Sherlock Preferences

Friends That Do Stuff Together!

Yes, I used a line from Spongebob for a title. DONNUT JUDGE ME... Okay, so maybe you should.

Sherlock;
It shocked both John and Molly when they found out you and Sherlock had begun quote-unquote "hanging out". What wasn't a surprise, is what you had been doing. Given your experience in both pathology and anthropology, Sherlock thought you'd be extremely useful at a crime scene. What he hadn't counted on, however, was your linguistic analysis to be so useful.
It was a double murder. Blood spritzed like liquid rubies on the wall, bodies so torn up by what appeared to be a dual bladed axe that you couldn't tell what was flesh from bone, from squashed Jaffa cake. Sadly, no such scrumptious cakes were present, just two mutilated corpses. That, and the message in their own blood. The one you kept staring at, yet no one had seemed to notice.
"Murder was clearly personal, weapon belonged to the family. Likely used to cut down a tree for Christmas going by the pine needles wedged into the handle..." His deductions continued, and usually you'd stop to listen to the ingenious way of thinking, but something didn't sit right with you. It was the message...

Waiting on the feeling of  life.
A flat with a mate rather than the slut you fancied.

There was something off about it. The language...
"Sherlock." You interrupted, and him not being accustomed to such a thing, completely froze.
"What y/n?" His tone screamed his feelings of hurt and agony, but you knew what was wrong with this picture.
"There were two killers." Sherlock searched for a sign of what you meant. You'd already said the marks all came from someone who was right handed, the ropes on the woman's wrists and tape on her mouth was enough to confirm she wouldn't escape or cry out. There was no true evidence of a partner, but there wasn't any evidence of there not being one, either.
"I suppose it's possible, but-"
"No. there were two. Look at the message; waiting on. It's common in the southern states of America. But the second sentence uses the words 'flat', 'mate', and 'fancy' instead of 'apartment', 'friend', and 'liked', signifying British origin. The use of the word 'slut' instead of 'whore' and the clear irony of 'waiting on the feeling of life', suggest someone younger. Late twenties, tops. Someone not sophisticated enough to think about word choice to through us off, or rather, people not sophisticated enough. Also no old enough to have two direct vocabulary usage. Can't be from the same person, because then they would've said, 'A flat with a mate instead of that slut you fancied', based on Southern main verbal cues and heavy words." In your explanation, you hadn't realize the entire room had froze. That includes Sherlock. He again looked over the message, before nodding, looking a little uncomfortable.
"Right. That's a- that's a fair deduction. I'd say you're correct, even... Lestrade, find who he contacted the most, the top two. Not the girlfriend. Those are your killers." There were a few more things to wrap up, but soon you and Sherlock were heading out in, what you thought to be, a comfortable silence. Sherlock wasn't comfortable at all, in actuality.
"What you did in there, that uh, language thingy, that was, uh, that was good."

John;
You and John could've had a book club, given you had another member or two. Still, it had been two months and you had JUST finished it. Most of the time you spent together was talking about Tuesdays with Morrie. It was just such a great book, and both of you thought it was even better when you were able to discuss it.
"When Morrie tells Mitch where he wants to be buried-" John started, both of you having finished the book since your last meeting. It's safe to say that both of you had some ideas on the ending, and it's partially deeper meaning.
"Oh my gosh, I literally cried!" You didn't mean to cut him off, and instantly felt bad, but he actually seemed to find it amusing. His gentle laughter soothed your nerves, and soon you were laughing along with him. John's flat was certainly... Creative, but just like him it had this nice homely feel to it, despite the endless amounts of lab equipment littering the counter and cupboards. After two months though, you still had yet to meet his flatmate, and best friend, Sherlock. From everything John told you, it felt like you'd be meeting a celebrity. Which, in technicality, you were meeting a media celebrity, but that's the point. Sherlock was an important part of John's life, and as his friend, it was important for you to know it. All of it. You knew everything there was to know about William Sherlock Scott Holmes, yet you somehow knew he had no clue you existed. You and John chatted idly about the heart-reaching memoir for a bit longer, before you just started talking over tea. It wasn't something that was uncommon. John had thoroughly expressed how refreshing your kind company was compared to his some-what (okay, very) vexing friend.
"So, how's the boyfriend?" It always came around to relationships at one point, and it was always comforting to know John was such a caring friend.
"Oh, he's great. I mean, we've only technically been dating three weeks, but he's just such a charmer! You still with Dianna?" Dianna was his most recent girlfriend, of about three days.
"Oh, stop that, of course I am. My relationships don't just last a day, you know." Laughing at the semi-inside joke. Everyone at the clinic knew of John's love life, a couple of them even being part of the story. It was actually really entertaining to listen to their accounts of 'the worst first date ever', and sometimes arguments. Well, there use to be arguments. One of the doctors that usually kept out of it, let slip that her and John's first date ended with her tied to a chair, with a Chinese "mob" pretending to be circus threatening her life while accusing him of being Sherlock Holmes. To you, that didn't sound too terribly. She was alive and well, John saved her life, not only that, but it's a lot more interesting than any date you'd ever been on. Though, you had to enjoy the walks you took with your current boyfriend.
"Mhm. I'll believe it when I see it." You continued to tease, him chuckling a bit as you poked him in the side. After a short laughing fit, you silently sipping on your tea, before realizing if you didn't leave you'd be late to meet (crush's name).

