A/N: Hey, guys! I recently started watching the BBC show Sherlock, with Benedict Cumberbatch. (SEXY SEXY MAN) The entire time, all I could think about was how Sherlock and Sandor would get along, thus this mini-fic was born.

Oh, and once I establish an AU, that's the one I will always write in. :)

Raynie

After he was done ushering Arya out the door, Sandor slammed it with a sigh. He turned his attention back to the TV. It was his man time, dammit. He didn't have time to cater to Arya's baby sitting needs at the moment. Exhaling, he plopped down on the couch and resumed his relaxing activity.

Ever since Sansa moved in, Arya had been present in Sandor's day to day life. She was over everyday after school. Every fucking day. Normally, Sandor didn't mind hanging out with his sister-in-law, but today, he needed his alone time. Work had been particularly stressful, especially after Joffrey started a riot at the homeless shelter. Who does things like that? Nothing Joffrey ever did made any sense to Sandor. When discharged, he'd raced home to just forget the entire upsetting ordeal, only to find Arya sitting on his couch, eating his food. He'd shouted, shooed her out, threw a five dollar bill at her, and slammed the door in her face. She was smart enough to take the bus home, he knew. Grabbing the remote from where she had left it, he turned on the TV.

"What in the seven hells is this shit?" His DVR was full of stupid girly things, courtesy of both Sansa and her sister. He scrolled through episodes of Gossip Girl, Say Yes To The Dress, America's Next Top Model, and others, searching for his shows. When he couldn't find them, he threw the pillow in a fit of rage.

"How dare she come into my fucking house and mess with my shows? That little bitch!" he thundered at the TV. The DVR menu was still open, mocking him with it's lack of MAN contents. The scroller had landed on a random show. One of Arya's.

Sherlock.

Sandor sneered. Arya watched really weird shows. Usually, Sandor didn't care enough to watch them, but today he was missing The Soprano's because of this bullshit. He decided to watch her show, then delete it. He trotted into the kitchen to scavenge for food before returning to the couch. He clicked play.

The show started out good enough, with shooting and death, Sandor thought to himself. He chuckled at the stupidity of the rest of it. The main character hobbled around on a cane, for Seven's sake. Dr. Jon something. He didn't care, but as the story progressed, particularly after Sherlock was introduced, Sandor found himself paying more and more attention. The chips lay next to him, forgotten, as his eyes, opened wide, took in the story. Too intent on figuring out the murderer before Sherlock did, Sandor didn't hear the door open.

"Babe? I'm home." His jump sent the chips scattering across the wooden floor. He hastily tried to pick them back up, but the dog was already trying to eat them.

"Lady, no!" Sansa's voice was right behind him, as she bent to help him clean up the chips. "Sorry I scared you."

"You didn't scare me," he mumbled. The chips were all back in the bag, and he debated whether to just eat them or to get something else and throw them away. Deciding on the latter, he stomped back into the kitchen, angry that Sansa had interrupted his train of though.

"What are you watching?" She called to him from the living room of their apartment. "Ooh, Sherlock?" Why do women ask questions they already know answers to? "Arya said this was a good show? What do you think?"

He didn't like when she asked question after question. Honestly, he didn't even want her around right now. "It's okay. Speaking of her, go hang out with her. I think she misses you."

Sansa appeared in the doorway. "Really? I don't know. You seem so lonely here by yourself."

"I'm fine," he assured her, crossing his fingers. When she left, he'd be free to watch Sherlock in peace. She nodded and grabbed her purse. He heard the door click behind her and made sure that she was truly gone before hitting play. The story continued as John and Sherlock had to solve something to do with a cell phone.

Munching away at a bag of cookies Sansa's friend Jeyne had baked, Sandor sat cross legged, head tipped as his mind filled with calculations and scenarios involving pink, cell phones, and taxi cabs. Lady jumped on the couch with him, whining for him to pet her. He obliged, eyes never leaving the screen, as his fingers ruffled the coarse fur at her neck.

When the episode finished, he realized just how long it had been. An hour and a half. Wow. He clicked through some more girl shows and realized that episode two had been recorded as well. Smiling to himself, he deleted episode one and moved on. That would teach Arya to cancel his shows. Not that he minded at the moment. Sherlock was proving far too entertaining. As he was about to play the next episode, he heard the door open, and groaned.

"Sandor. Arya said you kicked her out," Sansa was saying as she put away her umbrella. Sandor turned his head to look out the window. Sure enough, it had started raining. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised. "I said you wouldn't do anything like that. Was I wrong?"

He shrugged. "She was taking up my TV time."

"Sandor!"

"What? She deleted all my shows too."

"That's no excuse!"

Sandor could see that no matter what he would say, Sansa would stay angry. Typical woman. "Sansa, sometimes I can't take all the estrogen. I need my space. Preferably, in my own home."

"So? Go out with Drogo, if you need more male attention!" She was yelling at him. He stifled the urge to groan. This was getting ridiculous. It wasn't his fault that Sansa's she-wolf of a sister liked to come over and eat their food and leech off of their internet. Not to mention deleting his shows off of the cable box.

She glared at him one last time before stomping off into their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Sandor looked at the dog. Lady cocked her head at him, whimpering. He patted her on the head. Behind the closed door, he could hear Sansa talking on the phone. The rustle of clothes told him she was undressing and getting ready for bed. Jiggling the doorknob, Sandor found it was locked.

The couch was practically calling his name. Sandor snorted. At least, this way, he could watch his Sherlock in peace. Smirking, he pressed play.