Prompts #2 and #7
Requested by @adefectivedetective

Kind of a trigger warning; a couple parts are like a Criminal Minds episode - serial killer stuff.

Summary: You and Sherlock are close - so close that John thinks there's something there.

QOTP: Moffat or Gatiss?

Word Count: 4140

"One day I'm gonna drop one of these eyeballs in your tea and you won't even notice," you say from the kitchen, having just opened the fridge.

Sherlock, who's sitting in his chair in the lounge and reading the newspaper, chuckles. "I need those for an experiment."

"They've been sitting in there for weeks," you argue, now walking into the lounge carrying a cuppa.

"I know. I can't stand to look at them anymore," John says. He's also reading the newspaper in his chair.

"Yes, well, they're tired of looking at you, too, John," Sherlock says.

You laugh. "That was a good one, Curly."

He frowns at his childhood nickname. "Why, thank you, Four Eyes."

"Hey, that's not funny!" you protest, sitting down on the couch. "I called you Curly because I'm your best friend. Mycroft called me Four Eyes because he was - and still is - a jerk."

Sherlock chuckles and John shakes his head. "Four Eyes? I'm assuming you wore glasses when you were little?"

"Yes," you huff, "and Mycroft was supposed to be a genius, but he couldn't think of anything more creative than that."

Sherlock snorts. "You used to call him Fatty."

"So did you! And I apologized for it! He didn't have the decency to do that."

"It's better than what Eurus used to call you."

You go quiet. John's brows furrow, and he looks between you two. "What?"

"I'd rather not say," you reply simply, looking down into your mug. Sherlock mouths a couple of the nicknames to John, who audibly gasps.

Then, he looks over at you. "Speaking of Eurus, are you ever gonna go visit her with me?"

You look at him incredulously. "No! She tried to drown me once because you wouldn't let her play pirates with us! And then she killed Victor! Scarred me so much I blocked her from my memory after they took her away..."

Sherlock and John both grimace, then it goes quiet for a bit. John decides to break the silence. "Well, anyway... Sherlock, did you, uh, have a nickname for Y/N?"

"What?" Sherlock asks.

"Well, she had one for you..."

He starts to laugh. "I've called her a loser more than once. A ninny. A twit-"

"Are we not gonna talk about those?" you ask, smirking.

"We're talking about childhood, Y/N, not our teenage years," he says, hiding his face in his newspaper.

John turns to you, interested. "What? What are those?"

You're tempted to say, "My Crocs," but you don't. "I could give you a list; I don't need a mind palace to remember them."

"Please don't," Sherlock protests.

You do anyway. "Darling was a popular one. Love. Sweetheart. Oh, and my favorite: Poppet."

"I am a freak of nature that has never felt an emotion once; these are all lies," Sherlock insists, still hiding his face.

You laugh. "Shut up. I thought it was cute."

"Oh, I know; you blushed every time."

You start blushing now, too. John looks back and forth between you, smirking. "Sherlock Holmes in a relationship; what a time to be alive."

"What?" Sherlock asks, looking at John over his now-lowered newspaper. "We're not dating."

John raises an eyebrow. "I was talking about when you guys were kids, and I was joking... Why did you get so defensive?" He smirks.

Sherlock shakes his head. "No. We're not dating, we never have, and we never will. End of discussion."

"Do I get a say in this?" you ask. "I mean, I'm the second half of this nonexistent relationship." Both men look at you expectantly. You take a long, slow sip from your tea, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes. Finally, you clear your throat. "What Curly said."

Sherlock sighs. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you chose to hang around me for eighteen years."

After growing up together as neighbors, you and Sherlock went to different colleges - you studied in America, he stayed in England. You called each other a lot and sometimes sent packages on birthdays, but only really saw each other at Christmas.

You'd visited his family after hearing of his death, but then you had go to back to America. You lived over there, even had a job in the FBI - BAU.

When he revealed that he'd faked his death, you went back to England, slapped him and Mycroft in the face, and ultimately decided to move back home. After moving into 221C, you got a job at Scotland Yard. Now, after solving cases and remembering Eurus exists, here you are.

"Technically, we did date that one time," Sherlock says.

You face lights up. "We did! Your mum was so mad when she found out we were lying."

"How come I've never heard this story before?" John asks.