Mycroft Holmes;
There were actually quite a few things you and Mycroft did. By far, your favorite was the introduction to the little chats you'd have. Mainly because, as the British Government, you could skip the entire 'how have you been? What is everything you have done since the last time we spoke two days ago?' crap. Instead, it was a little more... Well, deliberate.
The small sound of bells jingled over your head as you entered the bookstore where you were meeting Mycroft. It was never hard to find Mycroft, he definitely enjoyed the Maths section way, way, WAY too much, despite never actually picking up one of the books.
"Hey, Mycroft." You greeted as you rounded the corner, e/c eyes sparkling with a newfound friendliness since you met the only person you knew as obsessed with Jaffa Cakes as you were. It had been difficult, but finally you found someone who would also commit murder for the darling delights.
"Y/n," He nodded his head formally, as per his usual, "How was the Bluebird, then?" He asked, both of you starting to venture deeper into the store. Aw, yes. Bluebird Café.
"The Jaffa Cakes were scrumptious, but it felt weird. They were made differently than most, in a fancy sort of way. I felt like I was betraying my one true love or something." He couldn't help chuckling at the ludicrous idiom, despite the fact he'd probably feel the same. Of corse, you were already giggling at this point.
"And dinner at the Pied à Terre?" He inquired with his usual wistful, yet formal and distanced tone.
"Oh, it was lovely. I suppose you know everything about my date, too then?" You teased, knowing that he, in fact, did. He gave a small, almost like a big brother to his younger, eye roll. No doubt he had a lot of practice on that growing up.
"Of course. Want me to tell you about him?" The answer, he already knew. It was like a game to the both of you. You'd pretend you were normal friends, telling each other about their day, when in reality you were telling each other about the other's. 'Twas such a fun pastime!
"Yeah. Prove to me what you've got Mr. Government!" You opted for a snarky tone, like someone trying to make a point, getting into full character with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. You instantly dropped the act, some more proper laughter filling the air.
"I swear you had to have taken drama at some point!" He huffed before starting, "He's a year your senior, has a dog. A Yorkshire terrier named Blyke. Odd name for a dog, I'd say, by to each their own. Owns a dental company, fairly good, too, based on the numerous awards he and his company have received. No record, unless you count two hours of community service every week at the local children's home. Was an orphan, bounced between foster homes before landing at the Mylie house. You two seem like a great fit, based on the fact you've already planned your next outing." You always had to be amazed with Mycroft's abilities to find information. He tried to hide his smile-o'-pride, but there are some thing's that just happen.
"I readily agree to that! Yes, he mentioned all of it, congratulations Mycroft, 100% right again. Though, you can find any information you want with a touch of a button, huh?" He nodded his head, and you jokingly explained to him about his week was all about saving the world, planning to start some random war, deciding not to start a war, eating Jaffa cakes, then spying on you and his little brother. By the time the conversation had ended, you were already at your flat, a new box of Jaffa Cakes in tow.