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[sirrwritesalots]

Resurrection ~ Sherlock Holmes (angsty)

Pairing: (BBC) Sherlock x Y/N Warnings: Some cursing, angsty, anger Word Count: 2074 Summary: You have known Sherlock and John for years, but when he comes back from the dead, will you accept him so easily? A/N: This is out of my element, I usually write romance and stuff, but I’m trying out the depressing/Sherlock type of mystery and crime out a bit, though there isn’t much of that crime stuff happening lol hope you enjoy!

The reconnection between John and Sherlock was eventful, to say the least, but in comparison to the reunion between Sherlock and Y/N still did not go as he had originally planned or hoped for.

In the years he had been away - or as everyone thought: supposedly ‘dead’ - you had taken up residence at a cottage in Dorset your family had owned for a long time. You took the death of your close friend, and someone whom you loved very dearly, in the romantic sense as well as the platonic sense, rather difficult, so as a means of coping you spent some time away for yourself from the busy capital of the UK. You needed to reconnect with yourself and handle your grief, come to terms with what had happened in order to move on, and in doing so you found the lowland hills of South Wessex comforting and appealing as you creating your new life there. You’d become accustomed to your routine, to the - what some would call - mundaneness of it all, though your blood seemed to itch for some action every now and again, which you appeased by composing or writing, possibly taking up a new hobby, anything of the sort. 

So one day when there was a knock on your door, you simply expected it to be your neighbor down the road asking to borrow a cup of sugar or asking for a small favor. It came as somewhat of a surprise when you opened the front door and came face-to-face with none other than your old friend John Watson and his girlfriend Mary, who you met only a handful of times but really liked. She was good for him, you thought, after everything he had been though.

You welcomed them with a smile, “John! I didn’t know you were coming around! Mary, it’s lovely to see you again!” You were about to kiss both of her cheeks after letting the two inside when a third person appeared where they were standing a second ago.

“I didn’t know your family owned a cottage outside of London,” said the familiar deep baratome voice.

You could have sworn your heart stopped in that moment. Body completely froze with a hand closed around the door handle like a vice, a white-knuckle grip so tight the edges of the lock were almost piercing your skin. Although you always hoped you would be wrong in the back of your mind, you thought you’d never see him again. A wave of emotions crashed over you in a matter of seconds: shock, relief, joy. But the last of them all, white hot rage, washed through you like it never had before. Without saying a single word, you slammed the door in his face and turned to make your way into the kitchen.

You vaguely heard John and Mary’s mumbled comments. “Well, it could have been worse,” you imagined John shrugging to his girlfriend as he weighed some of the possible outcomes in his head. “She could have punched him in the face like I did.”

“John,” Mary said wearily, “Y/n’s not happy, and I wouldn’t expect her to be. What, with us just showing up out of the blue with him.”

“Give her some time... she’ll come around,” John attempted to give you the benefit of the doubt.

In the kitchen, your hands were splayed across the countertop to steady yourself as you felt like you were quite literally spinning from the thoughts running around in your head and your eyes slid out of focus. How was this even possible? Did John know this whole time? No, he couldn’t have. He was genuinely grief stricken, just like you had been. Mycroft must have known, that cheeky bastard knew practically everything. Why couldn’t he tell you, though? Of all people, why didn’t he let you and John in on his not-so-little secret for all these years? Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute attempting to answer all these rising questions on your own, wondering how you could have missed this simple fact: Sherlock was not dead.

After no reaction or response for me for a long time - you were unaware of how much time had passed - John entered the kitchen, calling your name. “How long have you known?” was the only thing you said, eyes now fixated on one particular spot on the counter so as to control your emotions in the moment.

“Only a few days. He wanted to tell you in person, not over the phone.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and relaxing your tense muscles for the first time since you slammed the front door shut. “That’s a shock.” Usually Sherlock preferred technological means of communication to human interaction, typically choosing to send a quick text over speaking on the phone or bothering to get off his ass and into a cab.

“Nothing about this is normal,” stated John. He was right; it wasn’t an everyday occurrence that a friend comes back to life, or rather fakes his own death. John tried to reason with you, “If you could just hear him out.”

“Is that what you did? Immediately wait and listen to what he had to say.”

“Well, um, no. It took a bit. I may have hit him once or twice. We relocated a few times.” You gave John a look that screamed the words ‘exactly’ without having to vocalize your point. “What I was trying to say is, that its Sherlock, Y/N. And we’ve been a mess since he left, no matter what we’ve done to be happy in that time.” Your mind immediately went to Mary and the cottage you were standing in; yours and John’s means of coping. 