You laugh. "His mum always asked when we'd start dating, always said we'd get married one day. I couldn't really blame her; I was the only girl he ever hung out with. Anyway, one April Fools Day, we pretended we were dating the entire day."

"Mycroft saw right through it," Sherlock adds, "but he thought it was funny, so he didn't rat us out."

"He almost got us to kiss, too, but then we gave up the joke... You came so close."

"Did not."

"Did, too. You were leaning in, but then I stopped you and told everyone it was a joke."

"Why?" John asks.

You shrug. "I'd never hear the end of it - from him or Mycroft. Plus, we would've tore his mum's heart in two if we did and then told her it wasn't real."

"Probably," Sherlock agrees.

You check your watch. "Well, I have work in half and hour, so I'll see you gents later."

"Bye," they chorus.

You turn back around, halfway out the door, smirking. "Bye, Poppet." Sherlock groans as you laugh, bounding down the stairs.

John shakes his head. "I can't believe you're not dating."

////

"If I never smell a dead body again, I'll die happy," you say, opening the door to 221B and collapsing on the couch, which Sherlock is sitting on.

Your head ends up in his lap and you look up at him, absolutely exhausted. He looks betrayed. "Dead body?"

"Yeah..."

"There was a murder and you didn't call me?!"

"Relax, Curly," you reply, rubbing your eyes. "It was a crime of passion; the boyfriend. He skipped town, but Lestrade's got people out looking for him."

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm exhausted; I spent two and a half hours staring at maps and files in a cramped office, trying to figure out where the guy went. Lestrade sent me home. Thanks to me, he's probably making an arrest right now."

"Who's getting arrest-" John stops short, Rosie in his arms as he walks into the lounge to find your head in Sherlock's lap. "He didn't complain about that until your ears bled? Or shove you off him?"

You shake your head a little. "No."

"Why would I?" Sherlock asks.

John's brows raise. "Why would you?! Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?"

Rosie starts babbling.

You sit up and hold your arms out. "Let me hold her. I need emotional support." John chuckles and hands you Rosie, who smiles when she sees your face. You smile back. "Hi, Rosie. You're a lot cuter than dead bodies."

She giggles. "YourNameButLessComplicated."

You nod, smiling. Your name was her second word. The first was a dumbed-down version of Cheerios. (John insists it was "Dada" but you know for a fact she was just babbling.)

Sherlock watches you, a small smile on his face. John shakes his head. "How are you two not dating?"

You look up from Rosie, who's holding one of your fingers in each hand. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock looks down at his phone, realizing how obvious he was being. John sighs. "Have you seen him around you?"

"I'm right here," Sherlock says, not looking up.

"We know, Poppet," you reply. You turn back to Rosie and bounce her on your knees. "Your dad is crazy, Rosie. Yes, he is."

"Dada," she says happily.

"I'm not crazy," John says. "You should see yourselves sometimes. If I didn't know you, I'd assume you were dating."

"Because you're crazy," Sherlock comments, glancing over at you.

"No, I'm not. Just wait. It'll happen."

"We're just friends, John. And will always be just friends."

John holds his hands up in mock-surrender. "Fine. Whatever you say." He looks at you playing with Rosie, then looks at Sherlock, who's watching and smiling again. He mumbles, "Whatever you say."

////

"Sherlock, get down here now!" you shout excitedly into the phone. "You're going to love this!"

"What?" Sherlock asks, grabbing his coat and struggling to put it on with one hand.

"That crime of passion? Yeah, it wasn't. There's been another murder."

"How do you know they're connected?"

"The whole MO. And he went in the same direction I thought he would."

"Alright, I'll get John. Where are you?"

"Knox Street, the Southworld Summer Theatre."

////

"You know, you two are lucky Mrs. Hudson wasn't busy," John says when he and Sherlock arrive. "I'd have no one to watch Rosie-"

"Yes, yes, lovely - come on," you say, ushering them towards the body.

"You sound excited," John says. Then, he mutters, "Just like Sherlock."

"I said I hate the smell," you say, not hearing his comment. "And the plot is thickening." By this point, you've reached the body and you get them up to speed. "The second vic is Ceony Brechenmacher. Twenty one. Presumably ambushed as she was leaving the theatre."

"Odd name," Sherlock comments.

