Sherlock Fanfiction

Warning; I love making O.C's and this one just sort of popped up, so I couldn't resist using her.

My first mature fic, but please don't be discouraged, I have read a lot in preparation for writing mine. Please let me know what you think!

There isn't a lemon in this chapter but will be within the next one, please, have some class…there is more to a mature story than just the sex.

Stand By You

Gwen Sutcliff was not in the mood for a party, she had resisted the urge to hang up on Stamford when he called and asked if she was attending the Deductive Science lecture at Bart's, a new experiment the law enforcement officers were looking into using in their attempt to better their criminal seeking tactics. Gwen had only been mildly interested in it, she knew what it was and what it entitled, but she highly doubted anyone could actually learn to deduce someone, that seemed like a talent that needed to be fine-tuned from birth. Whatever her opinion on the lecture, she was invited and it would be rude of the young doctor to refuse. After studying at Bart's, Gwen had taken to working in an upper London hospital, but hated every moment of its political game. While she was trying to stuff people's vital organs back inside them, her assistants were bickering over whether the man could pay, where his watch came from, and if he was single or married; none of which mattered if he died. As soon as a transfer came in she had booked it to lower London where gunshot victims, stabbings, and rape were a usual. She could deal with these wounds, with people who truly needed help from their suffering. She would rather look at the terror in a woman's eyes than the smug smirk of a rich boy asking her to clip his hang nail while a man lay dying in the bed next to him. Here she was needed, not loved or respected by any means, but her existence was obvious and necessary.

Stamford had pleaded his case, begging the young alumni to come in and take a night off to herself; too worn out to argue, she had consented. She knew there wasn't a chance in hell she'd enjoy herself, but nonetheless she decided to go out on a limb and dress for the occasion. Her long red dress was backless with a button in the back at the base of her neck. The skirt came down just below her knees in a conservative manner, she was dressing for doctors after all not playboys, and the black heels only made her five foot' three stature slightly taller. She looked in the mirror and was content with the way the dress fit to her full form. She wasn't skinny, not the way girls were nowadays, she wasn't obese, but instead that special margin between the two. She was a full bodied American girl with long naturally wavy brown hair, and dark aqua blue eyes; the kind that look as if God had dyed them the color of the ocean. With a sigh she looked away from the reflective glass and grabbing her bag on the way out, she left for the party she was determined to hate.

Sherlock Holmes did not intend to stay for the after party, he had intended to go in, give his lecture, and leave. John was supposedly moving out the next day, something about marrying the girl of his dreams or some stupid rubbish like that. Sherlock had intended to put a stop to that foolish idea, planning all sorts of ways to keep him from his engagement with Mary Moriston. Gluing his sweaters to their place in the drawers, hiding his laptop, drugging him, and then of course there was always locking him in the upstairs room of the flat. Sherlock had a plan, he was on his way to ruining the supposed engagement of his best friend and the stupid little woman he was attracted to, but those plans slipped from his hands when Lestrade grabbed his arm and drug him into the lobby where the room went up in a loud chorus of cheers to greet the man whom had inspired some and perplexed others. Sally Donovan stood off to the side in a slinky black dress, her eyes following Sherlock as they burned holes into his back. Anderson was likewise glaring from another part of the room and Sherlock swore he felt a few brain cells die with the man's presence.

It was Stamford that introduced him to the woman in red. A young doctor, recently transferred, one puppy, doesn't speak to her mother, father calls constantly, American, third class, probably from the West, a stress drinker, single, hasn't had a long term relationship in years, very few sexual partners, married to her work. He summed this all up before she even shook his hand, impressing himself only a little as he dubbed the woman an open book. He hadn't caught her name, didn't care to, and she didn't seem to care if he took it or not. In fact the woman looked bored, whether with the people around her or the function itself he couldn't tell, but he did notice her slightly wobble. At first he suspected her shoes, but the heel was rather short for her to be unsteady on her feet. The woman swayed a bit more before she excused herself, causing Sherlock's interest to pick up only slightly.

"You'll have to excuse her, Sher." Stamford apologized. "Gwen's been in the lower parts for a few months, long hours there."

"Why is a doctor from Bart's working in lower London?" He asked passively, still not entirely interested.

"She couldn't stand the Posh-people, as she calls them." Stamford chuckled. "Funny, that's where all the money is, but I guess that's an American for you. I'm wondering how she can afford her flat now, she was keeping one all by herself, but now that she's taken such a big pay-cut, she'll be looking for new accommodations I suspect."