“Yeah, John, that’s my point; he left! Without a word. He went along with Moriarty and let us go on believing he offed himself. How can you forgive him so easily?” Your blood was beginning to boil again.

“So, what are you planning on doing? Leave him outside in the rain until he learns his lesson?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, your chin lifting a fraction in affirmation. “Yes.” At the very least, you believed Sherlock deserved that, after all he put the two of your through, to sit soggy and cold for the next hour.

John relented and dropped his arms at his sides, realizing it was useless to argue with you as your stubbornness had clearly not disappeared in your time apart, and made his way back to Mary in the sitting room. You made the three of you some cups of tea, bringing the tray with you and setting it onto the table. Noticing the fire was lit, which must have been Mary’s doing while you were having your little tiff with John in the kitchen earlier, you smiled softly at her. She and John took residence on the couch while you sat in the chair closest to the fire, leaving a single chair adjacent to you unoccupied as the room warmed up.

You could hear Sherlock��s shoes tapping the porch as he paced back and forth in a meek effort to stay warm in the rain. A part of you - the one that reached out to Sherlock, that was glad to have him back despite everything - wanted to let him in, hand him a cup of tea, wrap a blanket around his shoulders, and talk as though no time had passed. But the other part that inhabited a majority of your consciousness was annoyed at his patience. He wasn’t complaining about the weather or temperature on the other side of the door. In fact, he was more quiet than you remember him ever being, aside from then he was sleeping or preoccupied in his Mind Palace. After his eventful encounter with John, he must have come to the understanding that he wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms and it would take a bit of an adjustment for everybody to acclimate him into their lives again.

After sitting in silence for thirty or so minutes, John abruptly stood to his feet, causing Mary to quickly look at him on alert. Luckily her cup was empty, or else he would be responsible for the stain on your rug. “For Christ’s sake! This is enough, Y/N! You’re acting like a damn child,” John said as he walked to the front door. “I’ve let you have your moment, now I am going to let Sherlock in and you are going to have it out. Right here, right now. Not later when its dark and he’s caught hypothermia.”

Against your protests, John opened the door and nodded at his friend to come inside your home. Sherlock stepped through the threshold after shaking his hair outside, lifting his head to meet my gaze as John locked the door behind him.

It felt like a hole had been rammed through your chest again, the power of it almost knocking you back into the chair you were seated in. You took a deep, unsteady breath and clenched your fists to hide your shaking hands. Part of it was anger, but most of it was fear, anxiety. You tried to control your breathing, deep inhale followed by a deep exhale, like you had practiced when you began having panic attacks after his death.

“Please, let me explain,” Sherlock pleaded with a soft look in his eyes you’d never seen before as he gingerly took a step forward.

“I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want to see you. I don’t even want to speak to you.” It took everything in you not to burst into tears, out of anger or frustration or sadness you didn’t know which, as you took a step back to maintain the distance between the two of you.

“Y/n, l-”

“No! Fuck! You were gone. You were dead, Sherlock! And you didn’t so much as tell me or John!” Your voice began to crack as it raised in volume. “Dead! Do you even understand that? We grieved your loss. We have borne that pain for two years now, and you think that I’m suddenly going to forgive that and let you back into my life just because you’re standing here in front of me now? That’s extremely arrogant and selfish, even for you.”

Sherlock chose his words wisely as he spoke, “Yes, I do understand.”

“No, see, I don’t think you do. Because you are incapable of feeling human emotions; you’ve said so yourself, right? They are pesky little beggars that get in the way of more important things in life, yeah?” You raised your eyebrows in expectation, waiting for him to confirm your statement to be true, since he had expressed his distaste for allowing emotions to rule him and his life many times before, and yet he remained silent. “You couldn’t possibly understand, because you thrive on suspense and mystery. On having the upper hand of knowing what others don’t, having the power to withhold information and telling others what you want them to know and when you want them to know it. You like being the know-it-all genius. What would you be without it?”

The question was rhetorical, but he answered nonetheless, “Nothing.” Your eyes widened at his response, shaken by his omission. “You’re right, I’d be nothing without my knowledge. I’m not Sherlock Holmes without my deductive skills, if I couldn’t easily figure out what others cannot. But I’m also not me without John Watson. Without you.”

His vulnerability disarmed you, and your shoulders sagged a fraction as your demeanor began to involuntarily soften up to him despite your set mind. You were taken aback by his calm and collected expression, as if admitting what he has was somewhat of a regular occupancy for him. It wasn’t, though, and you knew that it took a lot of effort for him to speak that truth aloud. You were torn between the anger of what he had done and missing him after all this time. Your heart yearned for him, and now he was standing before you - flesh and blood, alive - begging in his own reserved way for you to take him back. You knew you couldn’t forgive him on the spot, not yet anyway. But you did know that, despite all the pain he had caused you in his absence, you could accept him into your life once again.

