A/N - This is why I think Donovan hates Sherlock. The way she talks about him 'always letting you down' in the first ever episode made me think something like this happened in the beginning. I own nothing, to my chagrin.
A thud on the door resonated around the whole room. "Get the door, John," Sherlock muttered as he stared at the visual analysis of the case he'd created. John and Mary looked up from the kitchen table.
"I don't live here anymore, you can't still order me about," he complained. Sherlock didn't reply. Sighing, John stood up and walked over to the door, praying to god it wasn't another reporter.
He opened the door. "Moved back in, have you? It'll be the talk of Scotland Yard. The freak and his squeeze, back together," the person standing behind it said, hands on her hips. John rolled his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he groaned. Sherlock's head whipped round, and his eyes met the dark stare in the doorway.
"Who is it, John?" Mary called out from the kitchen.
"Donovan, get out, you remind me of Anderson," Sherlock ordered. Donovan's eyes widened and stepped inside regardless. She stopped when she came in line with Sherlock.
"So it's true, then?" she asked, looking at Sherlock with distaste. "The freak died and came back to life. As if we bloody need him."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Donovan, I'd hope that it's relatively obviously even to your pathetic little mind that I didn't die. Again, get out."
Mary rolled her eyes in a good-natured fashion at Sherlock. "I don't think I've met you," she said with a smile, holding out a hand to Donovan. Donovan smiled back at her, shaking the offered hand. "I'm Mary, John's fiancée."
"Fiancée, really?" Donovan repeated, surprised, looking at Sherlock and then John, seemingly amused. "Beard much..." she muttered, surveying the two men, however nobody apart from Sherlock appeared to notice. "Sergeant Sally Donovan," she introduced herself to Mary.
"What are you doing here, Donovan?" John asked, his eyes making it clear to everybody in the room that she wasn't welcome.
"I wanted to see the freak in the flesh. Everybody at the station's talking about it," she informed them, looking surly. "It's unbelievable."
"What's going on here?" Mary murmured to John, referring to the obvious tension in the room Donovan had created.
"I'll tell you later," he replied. Sherlock turned around.
"Or rather I'll tell you later, Mary, John doesn't know the full story."
John frowned. "There's a story? About why you two..."
Donovan froze, her face looking as though there were a bad smell under her nose. Sherlock grinned at her displeasure. "A good one, too."
"Freak, I swear to god, if you tell them..." Donovan muttered darkly.
"I might as well, it's rather fun," Sherlock smirked, clearly enjoying himself.
"I could have you arrested," Donovan threatened.
"No, you couldn't, I haven't done anything illegal," Sherlock said, smirking.
"She doesn't want you to tell the story Sherlock, maybe you..." Mary began. Sherlock instantly changed his face into that of an injured child.
"Shame, Mary, you were growing on me."
"Oi!" John cried. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"John, did you know Sally didn't always hate me?" he told him and the rest of the room's occupants. John frowned.
"Really?"
"Sherlock Holmes, if you tell them..." Donovan hissed.
"In fact, she rather...shall we say, appreciated my company," he continued, the smirk ever present on his face.
Two officers escorted the murderer into a police car as a dark-haired man stood behind the tape line, watching the scene unfold. A man with greying hair stood by his side.
"How did you know?" Lestrade asked, watching as the car drove away. Sherlock scoffed.
"Bit obvious really. Nobody saw that he had a diploma from the same university, the same year. Combining that with his wedding ring, it shouldn't really take a genius to work it out."
"His wedding ring?"
"Old. For one thing it's too tight for him, so he's gained weight since owning it, and for another it's visibly scratched and lacking in sheen. Look at the man, he'd never go to a second hand shop, he's wearing a designer suit, so he was married before and reused the ring. Bit distasteful, but anyway, and who was his first wife?"
"How should I know?" Lestrade asked, visibly irritated.
"The victim's girlfriend. Reusing the ring, though, let's go back to that. Was he clinging onto his marriage with his ex-wife because he was still infatuated with her? Since he just confessed to murdering her current partner, we can assume the answer is yes. However, there obviously had to be a recent trigger to remind him of her, and according to Harry from Yo!Sushi, there was a rather uncomfortable event three nights ago, between a couple and another man. I'm sure even you Lestrade could work out who those people were."