"Hmm…" Sherlock hummed.

"Speaking of which, how are you taking John's uh…departure?" Stamford turned, his wine sloshing in its glass as he did so. "I bet you'll be best man, yeah?"

"…I have no intention of attending."

"What, you're not going to your best friend's wedding?"

"Weddings." Sherlock turned away in distaste. "Such stupid ceremonies."

Gwen made it back to her flat just in time to topple onto her bed, exhausted by the day's work, by the long lecture in which the presenter, some silly named fellow; Something Holmes, talked too fast, as well as by the after party she was forced to walk through. In the short time she had been there she was hit on twice, asked for her number by four men, three of which she suspected of being married, and was chatted up a dozen times in very unarticulated forms of language. She spoke American English, and she could have written a better opening line than "Sup, hoe." Sometimes she was tempted to write a book for men on how to approach women, God knew she had experience in what not to say. In the six years Gwen had lived in London she had only held three steady relationships; two of which cheated on her, and the other was secretly married. She tried to avoid relationships, but every now and then she needed to feel like a human, capable of feeling and giving pleasure. By no standards was she easy, she usually had to get really drunk just to think about going home with someone and even then she would usually dismiss her passing fancy for a night alone. The truth was, she was lonely, but she didn't want a quickie in the bar bathrooms, she wanted something meaningful. She was twenty six years old, a talented doctor with a bleeding heart, and all the skills of a loving housewife her mother had passed to her. Here she sat thinking it couldn't be that hard to attract a man…one who was loyal, only wanted her, who cared about having a future with her. With a sigh she fell asleep, a few lonely tears trailing into her pillow.

The morning brought a balm to Gwen's aching heart and she made her way through her morning routine. Showering, eating a toasted bagel with whatever jam she had left, feed her puppy, Gem, and leave for work. She was always worried as she left her apartment, or flat as they called it here, because she knew she couldn't stay there on her new paycheck as she was already having to combine her new check and some of her saving to pay for the month she was in now. She sighed and hailed a cab as her day began to unfold.

"Sherlock! Let me the hell out of here!" John yelled from his bedroom where Sherlock had stuck a chair under the doorknob. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"What's going on up here, boys?" Mrs. Hudson came scurrying into the room after hearing the yelling. Sherlock lay on the couch in his blue dressing gown and pajamas, completely ignoring the yelling that was going on upstairs as John tried calling for help as well as kicking in the door. "Sherlock," She cooed at the man. "Sulking and locking him up won't stop this, you know that."

"Mrs. Hudson!" John called again. The landlady gave an apologetic half smile as she went up the steps and moved the chair. John came bounding out of the room, not even stopping to thank the landlady as he made his way down to the living room and fixed Sherlock with a glare that made soldiers fall in line.

"You listen, you prat!" He declared. "I am moving out today! I am getting married in two months. You are either going to help me move, or sit there and watch me!" Sherlock didn't look the least bit moved by this speech as he stared at the ceiling. John sighed and shook his head as he finished gathering together his things.

"Oh, I don't like to see you boys fighting like this." Mrs. Hudson mumbled.

"It wouldn't be a fight if he'd just grow up." John declared.

"Oh, John." Mrs. Hudson tried to calm him. "He just doesn't want you to go, it's change dearie…he…" They both stopped when Sherlock stood and angrily stomped to his room, slamming the door with full force. "He hates change."

"Well that's too bad." John folded another box closed. "I don't want to spend my entire life chasing criminals who want to kill me, believing my best friend is dead, or being your pin cushion whenever you're bored or doing an experiment!" By now John was yelling down the hall at Sherlock's door.

"John, really…" Mrs. Hudson shushed. "You can't blame him. You put up with all of it for years, so don't say it's all Sherlock's fault."

"…Ugh!" John finally kicked the box he had folded aside. "Why can't he just…ugh, I just want to kill him some days!" John shook his head as he sunk into a chair. "Why can't he just be happy for me like other friends?"

"Because he's Sherlock Holmes, dear, he doesn't have friends. He's only got one." She patted the man's arm.

"What about Lestrade, Stamford?"

"You or I would call them friends, but Sherlock…well, Lestrade only calls when he wants something, and Stamford only speaks to him when he runs into him." She shrugged. "You should talk to him, talk, not yell."

"He's acting like a child." John sighed.

