BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 3)

Sherlock: Life of the Office Party

The beginning of my third book of imagines.

Enjoy my children.

(THIS GIF IS MY FAV AND I LOST IT AWHILE AGO AND HAVE FINALLY FOUND IT AGAIN!)

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The sound of coughing had somehow reached you all the way in the kitchen. It was dramatically exaggerated, and did not contain the throaty and phlegmy elements that usually came from the cough of a sick person. This was no doubt the fake cough of your husband, Sherlock Holmes. But being the good humored person you were, you decided to play along. You walked down the hall and carefully opened the door to your bedroom, revealing the culprit all tucked into bed, his face distorted into a sort of painful frown.

"Oh honey," you said, walking over to him. "Are you sick?" you asked, reaching for his forehead.

He nodded slowly. "I think John got me sick," he said, his voice almost believably coarse. "Feel free to go to your work party without me, and give everyone my best wishes." Bullshit, you thought. He's not about to get off that easy.

"Oh no no no, I'll stay with you," you said, shaking your head and clicking your tongue like a concerned parent. "Your head is burning." You had carefully noted the steaming cup of tea that he had made earlier, which looked to be not drank from at all, so he must've pressed it against his forehead. Sneaky bastard. "Well this calls for some serious care. No getting out of bed for 24 hours," you said, standing up and putting your hands on your hips.

"Wait-"

"That means no cases, no experiments, I don't even want you to get up and go to the bathroom. I'll make sure to get you a bedpan. Thank goodness my mother was a nurse, I know all about this stuff from watching her over the years." The look on his face was priceless. His nostrils were flared and his eyes burned bright with fear. "Perhaps John can come over and help take care of you too."

"NO!" he shrieked. "No need for the bedpan, or John, I'm feeling much better now you know, but thank you for caring. However I do think I should just stay here, just in case it hits me again."

"Yeah nice try Sherlock," you said, crossing your arms proudly.

He swore under his breath and rolled his eyes. "Well then, my next excuse is I'm not going if I have to dress up," he said, ripping off the covers and revealing himself already in his button up shirt.

"What you're wearing is perfectly fine," you smiled. He looked down and swore again. He listed off some other excuses, which weren't nearly as good. "Are you finally done?" you asked, after he said something about waiting for the ice cream truck to come around at some point tonight.

"Yes," he replied, hanging his head for a moment.

"Good, because that was painful to watch."

"Not as painful as it will be to make small talk about the weather with small minded humans while pretending not to notice all the obvious affairs and lies swirling around the room," he muttered, walking past you and into the closet to grab an overcoat.

"Just do me a favor and don't bring any of those up please. I need this party to go smoothly so that the new boss likes me enough to let me work up with him on some projects, okay?" He ignored you, fluffing his hair in the mirror and straightening out his outfit.

He turned to you finally, giving you a suspicious look. "How did you know I was faking?" he asked, leading the way down the hallway and to the door. He opened it for you, but you stopped to face him.

"You see, but you do not observe Mr. Holmes," you winked, walking past him through the door. He hated when you quoted him, especially from John's blogs, but this time he couldn't help but follow you down the stairs with a proud smile.