[sirrwritesalots]

Dance With Me? ~ Spencer Reid (fluff)

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader [Y/n] Warnings: none, just fluff, and possibly mention of PG-13 (if it's even considered that?) Summary: The team is invited to an FBI gala-type event with food, music, and casual conversation, and everyone ultimately has a good time, especially you and Spencer, who find the chance to have a dance with one another as the air shifts between the two of you. [The imagine is set with all characters -Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia- and post-Maeve] Word Count: 1871 A/N: I love to write, but for the last few years, I’ve had horrible writer’s block, and I miss writing so much. This is my first imagine/creative writing thing I’ve posted on Tumblr, so bare with me please! I recently started watching Criminal Minds again, and this just popped into my head, so I figured why not? Though, Criminal Minds is not usually my genre, I wanted to give it a try (it might be cringy in some parts, I apologize). I hope whoever reads this enjoys it :)

Seeing as everyone on the BAU team was given a three-day-weekend off to have somewhat of a break, you all agreed to attend the FBI Ball Saturday night, giving you the day to relax and get ready.

That morning after you woke up, you had some breakfast and read a book by the window, followed by lunch and a nice, relaxing bath with rose oil, bath salts, and a lit candle. Once the water had gone cold and you were done with the bath, you decided to start getting ready for the plans you had later that evening, which consisted of blow drying and styling your hair, then applying some light - yet natural - makeup. Slipping into the dark blue evening dress with the strappy, laced-up back you picked out two weeks ago, you looked yourself up and down in the full-length mirror in your room with a smile on your face. It had been a long time since you had the chance to get dressed up and have a night of fun with friends, which is exactly what you were planning on doing; having fun. 

Work had been extremely stressful lately, for everyone - more so than usual, considering your line of work; being in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, where you work with serial killers day-in and day-out. One case in particular was rough on everyone; picked by the team’s communications liaison, JJ, you were flown out to Omaha, Nebraska to find an unsub who had a wide victimology and almost no similarities when it came down to location or anything else. You were there coming up on two whole weeks, when, after spending nearly forty-eight hours awake studying every detail, Spencer had found a similar signature connecting each murder. It wasn’t previously detected because it was so small it was easily overlooked, that is, until Derek and Rossi revisited every site and concluded that Spencer was right. At each location where a victim was found, a trinket of some sort was hidden, left behind as a sign of remorse. At first it made no sense, because each killing seemed too extreme to leave any room for remorse, not until the idea of a partner in crime was bounced around. Meaning that there were now two unsubs, one who was the alpha that controlled everything, and a second who most likely lured in the victims but only because they were told to rather than because they wanted to. Luckily, all the trinkets had traces of the unsub and their partner’s DNA left on it. That discovery soon led to tracking the unsub and chasing him down, where you and Emily went into the building first, to try and appeal to and reason with the submissive unsub, and would ultimately save the life of their latest victim. The plan went sideways when you two were met with the wrong one, and stepped into the middle of a trap... The unsub wanted a trade - the final victim for the two FBI agents - but the rest of the team, including the police force backing them up, were not about to have that. In the end, everyone was extracted and brought back to the precinct, except for the second unsub, who lost their life in the midst of the fight. 

To say the least, the team needed a break, and to have some fun.

Adding the final touch to your look -- a pair of black heels -- you grabbed your purse and jacket before locking the front door behind you and making your way to the car.

Once you were at the venue, a valet took your keys and parked your car for you. You stood on the curb, looking up at the gorgeous entrance of a high-end hotel. Before you could think about how all-out the bureau went, a familiar, deep voice spoke up on your right, “Damn Mama, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Turning, you came face-to-face with the most iconic duo of your team, Derek Morgan with Penelope Garcia standing beside him. Your cheeks flushed as you smiled, “You don’t look too bad yourself, hot stuff. Penelope, sweetheart, you look as wonderful as ever.”

“Please, I don’t think anyone here looks as good as you.” She waved her hand, a dismissal to your comment as she noticeably gawked at you.

“Why don’t we find out. Shall we?” You raised an eyebrow at them, tilting your head in the direction of the hotel.

“We shall.” Penelope disconnected herself from her chocolate thunder, and looped her arm with yours with a giggle as the three of you entered the building and followed the signs to the ballroom.