"He does that, but…" She glanced at John. "you already knew that." She winked as she left him to face the door alone. John sighed before he stood and knocked on the white door of his best friends room.

"Sherlock?" He called. "Look, would you just…please come out." He asked. The room was silent and he sighed once more. "Sherlock, I have to go…Mary is waiting, but…I'll come to visit. Just because I'm not living here anymore doesn't mean I won't be here at all. I'll come to visit you." The door flew open so suddenly John jumped back.

"You'll visit? Between your wedding plans? Your honeymoon? The children? Your Sunday brunches? Your distinguished little Doctor Watson family portraits?" Sherlock chuckled angrily now. "No, you don't fool me for a moment, Dr. John H. Watson, you're happy to go."

"Of course I am, I'm getting married!" John countered. "Sher, just be happy for me."

"Happy that you're marrying a stupid woman with the I.Q of a toilet seat?" He scoffed and John realized the man was now fully dressed to go out as he turned to the door. "Yes, I am happy for you, John. Enjoy your morning reading the newspaper, fighting your slippers away from the dog, picking out curtains for your parlor, and being recycled into the boring dull array of what you call life."

"Sherlock wait!" John called, but the front door slammed shut and the consulting detective was gone. The doctor sighed, but steeled himself as he gathered up the boxes he had packed and began to move out of 221B Baker Street.

"What do you mean it's infected?" the thug asked, his tongue moving over the syllables lazily when he spoke.

"I mean, you didn't clean it properly." Gwen dabbed at the wound. She was on loan at Bart's today and had been working in the Morgue when she was called upstairs to help in the emergency room for a bit. "If you cleaned it at all."

"Bitch, it's just a cut."

"Yes, from a serrated fishing knife." She mulled.

"How you know that?"

"It's not a puzzle, the cut is jagged and the length of the cut…you were cut with a serrated knife, I say fishing because you smell of the pier."

"I work there."

"Workplace accident? Lost focus? You look very tired." she asked. The man went silent as she finished the bandage. "A day or so off work if you can help it. The stitches are a little thin, don't get them wet. You have any problems with redressing the wound, come in and see us." She turned away just in time to have the man's arm looped around her neck, a small hand knife in his hand. The room exploded into panic as nurses screamed and the other patients stared in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" Gwen asked unamused.

"Can't pay the bill, you walk me out of here and you live, got it?"

"How about not." Gwen reached up and put just enough pressure on the wound to keep the stitches in place, but for the man to drop the weapon. She brought her head back into his nose, making him crumble back for two doctors to grab him and hold him as the police were called. "First mistake, you took on an American girl from the west with fighting experience, second you used your injured arm to hold my neck, third, and this one is the best, you were injured at work so the company you work for would have paid the bill, dumbass." She kicked the knife over to another nurse and waved as she made her way back to the Morgue.

"Bit of excitement upstairs?" Molly Hooper asked as she was rejoined by her temporary assistant. "I saw police lights through the basement windows."

"Not really, just some moron with a knife, same old same." She shrugged. She looked up when she heard a series of cracking sounds and turned to the mortuary. Molly jumped up.

"Oh, that's just Sherlock." She stated. "He comes in now and again to do experiments." She explained, and Gwen caught the jumpy rise in her voice and rolled her eyes.

She came to the observation window of the Morgue and halted, perplexed at what she saw. A young man in a trim suit had a body laid out on the table before him and he was beating it with a riding crop. She wasn't sure what to make of this, but a glance at Molly and she knew the girl wasn't going to question the man below them on what he was doing. She was a shy mousy girl, the kind men walked all over, no wonder she had nothing to say.

"Sherlock…Holmes? The Science of Deduction guy?" She suddenly remembered the name from the previous night.

"Yeah, he's brilliant." Molly swooned slightly and Gwen rolled her eyes as she turned on the microphone to the room.

"Excuse me." She tried to get the man's attention, but he was obviously ignoring her. "Hey! Knock it off!" she yelled and he finally halted to look up at the observation room.

"Could you possibly take that somewhere else, your voice is rather annoying." He stated. Gwen stared back.

"He does that." Molly explained as the man went back to beating the corpse. Gwen's temper was rising as she wandered down to the doors. "Really, he's not harming anyone!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes?" Gwen breezed into the room. The man ignored her and she fumed as she reached up behind him and grabbed the crop from his hand, throwing it across the room as she did so. The man stopped and fixed an angry gaze on her. "I've heard of beating a dead horse, but this is crossing the line don't you think?"