"Last name's German. I'm not sure about the first name. Pretty, though."

"Who was the first vic?"

"Delilah Bard. Same age, looked just like Ceony."

"Like... doppelgängers?" John asks, brows furrowing.

You shake your head. "Not exactly, but close. Same haircut and color, nearly the same height by the looks of it. Same eye color, too."

"He's got a type," Sherlock says, crouching next to the body.

"I'm pretty sure it's based on Delilah, but something's off," you say, watching him hold his hand out to an officer for rubber gloves. "Normally, if it's about a certain person, they'll kill lookalikes first and then the person as an endgame. But I guess going backwards isn't unheard of."

"And Ceony was killed the same way Delilah was?" John asks. The details are pretty gory...

"Exactly. And he left an orange tulip. It's near Ceony's head. You wouldn't see it if you weren't looking for it; it's covered in blood."

"Think it was intentional?" Sherlock questions.

"Maybe, maybe not. Delilah's was completely clean. If it was, it could be a sign that he thinks Ceony's inferior to Delilah somehow..."

"Does he have a connection to Ceony?"

"I'm having people look into that right now," Lestrade says, walking up to the three of you. He got here when you did; he's been sorting some other stuff out.

"Who is this guy, anyway?" John asks.

"Holland Cobalt," you reply, "which kinda hits the nail on the head with the tulip thing. Could be why he chose those."

"That speaks to vanity, doesn't it?"

"Yeah..."

"There's a lot of evidence here that could tell you who he is if you didn't already know," Sherlock says, standing and pulling off his gloves. "There's bloody footprints over there in the corner, and I'll bet there's fingerprints on the rope binding her hands."

"He's cocky," you infer. "He thinks we'll never find him."

"Well, he's got another thing coming," Lestrade says. "Let's go figure out where he's headed next."

You sigh. "Oh, joy. More maps and files."

////

"Do you think he'd go to Holland?" you ask jokingly, looking at a map.

Sherlock snorts. "That'd certainly make this easier."

"You don't have to help, you know. I know you hate sitting still when all the game is on out there."

"Lestrade's got cops for that," Sherlock says dismissively.

"He wants to stay with you," John comments, also looking at maps and files, "because he likes you. And you like him, too."

You look up at John, thankful you have an excuse to stop staring at that map. "John, you're really not cut out for profiling."

Sherlock laughs. John shakes his head, going back to his own file. "Whatever you say..."

////

It took about an hour to figure out his next location. You, Sherlock, and John ride with Lestrade, sirens wailing and lights flashing.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, we're going to arrest him now," John says on the phone. "It's her bedtime, she doesn't need Cheerios... I know she wants them, but... No, you don't have to read her a story... Okay. Thank you... Bye."

"She loves Cheerios more than Sherlock loves murder," you say. "And keeping a jar of eyeballs in the fridge for months."

Sherlock sighs from the backseat. "It's an experiment. And it's not your fridge, anyway."

"It's Rosie's fridge-"

"She's two! She doesn't open the fridge-"

"-and pretty soon her next word is gonna be 'eyeball'."

"You're the one that said 'dead body' to her yesterday."

"Touché."

////

"Drop the knife, Holland!" you shout. You've got your gun out, aimed at him. There's a woman laying on the ground in front of him. She looks like Delilah. Her wrists are bound and she's bleeding, but if you get her out of here now, she'll recover.

You had Sherlock call an ambulance as soon as you saw her.

You, Lestrade, John, and three other officers have your guns pointed at Holland. Sherlock doesn't have a gun on him, but you've got two. The second's in your holster, but you don't wanna risk giving it to him; it might set Holland off.

"I'm not finished!" he shouts, gesturing to the woman with his knife. "She has to pay for what she's done!"

"What did she do?" you ask, getting a feeling he's not talking about the woman.

"She tried to leave me!" he shouts. "She-"

"Look at her, Holland!"

He doesn't. "I'm not finished!"

"Look at her."

His delusion crumbling, he drops the knife and pulls a gun out of his waistband, aiming it right at you. You hear someone shout. Holland starts points the gun at other officers, switching targets rapidly.

"Lestrade," you say, quiet enough that Holland can't hear, "back me up."

You set your gun on the ground, kick it towards Holland, hold your hands up, and start to walk towards him slowly, hoping to calm him down, make him feel in control. "Look at her."

