[Requests: Open(✔️) Closed ()] Sooooo I have a tendency to see a picture or a gif and make a little somewhat small imagine with it so here are the ones I have done over the past few weeks. I guess you can request but it's mainly a place to put them...
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Your eyes scanned the room of richy riches dancing in the large artist exhibit ballroom. For the eighth time, you tried to distract yourself with the mission instead of focusing on your dance partner and where his hands held you as he lead you expertly around the dance floor. You looked up at him for a fraction of a second only to pause as his eyes met yours.
"Any sign of our picture-perfect perpetrator?"
You smirked at the name you made up for Greg Markins, the germaphobe art smuggler and duplicator. You glanced around the room one last time before letting out a small laugh with a slight shake of your head.
"Who knew there were a lot of bald, rich men who like gray suits and beautiful women hanging on their arms."
"Perhaps it is time I saw my hairdresser. Seems I am behind on the trend, seeing as how I have two of the four aforementioned details."
You giggled. "Hardly. Only if you like art showroom parties and being pegged as the villain from every crime movie. You have too oddly a shaped head to be bald. I doubt you even own a gray suit. And you aren't even that rich." You glanced at him before you nodded to a dancing couple beside you, the woman being very striking and almost the complete opposite of you. "Plus, you need to find yourself a pretty dancing partner."
Sherlock kept his face from showing his distain of you verbally discrediting yourself. You looked stunning in your dress, your body fitting perfectly with is. He continued to glance around the room as he held you close, your body's moving like water across the dance floor flawlessly in sync with one another. He made a point to take you out dancing seeing as how you had quite the skill for it. And he wouldn't mind holding you close once more.
"I like to think I have the prettiest one in the room."
You looked down at your feet and blushed, accidently causing you to miss a step, making your knee hit his but he didn't even flinch. You whispered an apology but he had stopped dancing, holding you close as if he were whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But it was much better. Your neck prickled with excitement as he whispered to you exactly what you wanted to hear.
"Five o'clock. Red pin on left collar. 5'6" Brunette on his right arm. Spill your drink then meet me in the purple glass room."
And with that he was gone. You shivered with the sudden absence of his warm hands that held to you his intoxicatingly good smelling body. But as your eyes laid on the target your personal feeling fell away and your instincts kicked in.
Carefully, you grabbed a cup of punch and walked over to them where it looked like they were trying to leave. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen but you trusted him to be doing his part of the mission. You smiled as you passed people, pretending like you were seeing acquaintances and not paying attention to your surroundings. You stumbled and tilted your cup, your feigned smiles faltering into equally insincere worry. The cry of a distressed woman alerted you of hitting your target.