"It's an experiment." He stated defiantly.

"And what exactly are you experimenting?"

"Bruise patterns on dead tissue."

"Mr. John Doe, here, has been dead for two weeks." Gwen stated. "Try again."

"…Molly who is this annoying woman?" Sherlock asked the mousy woman hiding in the doorway. "And why is she here?"

"This is Dr. Gwen Sutcliff, she's assisting me here today." Molly squeaked. "Nelson is out with a cold."

"Assisting, therefore not in charge." Sherlock stressed. "Molly, do you agree with my experiment?"

"…well, if this man has been dead that long…what would the…point…be….in" She grew fainter in her words as Sherlock fixed his glare on her.

"I suggest you leave now, Mr. Holmes." Gwen stated. Sherlock closed his eyes a moment, keeping his temper to a dull roar as he turned to retrieve his coat. "If you're that upset, perhaps you should go home. Go relax."

"Why would you think I'm upset?" He asked briskly.

"Your pulse is heightened." Gwen shrugged as she passed him. "Your face is red with keeping your temper in control, and the gaze you fixed on Molly had her scurrying for the hills."

"My pulse?" He paused. When she grabbed the crop from him, she had grabbed his wrist due to the height difference. It was brief, but in such a short moment it was easy for her to find he was angry. She gave him a playful smirk as she let herself out. "Molly." Sherlock turned to the younger woman. "That woman, she went to school here?"

"Yes, graduated a year before me." Molly answered. "She was going to start her own practice, but decided she was of better use in a hospital." She paused. "Gwen really is a nice girl, once you get under her mask anyways. She's got a sweet heart, but a nasty temper when it rears its head."

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock nodded as he left the Morgue.

"I told you no." John stated into the phone. "I'm not helping you on any more cases, I'm not chasing criminals, and I'm not…"

"Are you afraid to get shot at?"

"That's not funny, Sher." John sighed, as he unpacked a box of books. "Why do you want me to go to this hospital? It's in the lower London area; can't I just go to Bart's to get what you need?"

"What I'm interested in isn't at Bart's." He stated.

"Ok, what am I getting? And don't ask for drugs, the last time I..."

"Not drugs, just listen. There is a doctor there, Gwen Sutcliff, I need you to find out what you can about her."

"You have a computer."

"She isn't anyone important."

"Use Lestrade."

"He's not answering my texts."

"Mycroft?"

"Take that back."

"Ok ok, who is she?"

"Just a woman of interest."

"…what, I'm sorry, my ears…you're interested in a woman?"

"Not that sort of interest." He stated. "She's one of Stamford's gremlins, one that I don't know."

"…and that bothers you?"

"Knowledge is power."

"Right. Whatever, just gimme an hour or so."

"Now." The phone hung up and John groaned. Moving out hadn't made being Sherlock's gopher any easier. He waited only a moment and dialed a number he had memorized.

"Yes, Mycroft? I have a favor to ask…for Sherlock. Yes, you can charge him as you like."

Gwen entered her office out of habit with her files open and still reading as she flipped on the light. She barely had time to register the man that sat at her desk before giving a slight jump. Mycroft was not exactly impressed with the girl so far, but he had to say Sherlock had good eyes. The woman was obviously still quiet young, but she had her own office in the hospital trauma wing so she had to have leadership skills as well as a strong stomach to be here. She didn't have any photographs, an only child not speaking to her parents. She wasn't a bad looking woman either, full hips, thin legs, full lips, healthy physique. The man stood as she gained her composure and came into her office further.

"Can I help you?" She asked.

"I don't believe so, but I think I can help you, Miss Sutcliff." Mycroft smiled when she quirked an eyebrow.

"May I have my desk back?" She asked. He nodded and scooted away from her seat for her to take it back. "Now…who are you and what can you help me with?"

"Who I am isn't important right now."

"I believe it is." she gave a cocky smile, definitely American.

"…Mycroft Holmes, if you must know." He stated, surrendering. "I believe you know my brother, Sherlock?"

"Does everyone in your family have such strange names?" She asked and Mycroft gave a soft smile. "Yes, I met Sherlock."

"And?"

"…He's an ass." She stated, working through files as she spoke. "I had to rip a riding crop from his hands to get him to stop harassing a corpse. I had to chase him out of the morgue so as he'd stop distracting my fellow doctor."

"Miss Hooper?"