Tables filled with assorted foods line one wall while tables are scattered throughout the front half of the room, a live band played against the back wall, and the floor of the other half of the room was left unoccupied by furniture to leave space for dancing and mingling. You mentally thanked the event coordinator, whoever they might be, for ensuring the lights were dimmer than usual, since it gave your eyes a rest from the usual harsh office lights. 

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for the rest of your team, when your gaze landed on a man wearing a slick, dark gray suit and a maroon tie with his hair flopped perfectly over his forehead yet just out of reach of his eyes. You hadn't realized you were staring until Penelope had to practically drag you to where Emily and JJ were standing while Derek split with you guys to meet up with Rossi, Hotch, and Spencer.

“So, is anyone looking particularly yummy tonight?” Penelope asked Emily and JJ, bubbly before her first drink of the night as her eyes eagerly swept across the room. Typical Garcia. Gotta love her, though.

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m going to get a drink, anyone else want a one?” The girls gave you their requests, and you were off to the bar stationed near the wonderful display of food that you were sure to raid in a matter of time - that is, if your stomach had any say about it. "One-"

A voice interrupted you and finished your order before you could get more than a single word out, "Gin martini with a lemon twist." A smirk formed on your lips as you see who was standing next to you. "Oh! And chilled, but not on the rocks," Spencer added with a wink in your direction, a goofy smile plastered on his face to match your own.

"Spence, you remembered!"

"Y/n, I have an idetic memory; of course I remembered."

You rolled your eyes in response and ordered for the girls before you forgot as the bartender handed you your drink. "So, how's your evening so far?"

"Good. Met a couple of Rossi's friends, one of which was an older woman who touched my arm a lot, though I don't know why..."

You chuckled and shook your head. "Oh, you poor innocent boy."

"Innocent?" He raised an eyebrow at you, faking offense, as he helped you carry the drinks to the table the girls were standing around. "Are you so sure about that?"

"Why shouldn't I be when you make comments like that?" you countered. "Alright," you announced, cutting the conversation short before it can lead to anywhere presumptuous in front of company, you name off the drinks as you and Spencer place them in front of their respective owners.

Spencer took his place by your side, his arm pressed against yours and his gaze fixated on you, waiting patiently for you to notice or make another comment from your earlier conversation. The girls hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, seeing as you and Spencer had become the absolute best of friends in a short amount of time when you first joined the group, which meant the two of you were in very close proximity to one another about ninety-percent of the time. They were also too busy to notice over their ogling of the other attendees.

"You're staring," you murmured over your glass to him as you took a sip of your martini before stealing a quick glance up at him, then returning your eyes back to the crowd forming in the room. Rossi, Hotch, and Derek were still nowhere to be seen from your spot.

"Sorry," you heard him whisper, his eyes still stationed on you for a moment before he looked around as well. 

The live band began to play one of your favorite songs by Frank Sinatra, Fly Me To The Moon, and you couldn't help the smile that brightened your whole face after you took another sip of your drink.

The warmth that accompanied Spencer when he stood as close to you as he had been suddenly disappeared, making your heart unexpectedly quicken in a mix of worry and disappointment at the loss of contact. Then, when a throat cleared, and you saw him still standing next to you only a little farther away than he originally was with his hand extended and a lopsided smile on his face as hope flickered bright in his eyes. Your anxiety calmed, and was replaced with joy.

"Care to dance?"

Taking his hand, you stepped closer to him and replied, "I'd love to," as he led the two of you to the dance floor.

There, he pulled you closer to him, your bodies pressed against one another, as his hand slid behind you to rest easily on the small of your back while his other hand held one of yours, and your other hand took place on his shoulder. The two of you swayed as the music filled your ears.

You felt content in that moment. So happy with your friends, music, and food and drink. You couldn't think of a better way to spend an evening during your weekend off. Hopefully you wouldn't spoil it all by accidentally drinking too much and either a) managing to somehow embarrass yourself before the night is over or b) having to nurse a killer hangover the next morning - the last day of freedom before being called back into work the following day.

You felt Spencer's eyes on you once more. Though it wasn't creepy or unsettling; with him it never seemed to feel that way. Instead, it warmed your body, making your cheeks flush and your chest flutter.

"You're staring again." When he refused to take his eyes off you, you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "You seem to do it a lot. Why is that?"

"Possibly because you always look amazing. Except tonight; tonight you look... radiant."

"Oh, please... you're only saying that because you've never seen me all dressed up like this before." You dip your head rest on the side of his own in an attempt to hide your face, not from embarrassment, but rather to hide how red your cheeks had become in a mere matter of seconds by the few simple words he uttered.

"No, I'm not. Y/n, look at me, please." His voice was gentle yet serious as his fingers gently guided your chin up so you could properly look at him. "I mean it."