Cosplay
Disclaimer: I own neither Sherlock nor Fairy Tail.
Summary: Sherlock really is a girl's name.
1. A Girl Named Sherlock
"So, what do you think?" he asked, slipping into his usual role. They both had their roles in this little partnership of theirs. Hers was being brilliant and his was to be the enabler.
Juvia hummed, sharp blue scanning the scene before her."Judging from the tracks- they're fresh- the perpetrator gained ingress via the vents; mustn't have been able to resist the dark, the quiet, the smell- the opportunity to satiate the hunger." she grimly concluded, her voice low and tone savoring.
Gray hummed in acquiescence, following her narrative of the scene with his eyes. Reading the clues and imagining the incidents unfolding just as she said they must've.
"Well, that's another mystery solved." uttered Gray anticlimactically, "Think you should get off my back now, and I do mean literally. Get off me, Sherlock." Gray spoke with a slight tilt of the head to catch the blue haired beauty ridding him piggy-back.
Juvia scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous. There's no telling when that rat might come back." and she did mean a literal rat, not another human with rat-like proclivities, but an actual, real rat. Which was just about the only thing in the world that could give the brilliant, mighty, narcissistic, invincible Juvia Sherlock Lockser a fright. "And since when did you start calling me Sherlock? Stop that, it's creepy."
"No, Sherlock, there's nothing wrong with calling people by their names, it's encouraged even. As opposed to addressing people as idiots, balloon-breasted bimbos, and bald freaks on national media. Especially when these people happen to be elected officials."
Juvia scowled. "So you saw that too." And pouted like a child.
"Well of course I saw it!" Gray exclaimed incredulously, turning his head farther to the side to catch her eye. "The entire nation did. That's why it's called the national media. And not Asshole Convention for Potty-Mouth Marathon."
Juvia guffawed in a decidedly un-lady like manner. "It isn't funny." Gray reprimanded. "It's bad enough that you have earned the ire of every psychopath lurking in the basements of the country without provoking the government officials."
"You're right, I'm sorry." admitted Juvia somberly. "I'll start sending out care packages to every serial-killer I helped put on the death row." she added with a cheeky grin.
Gray sighed an old man's tired sigh, shaking his head.
"What the hell was I expecting?" he said to himself, "At any rate, get off me godamnit!"
Juvia tutted disapprovingly, "Is this the mouth you kiss Mary with? What will she say hearing her classy Mr. Perfect swearing like a regular street urchin?"
"My fiance happens to be a very understanding and mature woman. Not that you'd know anything about it. And she also knows what a great distress it is talking sense to you, so my guess is I'm in the safe. Now get off me!"
"Ugh." Juvia complained. She hopped down from his back and sashayed away towards the couch and plopped down into it. "You're no fun anymore, Gray."
"Given that your kind of fun is apt to have me dangling upside down from skyscrapers, poisoned, or like that one memorable time when I was both, I'd count it as a huge improvement."
Gray kicked himself mentally when he saw a spasm of guilt and regret flicker across Juvia's pale, perfect face. And he almost cringed when she said, sincerely, without a hint of irony, "I really am sorry about those times."
"It's okay. It's fine." Gray said quickly.
For all her flaws, Sherlock actually did care for him, maybe even loved him still. And besides, of all the things he had come to regret in the twenty-five years of his life, none of it was the time he had spent with her, even those moments when he was sure he was going to be dead. Even that one time when he technically was dead, for half a freaking minute.
"It's water the bridge." Gray assured her, trying to diffuse the sudden intensity in the atmosphere.
An awkward silence followed during which Gray cast back in his mind for things to say, and not finding any, and Juvia rooted through the garbage hill heaped up on the table by the couch for the remote and flippantly switched the telly on.
Gray had hurt her with his mindless griping. Juvia might appear invincible to the rest of the world, but Gray knew that she was incredibly susceptible to these kind of things, especially when they were coming from him. It was like dealing with a dynamite stick, incredibly powerful and incredibly volatile. It was downright scary, and one of the reason they broke up.
Gray didn't try to talk to her anymore because he knew she would just grunt or nod, feigning disinterest and cold passiveness. That's how she dealt with hurt: Dismissing those who hurt her.
But in three years they spent together Gray had unraveled a lot of mysteries surrounding Juvia's nature. It was funny how she agonized over the world being dull mundane and monochromatic, going to incredible lengths to find a compelling, challenging puzzle, when she herself was the most exciting and intriguing mystery of them all.
The other thing that Gray knew about Sherlock was that when, for whichever reason, she believes she's been hurt it helped if you acted as if not much was amiss with just a hint of contrition, even if all she responds with is a cold shoulder. It helps her think that despite her million eccentricities she wouldn't be abandoned. Gray had come across this particular epiphany in the first few months he had lived with her as his flat-mate, when after months of abusing and generally making his life hell one day Juvia helped him out of a pretty tight jam. And she had done so at the expense of her "cute shoes" and a handbag which, Gray knew, she cared for more than a human life. Seriously. She would walk by a bleeding person, or kill a person, on her way to acquire one of her handbags.
