Summary: You and Sherlock have recently had some little domestics and there’s was no better option than paying a visit a marriage therapist.
John x reader #56 and
Sherlock x reader #64. All the fluff :D thank youuuu
Prompt: “Are you still interested? Because I am.”
Pairing: Sherlock x Reader
Content: Humour / Fluff
Warning: Mild swearing.
Word count: 2.657
A/N: As soon as this idea crossed my mind I knew I had to write it down and God, this reminds me of ‘Mr. and Mrs. Smith’ so bad!
PS: I love the way Sherlock and the Reader fight and the fluffy end, so I hope you like it too. (I seriously hope you’ll like it)
*gif not mine
Sherlock and you have been married for one year and a half and you were meant to be together; but let’s say the truth, being married to the only consulting detective the world was a little bit tiring and annoying.
Both of you truly loved spending together and caring of each other but when it came to have an argument you would wish you had never met before.
Recently, you and Sherlock have been arguing every night before going to bed. You usually argued about his job or your current behaviour. Both of you knew it was not healthy for you, to be fighting every single night. Anyway, you still did, even when you were trying to get asleep.
“Sherlock?” you asked as you lied your head comfortably on your pillow as you faced his back.
“Do you…” you stopped before getting your husband go crazy.
He turned around to face you. “Do I what?”
“Do you need to go to work tomorrow?” You asked whispering.
“Oh, God,” he cursed and got up from bed. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s important?” he shouted angrily.
You sighed, rolled your eyes and sat on the bed. “Well, our marriage is important,” you complained.
“You know that I’m doing this for London’s sake!”
“And I’m doing this for our sake!” You shouted annoyed. “I don’t really know what the hell are you thinking of when you’re mad at me.”
“Oh, please,” he protested. “Not again,” he shook his head, rolled his eyes and walked out of the room.
“Where are you going?” you inquired.
“I’m sleeping on the sofa,” he yelled from the living room. “…as usual,” he added.
You jumped from the bed you’ve once used to share together. “Well, good luck because I don’t want to listen to your complains about your back ache in the morning!” You shouted and slammed the door.
And that was how you used to argue every single night and you were getting really tedious. Therefore three months later you both tried to stop this and pay a visit to a marriage therapist.
INT. MARRIAGE GUIDANCE OFFICE
You were both sitting on a sofa looking at a man in a suit with a serious face. He didn’t even give you a smile when you greeted him. You found it odd but it was necessary, you had to stop this stupidity of yours.
Sherlock was playing with his fingers and tapping with his feet. You glanced at them and noticed he was anxious. Really anxious.
“So, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, right?” the therapist asked. You nodded but Sherlock…he just rolled his eyes.
“Oh, good Lord,” he complained under his breath.
You turned your gaze up to him and heavily sighed. “Would you mind to take this seriously, please?” You scolded.
“I don’t even know why are we here,” he protested as he gestured with his hands.
You were sick of this childish behaviour of his. It was getting you angrier every time he said a word. You buried your face into your palms and shouted.
He sighed and turned his gaze away. “I told John this was a bad idea.”
You lifted your gaze up to him and looked at him in disbelief. “It was your idea!” Sherlock looked at you and raised an eyebrow.
After your shout the therapist looked at you and crossed his legs as he wrote down some words on his notebook.
“So you’re angry, Mrs. Holmes,” he said as he stared at you. It was uncomfortable and you didn’t know what to do.
Frustrated, you shouted. “I’m not angry and don’t call me like this.”
“But you are married to him, Mrs. Holmes.”
Sherlock smirked and pointed at him with his finger. “He’s right. You’re married to me.”
“Of course I am, but I’ve been feeling like we’re not together anymore,” you stated.
“Funny,” he scoffed.
“Yeah, funny,” you said sarcastically as you glared at your husband. Instantly his smirk disappeared. You had a question; one single question. “Doctor, have you ever worked with a couple like us before?” You asked as you put your elbows on your laps. Sherlock glanced at you and frowned.
“Each single couple is different, Mrs. Holmes. Your couple is unique.”
“I’ve already noticed that,” the detective said as he leaned his back against the armchair and folded his arms. “We are one in a million, Y/N,” he said sarcastically.
“Oh, shut up,” you muttered and yearned.
Sherlock’s crystal eyes were now on you. You wondered what he wanted so you turned your gaze up to him. He didn’t say a word and so did you. There was silence. An uncomfortable silence, which the therapist broke in a second.
“On a scale of one to ten how happy are you as a couple?” he asked.
“Seven,” you said without hesitating.