"Hm," Lestrade coughed.
"Quite. Even though the marriage was annulled it wasn't that hard to uncover," Sherlock told him in a vaguely bored tone, as if he were tired of explaining himself.
"Brilliant," came another voice. Both men turned to see a young woman with dark hair standing behind them.
"Thank you," Sherlock replied curtly.
"I've got to take care of the paperwork," Lestrade announced. "You'll be hearing from me Sherlock."
"I don't doubt it," Sherlock muttered. Lestrade rolled his eyes.
"Night, sergeant," he said as he passed Donovan. She smiled briefly at him before returning her gaze to Sherlock. Hesitating for a moment, she quickly walked up to him.
"Listen," she began, lowering his voice and looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I'm going to be in my apartment tonight. On my own."
Sherlock frowned, not looking at her. "And?"
"I might get lonely. There's a key under the mat. You could...stop by if you feel like it." she whispered seductively. Then she stood up on tiptoe and whispered into his ear. "I'll be taking a shower." She then sauntered off, grinning, and Sherlock stared after her as she walked away, thoroughly perplexed.
That night, Donovan took her shower, then waited on her sofa, wearing nothing but her best lingerie.
She waited.
Eventually, as three o'clock in the morning slowly approached, she admitted to herself he wasn't going to come. She barely knew this man, he'd only helped out on two cases, yet she couldn't believe he had the nerve to stand her up when she made it so painfully obvious what she was inviting him over for? She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been.
She saw him the next day, conversing with Lestrade. She stormed up to him as Lestrade walked away.
"What was that about?" she hissed. Sherlock frowned.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Why didn't you..."
"Why didn't I come over to your apartment?" he interrupted her. Her face flushed, though she was uncertain whether it was to do with embarrassment or anger.
"I invited you over, you were supposed to come!" she spat. He rolled his eyes.
"You invited me to come over if I wanted to. I didn't feel like going out. I was learning a piece on the violin. Lovely sonata."
Donovan glanced over her shoulder. Then she looked him up and down. She was mortified. Not only had he refused her, but he was now doing so publicly. A couple of people had turned to look at the spectacle. He was so unusual, however she know felt differently about that than she had the night before. Last night he'd been intriguing in his unusualness. Now he was just weird. Turning a woman down to play his own violin - and when that wasn't even a euphamism? Working out who a murderer was from an old ring and an argument at a Japanese restaurant? "You know what? You're a freak!" she spat. He looked mildly disengaged.
"Yes, thank you, Donald," he muttered, checking his phone.
"Sal-"she began, however stopped. "Donovan!" she corrected him with a hiss.
"Must go, Molly Hooper's found my riding crop at last. Got a bit carried away last week,' he said, distracted.
Donovan gaped.
"Freak!" she yelled after him as he flounced out, his long coat billowing behind him as he swept out of the door.
John and Mary stared at Donovan, who was glowering at Sherlock. Sherlock looked calm about the story he'd just relayed.
"You...hit on Sherlock Holmes?" John whispered, disbelievingly.
"I'm leaving," she announced, humiliated. She stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her.
"She's great," Mary muttered. Sherlock however was grinning.
"Yes!" he smirked. "She's gone!"
"That was why you told everyone the story? So she'd leave?" John asked. "That's low, Sherlock, even for you."
"It worked, didn't it?" he said smugly, turning back to his board.
"So that's why she hates you?" Mary asked.
"I assume so. I can't imagine I've ever done anything to upset her in particular."
"Of course you haven't, you're bloody charming," John muttered sarcastically under his breath. "Dinner?" he asked Mary.
"Starving," she smiled. "Is he always like that?" she added quietly. John glanced over at Sherlock, who was glaring at his wall of paperwork and photographs as if he hated it. John made a mental note to hide his gun.
"If he's not I'm never around to see it. You get used to him. Surprisingly."