A Study In Pink

by IBecameAsMadAsRabbits

John: You got all that because you realized the case would be pink? Sherlock: Well, it had to be pink, obviously. John: Why didn't I think of that? Sherlock: Because you're an idiot. [John looks up, insulted.] No, no, no, don't be like that, practically everyone is.

"You're an army doctor."

"Yes."

"Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?"

"Well, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh, God, yes!"

I laughed hysterically at John Watson's eagerness to see a corpse.

This was how I was spending my birthday.

Sad, but true. I think I was okay with it. Being all alone, I mean. It's just that really no one was able to be in town this weekend. Grams and Hudson were somewhere in Vegas, at a funeral. The dead trumps the living.

My mom was never invested in my life in the first place.

Darren (or Dad? Too soon.) was somewhere on the east coast on tour.

Marissa has been living in Ohio or something for the past month and she plans to be coming back in a few weeks since Brandon has agreed to be her and Mikey's legal guardian.

Dot was being forced to go to her aunt's wedding.

Aaaand Holly was out of town with Meg and Vera to groom dogs at a show.

There was Casey of course, but I don't want to get into that. Especially after Sherlock just deduced shit about John. Watson was like "…Dude…"

"That was amazing."

"You think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off!"

I chuckled to myself yet again and repeated what Holmes had said in his glorious British accent. Unfortunately, I had said it just as the mailman walked by. "Piss off!"

He shot back from outside, "Fuck you too!"

Rude.

Sherlock is looking at Jennifer Wilson's body, alone with Lestrade and John and he tells Lestrade, "Shut up."

Detective Inspector Lestrade replies, "I didn't say anyth —"

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

Christ, I love that man.

Of course, the phone starts ringing just as Mycroft is offering John money to spy on Sherlock. I scowl at the phone and am determined to ignore it, but eventually I decide to answer the bloody thing.

(Haha. Bloody. I am so English.)

"Hello?"

Oh yeah. I live with Hudson and Grams with them as my legal guardians, so guess who doesn't have to lie about anything anymore?

There was a breathy gasp on the other line before the caller hung up. I swear, no one in this damn city has any manners. When I get back to the TV, John is informing Sherlock of how Mycroft whisked him away to ask about Sherock.

Sherlock Holmes asked, "Did he offer you money to spy on me...?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"...No?"

"Pity, we could've split the fee. Think it through next time."

I practically squeal inside at how John was already so loyal to Sherlock. Already the best of friends in a twisted sort of way.

The fucking phone rang again.

I glared at it and said to myself, "Nope. Not fucking happening. I'm not answering you."

It stopped ringing and I turned back to the screen when it started to fucking ring again.

"Argghhh!" I shouted, frustrated at being interrupted. You do not interrupt Sherlock.

I sprinted to the kitchen to pick up the phone and snarl, "What?"

And the motherfucker hung up again.

And it certainly couldn't have been my bright and cheery deposition that scared him away.

I put the phone onto the receiver and leaned against the wall. I wish Casey would call.

I didn't expect him to.

We had broken up a week earlier.

Well, he broke up with me.

Harsh, I know.

But maybe it was for the better.

I was being terrible.

Heartless.

Unfeeling.

And it wasn't even with everyone else.

Just with Casey.

He didn't want to end it.

Well, he did.

Sorta.

It's hard to explain.

He said he felt like I wasn't happy around him.

But I was.

I loved him.

But I didn't know what happened to me.

When he broke up with me, I had mentioned how almost three years was a pretty good run. And then I went to Dot and Holly to cry my eyes out.

I wasn't about to relive how all I wanted was to spend my sixteenth birthday with someone. Especially how I wanted that someone to be Casey. That's why I was going to torture myself with six episodes of Sherlock.

The feels would hopefully kill me.

Especially when SHERLOCK FUCKING JFHJHJDSFHJDF,JDJNDJNDFJNDJ,J UGHHH.

When I went back to the living room, Scotland Yard was searching 221B Baker Street for the suitcase that belonged to the victim that Sherlock had found after foraging through dumpsters.

Sherlock was denying murdering the woman and Anderson the dickwad interrupted with, "We found the case! According to someone, 'the murderer has the case'. And we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

Sherlock snapped, with contempt, "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

The doorbell. Freaking. Rang.