Instead of answering the question he frowned and turned his gaze to the man. “Wait. So, like ten being perfectly happy and one being…totally, bloody miserable?”
“Mr. Holmes, just respond with your wife instinctively.”
“Seven”, you both said simultaneously and then exchange gazes as the man wrote down the answer.
“Now, what about your partner’s happiness? On a scale of one to ten how happy would you say your partner is?”
You started to hesitate, “That depends on the day.”
“Seven and a half,” Sherlock confidently muttered.
“Sorry, what?” You asked him in disbelief.
Sherlock look at you up and down and read you. “You’re upset. You are not happy and on a scale of one to ten…well, you know,” he replied and shrugged.
As he saw that you were about to collapse, the therapist jumped with a question. “Alright. How would you describe each other?”
“Arrogant…” you snapped at him.
Sherlock sighed. “Annoying…” he added.
“Ignorant…” you said and glared at him.
“Boring…” he rolled his eyes.
“Cold…” you complained as your gaze was getting piercer.
He looked at and confront you “Intolerant…”
“Psychopath,” you quavered.
“High functioning sociopath!” he corrected you furiously and gestured with hands.
You knew that calling him ‘psychopath’ or ‘freak’ hurt him, even if he didn’t show it. Anyway, you were extremely mad at him that you didn’t care about his feelings.
“Oh, that explains your lack of real emotion in response to events, and your limited capacity to feel love,” you stated and saw him being hurt. You saw that coming
Sherlock bit his lips, lowered his head and inhaled so he could respond to you. “If I were a sociopath I wouldn’t have married you and I wouldn’t stand you as I do everyday,” “I don’t know what can I do to show you that I really care about you,” he said, lowered his head once again, lied his elbows on his laps and put his hands together. He was heavyhearted and you could see him close his eyes tightly. You felt really guilty so your eyes were filled of tears.
The therapist saw this coming since you were really out off your rails.
“How about your family? How close and warm is your family?” he inquired changing the subject.
Sherlock laughed and slowly raised his head. “Close enough to annoy me.”
You looked at him in disbelief. “Your parents are nice, why do you hate them?”
“I’m talking about Mycroft,” he stated.
You chuckled and nodded. “That’s true. He hates him.”
“You hate him too,” he looked at you and added.
“No, I don’t,” you shook your head. “After all, he’s my boss.”
Sherlock scoffed. “Oh, come on. You work for the MI6 because of me. You should be thankful.”
“Sherlock,” you muttered and tilted your head to the man.
“What?” he asked confused until he realized what he has just said. “Oh…god. Sorry,” he said to the therapist and gave him a fake smile. “That’s not true, she is only a lawyer. Actually, she works for Scotland Yard. That was nonsense.”
You chuckled. “Just ignore him, he’s a twit.”
The man nodded, though he was not convinced about was Sherlock said. “Then, I would like to know when and how did you first meet?”
“Royal Albert Hall,” he informed.
“I attended a concert,” you added
“I was solving a case…”
“…and then accidentally poured my drink on my shirt,” you finished the sentence.
The detective glanced at you. “What? I have asked you for forgiveness a million of times.”
“And that’s all?”, the therapist asked.
“No,” you both said simultaneously.
“Stop it,” you gave him a prod and lightly chuckled. “He apologized and then cursed because he lost the criminal.”
“And never solved the case, which I still regret,” he rolled his eyes but smirked. “Oh, yes, back to the subject. She wanted to buy another drink and I offered to pay her one as an apology,” he showed off and then turned his gaze at you.“By the way, you were practically nervous when you saw my face.”
“Oh, really?” You scoffed. “Actually, I think I was surprised. I was lucky,” you said proudly.
“Lucky? You are pretty lucky to meet me,” he showed off once more.
“Here we go again.”
“Mr. Holmes, are there any past conflicts you think you both should resolve?”
“Umm…well, the time she wanted me to cook dinner,” he frowned.
“I was sick and you volunteered,” you muttered.
“When you told me to stop playing the violin because you wanted to sleep?”
“Tiring day,” you added trying to defend yourself.
“Our anniversary, yes! When I wanted to take you to a crime scene and you started protesting. That was cruel. You know that I am married to my job,” he said and leaned his back against the sofa.
You sighed. “I remind you we are here because you are married to me, not to your job.”
“What about the time we argued about the experiments in the kitchen?” looked at you challenging you.
“Sherlock, you almost drugged me!” You exclaimed
“Well…” he murmured.
“Oh, you didn’t!” You hissed with your mouth wide open. “Sherlock!” You roared and he turned his gaze away.