He shakes his head, the hand holding the gun falling a little. "No."

"Look." It takes him a moment, but he does. You step a little closer. "It's not Delilah, Holland. You already killed Delilah. And another woman named Ceony-"

"Stop!" He raises his gun and points it right at your chest. You hear a strangled noise behind you, and you're pretty sure it's Sherlock. You're not wearing a vest; you took off as soon as you figured out where Holland was. That he had a woman with him. He's shaking now. "I had to kill her! She was gonna leave me!"

"And you did," you reply. "But Ceony and this woman aren't Delilah. You can't kill her again."

"But once wasn't enough."

You think you're gonna vomit. An ambulance comes speeding in. "You can't kill her more than once. That's not how it works."

Holland looks at the woman on the ground. "You're not Delilah?"

She shakes her head, tears rolling down her face. "N-No... My name is As-Astrid."

He's thinking; it's all falling down around him. Your hands are shaking. "Drop the gun, Holland. It's over. Delilah's already dead."

He hesitates, then drops the gun and puts his hands up. Lestrade runs in to handcuff him and someone practically slams into you.

You can tell it's Sherlock as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you as tight as possible. Paramedics run past you to Astrid as you hug him back just as tight.

John runs over. "Are you okay?"

"A little shaken up. Almost blew chunks back there. Who knows what he would've done."

"Don't ever do something like that again," Sherlock says. "You weren't wearing a vest, you didn't have a gun-"

"I had one in my side holster under my jacket-"

"You couldn't grab it in time if-"

"I'm alright, Poppet." You pull away enough to look up at him, mustering a smirk.

He looks upset and a little angry. "Y/N, now's not the time to joke."

You sigh. "Can we just go home? I wanna see Rosie and go to bed."

Sherlock leans forward and kisses your forehead. "Yeah," he says quietly, wrapping an arm around you and guiding you to the road to hail a cab. Surprisingly, you don't object; you're shaken up. And thinking.

John follows behind you and hails the taxi. As it pulls up, Lestrade runs over. "You'll have to write a report on this..."

"Well, she doesn't need to do it now, Lestrade," Sherlock says, close to snapping at him.

"I know," Lestrade says, his tone tense, "I was just letting her know because the people above me are gonna want it ASAP. It's ridiculous, I know, but there's nothing I can do about it." He turns to you. "You did good today, Y/L/N." You only nod in response and climb in the cab, ending up in the middle seat. You don't say a word the whole ride home.

////

When you get out, you turn to John. "I'll go get Rosie from Mrs. Hudson. You and Poppet head upstairs."

Once you're out of earshot, Sherlock sighs. "John, I'm worried."

"About Y/N?"

"No, about the weather- yes, about Y/N!" He rubs his eyes, climbing up the steps. "She didn't shove me off when I helped her to the cab, didn't say a word the whole ride home."

"At least she was joking around," John says. He smiles. "Calling you Poppet... Hey, I know now's not the time, but... How are you not dating?"

Sherlock stops and pinches the bridge of his nose, then looks at John. "I... I care about her, okay?"

"It's not just that."

There's a long pause, then Sherlock sighs. "You're right. It's not. But she doesn't reciprocate my... feelings. So that's that. We're always going to be just friends."

"You don't know that-"

"She was chatting it up with the cashier at Speedy's last week."

"Because you've made it abundantly clear you don't like her."

Sherlock thinks for a moment, then finally walks inside the apartment when he hears you downstairs, talking to Rosie.

////

"I had quite the day today, Rosie," you say when Mrs. Hudson closes the door. You start for the stairs, but stop walking. "Can I tell you something, Rosie?"

She babbles a little, so you take that as a yes.

"Poppet seemed very concerned today." You realize you've only called Sherlock Poppet in front of her once, and, as dumb as it sounds, explain. "Poppet's the really tall man with the curly hair that lives with you. Your dada calls him Sherlock.

"Anyway, he seemed very worried about me today. I had to catch a bad guy - one of the worst - and your dada and Poppet were there - that's why you were with Mrs. Hudson. Honestly, you had it good; your dada and Poppet are really annoying.