No.

"Piss off!" I yelled.

I was not about to get up and interrupt Sherlock ever again.

"Sammy, please!"

I stared at the door for a few moments longer than necessary before shooting up and running to the door, throwing it open to find Casey standing there with a bashful look on his face holding a rose. "Hi," he whispered.

"Hullo there," I said in an English accent, causing him to laugh softly at me.

"Sherlock marathon?"

"Yeah."

"Why are you torturing yourself?"

I shrugged. "You wanna come in? You can leave if I get too weird and start spazzing out."

"Like when Sherlock and John are in Buckingham Palace acting like children with Sherlock only wearing a robe?"

I tugged on his wrist, completely avoiding his hand, and joking, "Noo…maybe when Sherlock needs John to hit him to get into Irene Adler's home. But you know John wouldn't hit him unprovoked so Sherlock hits him first and John is like 'Fuuuuuck you!' and sucker punches him and tries to kill him."

"You want to remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier. I killed people!"

"You were a doctor!"

"I had bad days!"

He gives me a small smile. One that he used to reserve for me.

He's single now, though.

He can give any other girl that smile.

Casey offers me the rose and turns red. "It's for you. For your birthday. I didn't really know what else I could get you except seven seasons of Psych on DVD." He pulls out a boxed set from his laptop bag.

I stand there in the hallway, awkwardly. "You didn't have to do that for me, Case."

"Why not?" he challenged.

"Because I was an awful girlfriend."

"Did I say that?"

"Noooo…" I said slowly.

"Did you have another boyfriend this week that told you that?"

"No!"

"I think you were an absolutely lovely girlfriend."

"Mm." I didn't want to argue with him anymore so I shoved him onto the couch and settled myself next to him.

"Sammy?"

"Mm?"

"I miss you."

"Why did you have pink lipstick on your cheek last month?"

He turned to me with wide eyes. "Pardon?"

"You had pink lipstick in the shape of lips on your cheek last month." I tried swallowing the lump in my throat which was pointless because it just came back up. "Lady Lana kept saying you had 'a piece of ass on the side since I wouldn't put out'".

"…Your mother is a fucking idiot. I was with my fucking cousin and she knew that."

"FUCK."

Casey grabbed my face with his hands and pressed a kiss to my forehead before laying my head on his lap with my hair fanning out on his legs. "Sunshine? You were sitting on that whole lipstick on my cheek thing for a few weeks? And you didn't mention it?"

"I didn't want to break up with you." I whispered, "I still love you."

I heard a sharp intake of breath come from him and then I felt his warm lips on mine, as if they hadn't been absent for a week or so. They pressed against mine slowly at first, and then more urgent. When he pulled away, the lust in his eyes burned a hole in me.

"Remind me to never break up with you again," he gasped out.

"Kiss me again."

"Gladly."

I sat up to kiss Casey as the end of the first episode of Sherlock began to end when Sherlock and John were discussing how awful the homicidal cabbie was right after Sherlock realized John shot him. John was saying, "No, frankly, a bloody awful cabbie."

With which Sherlock replied with, "That's true, he was a bad cabbie. You should've seen the route he took us to get here."

They actually begin to giggle like schoolboys until John stops and scolds, " Stop it! We can't giggle at a crime scene."

"You're the one who shot him."

And they giggle some more.

Bloody lovely.

A/N: Super short one-shot that I wrote while watching Sherlock.

Rat

Wedding

Bow

CRYINGGGG

And today is my sixteenth birthday whaddup but you know what I DO NOT WANT TO GET OLDER SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME but yeah that's why I did a birthday fic.

On a whim.

Did you guys like it?

Im sorry its short but its like 4:21 in the morning and I have a lot of sleeping to do. And I start school on the 5th so expect an update like…maybe on weekends. I realized that It doesn't really take long to update and I feel bad how I went so long without doing anything.

But stress in inevitable because SATs are hell.

And guys, go on the forums, LETS DISCUSS STUFF WITH EACH OTHER BECAUSE WE'RE COOL SAMMIACS except me because I am an awkward penguin and I apologize for that.

I have to go experience sleep as a sixteen year old and hate everything, bye my lovelies.