“Fine. Let’s change the subject, may be it will calm you down Mrs. Holmes.”
“Trust me. I’m fine” you said ironically.
The therapist changed the position of his legs and read the next question from his question. “Have you ever talked about having children?”
When he asked that question both of you paralyzed. You were in shock, especially Sherlock. You have never talked about it because you knew that it would make Sherlock freak out. But there you were, being asked about having a baby. A baby.
“Never?” He asked again.
Sherlock blinked a several times and frowned. “I’m don’t understand the question.”
“Of course, you do Mr. Holmes,” he nodded.
“No, seriously. Could you please repeat the question?” Your husband asked shocked.
You looked at him and sighed. “Sherlock, he’s talking about babies.”
“No,” he said with his eyes fixed on you. “I saw this coming,” he muttered and stood up from the sofa.
“Coming what?” You asked as you saw him pacing around the room. He was definitely panicking.
“Mr. Holmes, could you please sit down?”
Sherlock stopped and looked at him. “Can’t you see it?!”
“See what, Sherlock?” You asked confused. “Sherlock, sit down. Now!” you ordered.
He started pacing again with his face pale as paper. “Change the subject, change the subject…” he quavered.
“Jeez. Sherlock stop it!” you scolded.
“I can’t stop it! I can’t talk about this, I just can’t. Babies, no. Definitely not!” He said and began walking faster.
“Sherlock, they are just babies,” you tried to calm him down.
He shook his head three times and kept pacing around. “I’m not prepared. Not now. I don’t even see myself as a father. I never thought about having a child.”
“Mr. Holmes, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not ready, I would never deserve to be a father. Not like this. I’m a disaster.”
“You’re not a disaster. You are just…you.”
“What does that mean?” he stopped, looked at you frowned again. “I’m a coward. I knew someday we were going to talk about this.”
You stared at him and calmly tried to stop him. “Look, if you will keep thinking that you are a coward you’d never be brave, but if you face the situation I bet you’ll be the best father a baby could ever have.”
“Mrs. Holmes, you’re progressing.”
“No, doctor, we are both progressing. Isn’t that true, Sherlock?” You asked him tenderly but he ignored you.
“I’m not ready to talk about this. Not now. I don’t even know what they do or want!” He cried to you.
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to,” you said smirking.
“What?” He froze and his eyes were wide-open. “You…you are…no,” he stammered in shock. “No. You cannot be pregnant. No you can’t.” He said shaking his head in awe.
“The doctor said that I am, twice,” you gave him a small smile.
“How much?” He asked terrified.
“Sorry?” You frowned.
“How much time? When did you know it?” he ordered you to answer his question.
“One month ago…I guess,” you hesitated.
His jaw clenched. “One month? Fabulous!” He blurted out and scoffed.
“I’ll let you two alone. My presence won’t help. Excuse me,” said the therapist and looked at you two.
“Yes, good idea. Bye-bye,” he said sarcastically.
You turned around and apologized. “Just ignore him, he’s…you know.”
When you turned around to resume the talk Sherlock looked daggers at you. “A month, Y/N. A month!” he shouted at you.
“I cannot believe it. My wife. My wife lying,” he began pacing around the room again gesturing with his hands. “That’s not how marriage works, Y/N,” he finger pointed at you.
“I was expecting to tell you as soon as things got back to normality,” you explained.
“Sherlock, calm down,” you asked
Suddenly he stopped. His eyes started moving quickly. You suddenly noticed that he was thinking. “Wait. This explains everything,” he smiles at you. “Stupid, stupid!”
“I told you that you’re not a stupid!”
“Blind, Y/N. Totally blind,” he exclaimed and clapped his hands.
“What? Sherlock could you go deeper?” you asked worried about him.
“You have been behaving like you do – what I actually, find annoying – because you… you” he started to ramble unable to say it out loud. “…because you’re pregnant.”
“You think so?” you raised an eyebrow.
“I just observed,” he simply said.
“So, are you still interested? Because I am.”
“You mean us? God, no,” he said sarcastically.
“And the baby?”
“I’ll stand it,” you looked at him seriously. “I mean, we’ll try our best,” he corrected himself.
“Sure?” you asked him.
He rolled his eyes. “You know babies are not my speciality.”
“Mmm…then start trying,” you chuckled. “So, baby, check. Marriage, check. First day, check…”
“No,” he interrupted you. “The case, Y/N. That…that was mean,” he pointed at you in disagreement.
“Oh, come on. How many times do I have to tell you it was for amateurs?” You sighed and gave him a tender smile. “After all, you decided to stay with me.”
“Yeah…” he muttered as he looked away.