Reason 1:

We hate going anywhere when it's really pointless to leave the flat. Yet we absolutely detest doing nothing all day.


"John called; he says we should go out to dinner with him and Mary." I trudged back to the living room with my mug of hot chocolate. Sitting down, drawing my legs up onto the settee, I glanced at Sherlock, who always managed to surprise me by curling up perfectly in that stupid armchair. I think what irritated me most was that I couldn't do it. And before you go on, I know I can't– I've tried.

"Dull. Boring. Ordinary. Why isn't there a case for me to solve?!" He ended with a frustrated sound.

"Because you don't take any of the ones Greg tells you about. If you did, then perhaps we could go somewhere," I huffed back in annoyance at his whining. Mary was right when she warned me that Sherlock's a drama queen. Bloody hell. . .

"Oh, you want to go out, do you?" He seemed to perk up a bit, looking over at me, his hair a mess and that familiar dulled look in his eyes when he wasn't doing The Work.

"No, it's cold outside, and besides, what fun would it be standing around with you, analyzing every human in eyesight?" I retorted. He didn't want to go anyway, I knew it, I knew him. He wasn't going to leave this flat for anything less than a murder or. . . if John forced him to. I ground my teeth at that, disgusted to admit the truth. Only for John did anything out of Sherlock's comfort zone matter.

"Stop doing that!" His eyes narrowed. Always pisses him off when I grind my teeth; says he can't think when I do it. So I do it whenever I guess the answer to a question or a case before him. Drives him half-mad, knowing he's behind on the answer, though it rarely happens.

"I can do what I want to! Unless you find something interesting for us to participate in," I shot right back. He huffed, muttering under his breath, rearranging himself back into the fetal position in the damned chair. I was five days away from burning it to make him stand and be forced to move about the flat. I am so sick of the whining. And then he sends a possible case away after complaining he's bored!

"Wait. . . who's 'Greg'?" I knew he'd be sitting up about now, looking over at me, but I ignored him. I smiled to myself, holding my novel in front of my face. That was a good laugh; he could never remember Lestrade's name no matter how many times in a day they texted or talked; well, Sherlock talked and Greg listened. Poor man. . .

"Think about it," I muttered, looking at him over the top of my novel. He frowned, fading off into that vast mind of his which I knew had to rival the expanse of the cosmos. I wonder if Peri's made it into that Mind Palace of his yet. My lovely piano; what's wrong with giving instruments names? I know he's named that beautiful violin, though he's yet to tell me.

"No, I don't know!" he suddenly exploded, disturbing the peace and quiet of the flat. I do hope Mrs. Hudson won't come up because of his outburst. She can be extremely annoying when she does that, considering she always thought Sherlock would find "another boyfriend" after John, and I then turned out to be female, which surprised her. She doesn't believe Watson and neither do I most-times. . . You can see it in his eyes when he comes to visit or works on a case with Sherlock.

"Gregory. . . Gregory. . . his last name begins with an 'L', surely you know this," I taunted in a singsong tone, grinning like the Cheshire Cat behind my novel, only my eyes visible.

"Stop it, I'm trying to think!" he ordered, closing his eyes tightly, bowing his head like he always does.

"Oh, that's not going to help, you never remember this one!" I teased, enjoying myself too much, I'll allow.

"Lestrade!" He jumped up, standing and looking at me; though he was rather impassive about the whole thing, there was that little something in his eyes which appeared whenever he figured out an answer.

"Of course, but you can never remember his first name. You really should write it down and put it in your Palace somewhere; how about with the letter A from the League?" I suggested.

"And what makes you think I kept all that idiotic mess?" he argued defensively.

"I just know," I answered mysteriously, feeling entirely devious. 'John, you were right!' I thought to myself. Leave it to Sherlock to memorize the all the words beginning with the letter 'A' when he had the opportunity.

"John told you; you have that look on your face which is only there if John told you something that you wouldn't have known about otherwise!" he exclaimed, sounding annoyed as he rolled his eyes and collapsed back into the chair, ruffling his hair quickly as he made himself comfortable again.

"How about I make up a case for you to solve, and then we go out for dinner?" I asked, looking up after a brief interlude.

"No, besides, where would we go?" He scowled.

"Angelo's?" I suggested.

"Um, no," he quickly declared with lifted eyebrows, disregarding my idea entirely.

"Fine then; where do you want to go?"

"I don't know; how about that place on –"

"No, no, no! Never again, Sherlock; never again!"

"Then there's absolutely no benefit whatever in removing myself from this chair, taking a shower, or changing my clothes; we don't have to call John, either." Sherlock sighed, glaring off into the kitchen as he pondered something with that brilliant mind of his.

"Why would we have to call John if we're going out?" I asked, tossing my book onto the coffee table, looking at him with arms crossed.

"Because you're sarcastic and I will find some less-than interesting case to amuse myself with, idiot!" he returned, looking over at me momentarily as if it were obvious.

"Drama queen; and I'm not sarcastic," I muttered back, rolling my eyes.

"Yes you are. I am not a drama queen! John told you that too, didn't he?" Sherlock's head rose slightly.

"Who else could've told me?" I needled.

"Mary Sue Louise Stratham, I am just as much a drama queen as John Watson!" He raged, looking as if he wished John's browning was still in residence. Oh, don't look at me; I certainly wasn't about to give him mine!

"Why are you calling me by my full name, Sherlock?" I stood too, hands going to my hips, temper rising.

"Because I wanted to," he replied, suddenly looking sulky. "Why don't we go walk London?" he asked, glancing round the room.

"Why don't you read about the solar system?" I tossed back, gesturing to a book on the table.

"That's utterly useless information! Why would I bother keeping that?" He motioned to the book dismissively.

"Oh, go play your violin so I can listen!" I was tired of this. We weren't going to go out, and we both didn't want to be home. I'd rather hear the violin screech as he played something than deal with moody silence, and I can bet he would rather play than argue with me.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to!" I replied.

"Why suddenly now?" He narrowed his eyes, analyzing me, I could tell. No, I huffed internally, I wasn't hiding a possible case from him. Believe me, one for him at this moment would be wonderful!

"Just because!" I shouted, watching as he walked toward his room.

"Fine!" he yelled back, sounding equally immature.


A/N:

I have never stepped foot into the Sherlock FFN except to read, so this is. . . different. I don't know where the idea came from, only that it started with a Hobbit fanfic idea - yet to be finished - about a mary-sue who has a romantic interest - or maybe it never got that far - in one of the leading male characters. Just Because is the first short fanfic in the series which I intend to spread through several fandoms on here.

I'm a fan of Sherlock, but I don't think I'm as detailed as most of ya'll. However, I have tried. Obviously I'm not British, so, that's the reason something is not English about this short fanfic. I play the piano, and since this is about a mary-sue/Sherlock pairing she's going to have quite a few of my characteristics. Such as my emotions and temperament. Probably my sarcasm and cynicism too.

And no, I don't really ship Johnlock. I'm more Sherlolly.

The letter 'A' and the League is reference to "The Red-Headed League" by Sir A.C. Doyle.

Please do tell me what you think.

- WH