Author's note: When I saw the trope "Minor Character Focused" I knew I had found my line of the Bingo. Enjoy another chapter of my obsession.
She knew Sherlock Holmes had never really loved her. Which, really, was a good thing because she had never really loved him too. They had both used one another, even though she hadn't realized what he had used her for until later, when she had been knocked unconscious in her boss' office. She knew that hadn't been him, though; it wasn't his style.
And she had got what she wanted. The money she got from the interviews would last a while, and she had all the attention she had desired. She had had already several offers from TV stations. Nothing too glamorous, but she could work her way to the top.
In this world, one had to do all one could to get what one wanted. Some believed in hard work. She didn't have anything against them – admired them in a way, even – but it was much easier to know the right people.
And John's and Mary's wedding had given her to opportunity to meet Sherlock Holmes. She knew all about him, of course. She knew he was brilliant and rude and had faked his death and returned. She hadn't thought he'd be cute, though. For lack of a better word.
Because, while he insulted people – there was vulnerability in his eyes. It was a shield.
His best man's speech proved that.
Sadly, he didn't seem to be interested. By dating Sherlock Holmes, she would get into the public eye. Nothing was known of any relationship. She had had her suspicions about him and John Watson. She was surprised when she befriended Mary and realized that she was going to marry the doctor. It made Sherlock Holmes interesting for her. Before, she had believed she wouldn't stand a chance and had looked for other ways to get famous. Or as famous as a few newspaper articles could make one these days.
He didn't seem to be interested in her, however. She didn't know if he was even aware she was flirting.
He did think her beautiful, but to a man like Sherlock Holmes, that didn't mean much. He looked at her face and knew she was considered beautiful by society's standards.
She might as well have some fun, and she had a great time with the man he had pointed out to her. She had a soft spot for Science Fiction too, so they got along great.
Hope returned when she saw him look disappointed that she was dancing with Thomas.
He left early. She felt sorry for him – his life had changed, and he would return to an empty flat; she would gladly help him with that if he would let her. And maybe he would. Who knew. He might just get in contact with her after that look.
She left with Thomas' number. He would make a good friend. There weren't many she could discuss books, comics and video games with, people assuming from her looks that she wouldn't be interested in these topics.
Sherlock called her three days after the wedding.
She acted surprised, although she wasn't. She had calculated that he would call her more likely than not; and it was no problem for him to find out her mobile phone number, she was sure.
They agreed on a date on the next Friday. She spent a few hours wondering what to wear. She would keep her hair open, like she had at the wedding; she would wear only little make-up. He didn't look the type who liked heavy make-up. That left her with only one question, which dress she should wear.
In the end, she wore a black one, not too short, not too long, not too much cleavage. She didn't want to look desperate.
She studied herself in the mirror before she left the house. Casual enough, and yet classy. Just like she wanted.
She left the house, coming to the restaurant a few minutes late. It was what he would expect of her, and yet not late enough to make him angry.
It soon became clear to her that he was playing a game, just like she was. He was perfect – too perfect. He complimented her on her hair and dress, but not too much so that she would still recognize him as the man she had met at the wedding; he made brilliant small talk, but with a hint of sarcasm, to suggest that he was more than ready to talk seriously, too; he had a vast amount of knowledge on all kinds of topics, and he was interested in what she said.
It was the best date she had ever been on, and that was how she knew that it was fake.
Real dates weren't perfect, because people weren't perfect. There was always something – spilled wine, a wrong word, a smile just a little too bright.
The point of dating was to find someone that would make you forget these little imperfections, not never to experience them in the first place.
Sherlock Holmes wanted something. She didn't know what. She was sure it wasn't sex. She knew how men looked at her if they desired her. There was nothing of that in his eyes.
And yet he kissed her afterwards, after he had walked her to her door, and told her he had had a wonderful night. She told him the same. It was true. They might have been acting, but it was nice to have had the perfect date.
From then on, they were dating. It was uncomplicated – another proof that it couldn't be real. She wondered when to go public. It would be much better if a journalist was to spot them and publish the fact; if she went to the papers and social media, she would undoubtedly be called an "attention whore".
Which, in all honesty, she was. But she didn't take it as an insult. It meant that she used her looks and her brain to get what she wanted, didn't let anyone stop her. For her, it was a compliment.
For most people it wasn't, though, and she didn't want to be remembered by the public negatively. First impressions were important.
Therefore, she was content to let take things their course. Sherlock was the perfect gentleman.