"Yes." She stated, looking up. "Obviously, she lets him do what he wants in there. I had to ask him to leave."

"Why?"

"He was annoying me." She was honest, he gave her that. "He has an attitude that I don't like."

"You have to understand, Miss Sutcliff." Mycroft went on. "No one ever takes Sherlock's toys away. In fact, most of the time we are shoving them on him to keep him quiet."

"…what is he a thirty year old child?" She asked.

"Precisely." Mycroft smiled. "A child who seems to have taken an interest in you."

"An interest?" Gwen scoffed and lifted an eyebrow. "We've met twice, once we shook hands, and once me yelling at him."

"Children often form bonds with the governess that tells them no the most." Mycroft shrugged.

"Yes, but he's a grown man, a consulting detective, not a child."

"I see you are interested in him too." Mycroft smirked. Gwen glared. "In any case, I went out of my way to bring you this." He set an envelope on her desk. "His birthday is in a week, I believe that is enough time to decide whether to go or not. It's at our family estate, a bit of a drive, but well worth it if you are interested."

"Why exactly are you inviting me to your brothers party?"

"…because, no matter what he may think, I am interested in my brothers happiness. I believe if you were to go he'd be sufficed for the night and not make a fool of himself in front of our mother."

"…so you're sending me in to babysit? I hardly know the guy."

"Sherlock can be a gentleman when given the right motivation." Mycroft smiled and gave her a nod of farewell as he left.

"Why exactly did mother want this out here?" A grumpy Sherlock asked. Mycroft greeted guests as they came in and left a gift on the table to which Sherlock was supposed to thank them, but most of the time he ignored them.

"The family estate is a symbol of…"

"Wasted money on horrible interior decorating?"

"…pride in one's family lineage." Mycroft glared at the man. "Please, just tonight, behave like your age and pretend to have fun. Mother is watching."

"She's not watching me, she's looking for women to shove at me." Sherlock mumbled as he eyed his mother who gossiped with a crowd of girls, pretending to be interested in the conversation. "Pathetic."

"Oh, look at this." Mycroft smiled smugly when he saw Miss Gwen Sutcliff walking up the steps, obviously still trying to decide whether to go in or run back to the cab. She held a rectangular present in her arms, obviously prepared, though not mentally. Her gown was a long cut with a corset back and thin straps. The collar dipped a little but not in an unflattering or scandalous way. It started dark blue and trailed off to a lighter shade towards the bottom of the skirt, a flattering color for her eyes and hair. Mycroft was proud of himself, now if he could just get the woman inside and in Sherlock's line of sight. "Miss Sutcliff!" He called. The woman whipped around and gave a timid smile as she started up the stairs, eyes following her unfamiliar face as she approached the men.

"Sutcliff?" Sherlock stared. Gwen approached them and offered her hand when Mycroft held his out. A soft peck on her fingers and Sherlock knew it had been him who had invited her.

"Mr. Holmes." She gave a soft curtsy to Sherlock as she handed him her gift. He took it, but when he went to open it she stopped him. "Umm, you may not want to open that here." His curiosity picked up as he inched the top up and saw she had returned his riding crop.

"Giving a man something he already owns for his birthday, very American." Sherlock scoffed. She rolled her eyes and withdrew a smaller package from behind her back.

"You know I could keep this. It's very soft." She teased, but handed it to him all the same.

"I already have a scarf."

"And it's looking a bit weather beaten." She stated. He put it back in the box and set it with the others. "Wear it, don't wear it, either way, happy birthday."

"Thank you." He repeated the words John had taught him to say when given gifts. "May I ask what you're doing here?"

"I was invited."

"By?"

"Your brother." The two went to look at Mycroft who was now further up the ways, greeting guests still, making the two realize they had been alone the whole time. "I'm sorry, he invited me and I thought…"

"He wanted you to babysit me didn't he?"

"His exact words." She confirmed.

"I'm not a child." He scoffed.

"My exact words." There was a pause.

"Do you want to leave?" He finally asked. She glanced up confused.

"Well it's your party, do you want me to leave?"

"…you drove all the way out here."

"Cabs are still coming and going."

"Do you want to go?" He asked. She paused for a moment.

"…may I stay?"

"Fine." He nodded. "Do you know anyone here?"

"I know the Buchanan's from when their daughter was sick. Regretfully, I remember Sir Holton."

"Anyone you like?"

"…I like talking to you, even if you are an ass." She shrugged. He gave her a confused look.

