change of scene.
Three days later she called it off with Anderson. She didn’t connect her decision to the conversation she’d had with the freak, but then, he’d never thought much of her detective skills anyway.