They had dates, and she started sleeping at his place; 221B wasn't nearly the mess John's blog had made it out to be, and she enjoyed the homely feel to it.
Sherlock didn't tell anyone about their relationship, not even his landlady, and she assumed it had something to do with his ulterior motive. Whatever it was, it would show itself soon enough. Hopefully after the media had found out.
Not that there was much to tell. It was no relationship in the physical sense. He had never indicated a wish for them to go beyond kisses and cuddling in the bedroom, and she was beginning to wonder if he was asexual. It might be better for them. Sex tended to complicate things.
Still, once would be nice. Just to see what type of lover the consulting detective was.
It wasn't necessary, though, and if he didn't want to have sex, so be it. She could do without.
It was obvious that his best friend had suspected nothing when he brought back Sherlock from whatever case he was working on.
John hadn't been around since his honeymoon. Janine had called and met Mary a few times, the nurse beaming and talking about their vacation and her pregnancy, all but glowing when she talked about John. Sherlock barely spoke of him, and she didn't think they had been in contact. It was strange; from what she had read on the blog, she had always assumed they shared an extremely close friendship, if not more.
And now he hadn't even told him he was dating her. If this was for a case, which she suspected, because this was Sherlock Holmes and everything was about a case, she knew, no matter that he acted like a considerate boyfriend, wouldn't he have told John? When did he and the doctor become so distant?
John's face when she suggests dinner was very amusing, but she kept her mirth in check. She wouldn't laugh at the best friend of her boyfriend.
After she had left, she made her way to work. Her boss had had several meetings scheduled today, and she could expect at least four important phone calls that had to be put through to him no matter what. She was a great PA, and she hadn't had a complaint in all the time she had worked for him. She wouldn't start being late now.
Just when she entered the office, her phone rang. She was to cancel one of the meetings – her boss had decided to go somewhere else. She didn't ask where. An hour later, he showed up. He greeted her with his usual cold politeness. The day passed without surprises.
Until the evening, when she was getting ready to go home.
She couldn't believe it when she saw Sherlock on the screen. He shouldn't be here; she couldn't allow him to enter the lift. Her boss wouldn't want it, and he was still there, as usual. He always stayed late in the office, if he wasn't gone the whole day.
She didn't expect him to propose to her. Marriage had never been something that she had contemplated. She wouldn't go that far. But being engaged – she could do that.
She let him up.
They didn't get to talk about it at all, and she didn't even see the ring. She was knocked out before he arrived upstairs.
She woke up in the hospital with a slight concussion and learned that Sherlock had been shot by a masked intruder who had been threatening her boss.
It was too much of a coincidence. That had been Sherlock's motive, then. He wanted to get in her boss' office.
She felt a little disappointed. She had hoped he wanted to prove to the world that he had never had relations with John Watson – the rumours wouldn't go away, even if the doctor was happily married – which would have made it necessary to let the public know.
But that didn't mean she couldn't, now. It was over, of course. She didn't think he thought her stupid enough not to realize why he had dated her.
It solved her problem of the negative implications her own reveal of their relationship would bring. The public might not like people who put themselves in the spotlight; but it had a soft spot for broken-hearted young women. And Sherlock's reputation was well-known. Everyone was ready to believe that he had used and dumped her.
There were a few negative comments, of course, especially in the social media – there always were; but in the end, she had got what she wanted.
She had enough money to quit her job and start looking for a good offer from the media. She had time. She just had to wait and carefully keep in the public eye.
She visited Sherlock in hospital. She was fond of him. It was the easiest and pleasantest relationship she had ever been in, and she didn't want any bad blood between them. She might have used him, just as he had used her, but she respected him.
As it turned out, he respected her too, in his own way. They both knew that their marriage would never have happened. It felt good to joke about it.
If their life goals hadn't been so different, they might have been friends. Perhaps even –
But they were different, too different. Yet they could still part with mutual respect and good wishes for one another. As exes went, they weren't too bad. She might have turned down his morphine, but it was more to prove a point then to bring him pain. They had both used one another. They were even.
They were good.
As she walked down the hallway of the hospital, she found herself glad that it had been Sherlock who had given her what she wanted. Maybe he was a little glad too she'd been herself and not some normal woman who would have fallen in love with him.
Happily leaving him behind, and hoping that he would succeed in whatever he chose to do, whether it be against her former boss or not, she wondered if she would find more offers when she returned home.
Author's note: I hope you liked it, please review.