The reason, Gray learned later, Sherlock had helped him out was because he had stayed by her, put up with her crap when any other sane being would have run away screaming. And that made him her ideal flat-mate. It didn't spell anything good for him but was something Juvia deemed even more valuable than the handbags she was crazy about, something Gray hadn't believed possible.
Looking about, Gray asked, "When was the last time you cleaned the apartment?"
Silence from her.
"Well, better clean before your rodent guest decides to make a reappearance." That got a reaction from her. She visibly shivered at the thought. Gray smirked.
"C'mon, help me tidy things up a bit." And he set about the task of making her apartment look less like a sty and more suitable for a human sustenance. He started with picking up the garbage: pizza boxes, candy wrappers, chocolate boxes and what not strewn around. As were her clothes. And by the look of things the last morsel of food Juvia had was about three days ago. "Sherlock?" Gray asked, wrinkling his nose at the rancid smell of a small uneaten box of chow-mein he had uncovered from under a pair of discarded panties. "What was the last proper meal you had?"
Juvia saw Gray holding the fast-food box, and padded up to him, "Ah, gimme, gimme." Gray pulled it out away from her reach when she tried to grab for it.
"You must think me mad." Gray uttered blandly. "This is at least a day old, Sherlock." Straining to snatch it out of Gray's hand Juvia scowled up at him, "First of all stop calling me Sherlock, I hate that name. And, secondly," she punched him in the gut. Gray gasped and fell on his knees. Sherlock could take a guy twice his size apart with her hands tied; perhaps it had been a grave miscalculation on his part to keep her from getting something she wanted. "I had bought it just the other night. It's totally edible." and easily plucked it out of Gray's hand. Muttering to herself she stalked off, "Now where are the chopsticks...?"
Gray slowly pulled himself to his feet, and staggered towards the couch. "I think you just broke my intestines." he wheezed.
Sherlock gave a flippant shrug, "You should've known better." She still hadn't spotted her chopsticks, and it was when Gray saw the beginnings of a compromise form on her face did he realize with a faint horror: If she can't find chopsticks she would just use her hands! And Gray got up to feet as quickly as he could, ignoring the stab of pain as best as he could, and hobbled over to Sherlock. He clapped a hand on her wrist and pulled it down, Juvia narrowed her eyes at him, "You've recovered faster than I remember." Gray gulped down an "eep" at the sight of her slitted eyes and said instead, "Let's get you something to eat that's less likely to force you to the confinements of a bathroom for the rest of the week."
"Chinese." said Sherlock unbending.
"Done." Gray sighed in relief.
"'K. Lemme get my coat then." she smiled sweetly and floated away. Gray shuddered at her utter madness
An hour and three fiery arguments over Juvia's attire later they were ready to go.
"I hate you." Juvia grumbled. "Almost as much as I hate these wretched clothes!" she fumed, tugging at her clothes as if wanting to rip them off her. Her fingers were bent into claws and face contorted with fury, "I hate you!" she screeched at Gray.
"Calm down, you big baby." Gray frowned down at her as he wrapped a muffler around his neck. "I told you we have to take care not to appear as we are getting back together. The media will be hounding our every step."
"I thought your Mary was mature and understanding." remarked Sherlock snidely.
"She is." insisted Gray, "But it seems ungrateful of me to reward her kindness with senselessless scandals."
"You really do love her, don't you?" Juvia said with an inscrutable tone. Though to Gray it held no mystery. She was jealous, but Gray elected to let it pass without comment.
"Let's go." Once down the stairwell and to the entrance door of the building, Gray grasped the doorknob and threw the door open on a crowd of journalists with their flashing cameras and overhanging mikes, buzzing and shoving with questions.
Gray sighed quietly. Being a friend to Sherlock was a tough task indeed. He hated the psychopaths not-half as much as these nosy SOBs. He just hoped he would find Mary with an explanation before whatever shit-scandal media cooks up does.
But fat chance of that, Gray thought bitterly to himself as he spied a woman tapping away at her smartphone in the crowd he was shoving through. Fuck you Facebook. Fuck you Twitter.
In contrast to his stolid, almost sullen silence, to his side Juvia was glowing. Media's darling girl, she was. And with her easy charm and witty replies, she had them all dancing to her tune, instead of it being the other way around. None of her rage at her drab attire was conspicuous, but Gray knew it was there, and sooner rather than later Juvia'll even the score.
Gray sighed again. A long night it's gonna be.
A/n: So here's the first chapter. Hope you enjoyd it. You might've have noticed that I used Juvia and Sherlock almost-alternately to adress Juvia. It was so you could get comfortable with the idea of Juvia being called Sherlock. I apologize for any confusion, I'll try to make it easier next time.