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imagines-so-what-if · 5 years

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V is for Very Bad Timing

Scenarios for Sherlock, and Mycroft.

The prompt: Very Bad Timing: They saw finding the perfect someone requires a a good deal of luck, patience… and timing

Genre: Fluff, sweet, kind

Reader type: General!reader

Rating: K+

SHERLOCK MASTERLIST

Sherlock Scenario

It was an awful day.

Truly, truly an awful day. The kind of day where you honestly wanted to go home, curl into a ball under a blanket, and cry into a tub of ice cream.

Not only was work incredibly stressful—from a combination of a mean boss, idiotic coworkers creating more work for you, and stupid drama—but you ripped your favorite shirt, your trusted shoes fell apart, your umbrella was stolen (“borrowed without asking by a coworker”), and you could not find a single cabby.

You called for one an hour ago as soon as you noticed the heavy downpour, but since it hadn’t bothered to show up you decided to make a break for it and try to get on a bus.

You missed the bus.

You were starving, and it was starting to get dark. You really had to get home because oh my God could this day get any worse?

In a fit of anger and desperate need to get home you decided to walk. If you managed to find a cabby then great, if not, you’ll get home sooner or later.

So you started walking down the bustling streets in the pouring rain without an umbrella and only a very light coat.

You were cold, sore, furious, and on the verge of tears.

If today wasn’t Friday, meaning no work tomorrow, you would have already been sobbing (inwardly) at the thought of having to go back to work tomorrow.

Onwards, you trekked through the freezing rain, hoping against all hopes to catch a cab when suddenly—

One catches your attention. You wave (rather frantically) towards it and it (oh thank you, God) pulls over to the curb.

Just as you reach out a hand to open the door another hand shoots out and opens the door.

You’re so caught off guard by the sudden rudeness, all you can do is gape as a tall man ushers another man inside the cab. “Come on, Watson. It’s finally starting to get interesting.”

“Uh, Sherlock?” The man dubbed as Watson questions, staring at you with wide eyes. “I believe this young wo/man was about to use it.”

Sherlock turns to you, looks you up and down, and flatly says, “Catch another one.”

After everything you went through today, and after an hour of walking in freezing hell, some part of you broke.

With a scream of fury you threw yourself at the dickwad who would dare deny your warm cabby. You knocked him straight into the sidewalk, kneed him as hard as you could into the stomach and then made a lurching jump into the open cabby .

“Drive,” you barked at the cabby driver.

You didn’t look back at the utterly flabbergasted man that laid on the street. You didn’t care enough to do so.

All you could think about was home, which meant food and a hot bath.

(Un?)Fortunately for you, Sherlock would be back in your life within the hour to question you about your landlord that doubled as a serial killer who was obsessed with you.

(Wow, what a night for you, huh?)

Even after that whole case, though, your timing could not have been odder. Like perfect clockwork you and Sherlock ran into each other on every case that took the detective outside his flat. It was such a strange thing that Sherlock actually started to investigate you, saying he was wondering if you were planning his murder after the cabby-incident.

Of course, you weren’t, and he knew that.

In fact, it would come about years later after your lovely wedding with said detective that he orchestrated every “coincidence” meeting after looking into after the cabby event. He felt… intrigued by your reaction, and after saving you from the landlord serial killer you managed to further catch his attention.

After all, it wasn’t every day someone literally tackled him in the street over a cabby.

A day that would, evidently, change the entire course of your life.

If it weren’t for that tiny moment you wouldn’t have caught your future husband’s attention.

Mycroft Scenario

You stared down at the gift certificate in your hand, wondering how much worse your timing could have been.

You had entered a raffle at work hoping to win the grand prize: all expenses paid five day vacation anywhere in the world.

The grand prize had attracted nearly every worker to rush to grab a raffle ticket in life. Through sheer dumb luck the person in front of you—who cut in front of you—grabbed the ticket and won.

If you had told that person to head back to the line you would have been the one holding that prized ticket.

You could have been anywhere you wanted in the whole world.

Instead, you won a gift certificate to some high-end pastry shop in London.

It wasn’t a bad prize—I mean who didn’t love pastries?—but boy did you really need that vacation.

You couldn’t resist glaring sullenly at your prize, wishing it was something else.

Let’s get this started, you told yourself. The certificate expired tomorrow, after all. You didn’t want it to go to waste.

You headed inside the classy shop, the smells of freshly baked goods and chocolate filling your nostrils. Everything looked positively decadent and smelled heavenly. You couldn’t resist licking your lips once before approaching the maître de and presenting your gift certificate. The well-dressed man looked it over before giving you a polite smile. “Allow me to seat you. This is for our VIP section.”

“Ah, thanks,” you mumbled, following behind the older man. He took you up the marble staircase and lead you into a quiet, classy-decorated room. He seated you by the window and presented you with a menu filled with odd-sounding names.

You searched for anything familiar, like cake, but found nothing.

I honestly have no idea what to pick, you thought to yourself, your eyes widening in genuine surprise. I knew this place was fancy, but jeeze is any of this English?

You chewed on your bottom lip as you thought.

“Might I suggest the baumkuchen opera?”

You looked up sharply to find a handsome and well-dressed man giving you a polite smile from a table across from yours. “I’m sorry, what?” “The baumkuchen opera. You looked a little lost,” the man explained.

“Oh,” you said. “Thank you, I am, actually. I’ve never really been to this sort of place. What’s a baumkuchen?”

“A cake,” he answered.

“Can’t go wrong with cake,” you said. “Thanks. Um, I’m Y/N.”

“Mycroft,” the man returned.

You hesitated for a split second before trying out a warm smile. “Want to join me, Mr. Mycroft? I’ll need sides to go with my cake, after all and you seem to know what to pick.”

The man looked momentarily surprised before he smiled back at you. “I suppose you’re right. I’d be delighted to, Y/N.”

Hm. Maybe my timing isn’t too bad, you thought to yourself.

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