"You have to admit, your people skills suck."

"…why would it matter if my social skills…suck, or not." He asked, the unfamiliar use of the word sounding strange now.

"Social skills matter. It's part of how we get along in the world."

"…I can tell you anything about yourself just by looking at you, why would we need to socialize?" He asked, glancing around the room and catching his mother's eyes. He grabbed Gwen's arm by reflex and started for a side parlor.

"Where are we…?"

"There is a rather unfavorable woman watching me, I prefer to stay out of the way of her." He explained, seeing his mother had lost his face in the crowd as he snuck himself and Gwen into a side parlor that was hardly ever used and shut off to the party. "I apologize." He started. "She's…desperate."

"Sherlock Holmes, the heartbreaker." Gwen rolled her eyes. Sherlock stared.

"You believe that?" She nodded. "Molly Hooper is attracted to me because I'm the only man she sees most of the time. This woman is…not interested in that sort of thing."

"Why do you feel you need to explain yourself?"

"Because you don't like me." He was actually surprised at his own words.

"I didn't say that."

"Your dress says so." He stated, as she sat down and waited for him to explain. "Women your age are hunting for men, they wear revealing clothing and bright attracting colors. They put their hair up to show off their necks, their shoes are easy to kick off, yours are strapped to your feet. Your dress is a dark blue corset back, not easy to come off." He went on. "I'm the only one you seem to socialize with, I doubt you talked to Mycroft long enough to consider yourselves acquainted. Therefore, knowing I would be here, you dressed not to impress, just to be."

"What else can you tell?" She asked, genuinely interested. He paused, aware of the trouble his deductions had gotten him in before, but the look on her face was impressed, so he continued.

"You have a puppy, probably a Shepard type. You're American, that's easy to see, but you're from the Western part due to your lack of any accent and your zero tolerance for childish antics in professional settings. You transferred from Upper London to Lower London because of the politics and stupidity of your job." She nodded when he paused. "Now, the touchy subject. You're single, have been for over a year now. I'd say no less than three sexual partners in that time, all of them one night stands, given your full lips I'd say you're either a sloppy kisser or you have to get drunk to sleep with these men. I know that last night you had one over that left you unsatisfied and you've been in a foul mood all day until your nerves started acting up when you got here. You are afraid of relationships, but you're human…you need to feel, you need sentimental touch to get you through your life. You're not addicted to it, you just enjoy being needed for a little while." The room fell silent and Sherlock saw the blush on Gwen's face as he sat down across form her. "Did I miss anything?"

"Yes."

She nodded and stood up to approach the man. When she came to loom over him she shoved his back to the sofa and pressed her lips to his. He was motionless for a moment as she let him grow accustomed to the situation. She began to press her lips against his gently, slowly nibbling at the bottom lip and working up her courage to slip her tongue over the part of his mouth. Sherlock was speechless at all the sensations taking place at that moment, intrigued by the skill behind such a silly task as kissing. She felt him jump a little, but other than that he was completely composed beneath her. She pulled away, her lipstick smeared a little on him as well as herself. She chuckled as she grabbed a tissue and dabbed it away.

"How's that for a sloppy kisser?" She teased. "I have to get drunk in order to even consider a one night stand, my morals aren't THAT deplorable."

"Yet, you're a stress drinker." His voice was hesitant.

"I'm also a cowgirl, I can hold my liquor." She stated, returning to her seat. She noted his mind drifting and she sat forward, draping her arms over her knees as she looked at the man. "What are you thinking right now, Sherlock Holmes?"

"…nothing important." He said hurriedly. She smirked.

"That couldn't have been your first kiss, could it?"

"Of course not." He stated defiantly, color leaking around his ears. "…just the first one I didn't see coming." He refused to meet her eyes now and she allowed herself to giggle slightly.

"You interest me, Holmes, and not many people do." She stood. "Consider that your extra birthday present." She shrugged. "Shouldn't we return to the party?"

"Not if I can avoid it." He slumped in his seat, mumbling to himself.

"I take it you don't like birthdays."

"Birthdays, please…why celebrate being born, as if no one else in the world had succeeded in such a thing." He growled. "I have half a mind to grab a cab now and go home."

"Why don't you?" She asked. He glanced up at her and she shrugged. "I'll join you if you like."

Ok, not my best work, but gimme a break I was a little nervous! I hope you enjoyed our opening to the story, please stay tuned for the next! ~Ash