"Anyway, Poppet was worried that the bad guy was gonna get me. He was very protective; hugging me, leading me to the cab... Normally, I'd tell him off, but today I... liked that he was that worried about me. It's very strange, and it's not good. At all. Because I think I like him, Rosie - Poppet, not the bad guy.

"I don't know. And you don't either because you don't understand what any of that means. I just needed to tell somebody 'cause I can't tell your dada or Mrs. Hudson; Poppet might find out..." You sigh. "Alright, let's go upstairs."

You carry her upstairs, and as soon as you walk in, she points at Sherlock. "Poppet!"

All of you stop, looking at her. Sherlock sighs. "That's what took you so long? Teaching her to call me Poppet?"

You can't exactly tell him the truth, so you roll with it. "You're welcome, Poppet."

////

"When are you gonna write that report?" Sherlock asks the next day, curled up in his chair. You're stretched out on the couch.

"Dunno," you mumble. "I don't wanna."

"... Because of how traumatic the experience was?"

"No, because I hate writing reports."

It's just the two of you. John took Rosie out half an hour ago. You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm so bored."

Sherlock glances over at you from the open book on his lap. "You could get started on that report."

You look over at him. "We just had this conversation."

He smirks. "Well, Poppet, that'd be a valuable use of your time."

You can't help but blush, nearly blanching. It wasn't just the nickname; it was his tone. He wasn't joking, or at least, it didn't sound like it. It sounded just the way it did when you were teenagers - sweet, genuine, and as affectionate as Sherlock Holmes could possibly be.

He looks over at you and quirks an eyebrow. "Is that a blush I see?"

You don't answer the question. "You can't call me that anymore; that's Rosie's and my nickname for you. Find another one."

He chuckles. "Alright, let's see, then... Darling? Honey? Hmm, doesn't sound right. Maybe when we're married-"

You sit straight up. "Married?"

"Well, Mum seems to think so. Anyway... Love? Too plain... Sweetheart?" He grimaces. "Doesn't fit right. Poppet it is, then. Get Rosie to call me something else."

"What, like Annoying?" you manage.

"No, John already calls me that."

You shake your head. "You make things difficult, you know."

His brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"'I'm married to my work,'" you quote, "'Love is a disadvantage,' 'I am freak of nature that has never felt an emotion once; these are all lies.'"

"Yes, I've said those things. What does that have to do with anything?"

"You've made it clear you don't have feelings for anybody, Sherlock. What you haven't considered is that other people can have feelings for you."

Sherlock, wanting to be sure you're saying what he thinks your saying, says, "I have no idea what you're on about."

You stand, walking over to him. "Look... This whole 'just friends' thing isn't exactly working for me."

He stands, too, putting himself barely an inch apart from you. "Well, it's not really working for me, either." With that, he presses his lips to yours and ruins about thirty years worth of friendship.

You kiss back immediately, wrapping your arms around him, trying to pull him closer. You thought about this moment a lot when you and Sherlock were younger - even in college sometimes, then after you moved back.

It's so much better than you imagined.

You're as close as you can possibly be but you still want him closer, and you tilt your head, trying to deepen the kiss. Your hands start running through his hair and-

"Hey, guys, we're back from the p- WHOA!" You jump apart quickly and turn to see John standing there, eyes and mouth wide with Rosie in his arms.

She giggles and points at the two of you. "Poppet! YourNameButLessComplicated!"

John smirks, laughing. "Yes, it is Rosie. And they were kissing. And you know what that means? It means Dada was right! I told you so! I told you so!"

"Yes, you did, John, thank you, but we were in the middle of something," Sherlock says.

"While I love this relationship and want it to succeed, I'm putting Rosie down for a nap so I'm not leaving the flat."

Sherlock thinks for a moment, then turns to you. "Wanna go break into Mycroft's place?"

You cock an eyebrow. "I work at Scotland Yard; if I get busted, it's all over."

"Oh, please, Mycroft won't press charges."

You grin. "Alright, then, Poppet. Let's go."

You grab your coats as Sherlock complains. "You can't change from Curly to Poppet; I can't allow this to go on any longer."

You start heading downstairs to the street. John can hear you from the lounge. "Whatever you say, Curly."

"And balance is now restored to the universe... Poppet... I love it when you blush."

"Stop!"

John looks at Rosie and starts carrying her down the hallway. "Well, Rosie, I'm afraid we're gonna have to get used to that."