HOME | DD

Description
(A/N: I got this as a request over on my Wattpad account. Enjoy!)

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall is from a handgun. A kill shot over that distance, from that kind of a weapon, that's a crack shot you're looking for but not just a marksman, a fighter..."

You, John, and Sherlock were all at 221B. And you had made the mistake of asking how much information they had gotten for the case. Of course, you really weren't complaining. Not really. After all, it was quite interesting to hear about what he had found - even if he was extremely arrogant about it. The only thing that got to you was his accent.

That accent. That god forsaken accent. It wasn't your fault; not really. A few months ago, you had moved to from Los Angeles to London, and frankly, you just weren't used to the accent. It's not that you hated the accent - it was the opposite.

(y/n), stop it. You're zoning out again. You thought to yourself. God. I really need to go to church or something. His voice is sin.

"(y/n)? What do you think?" Sherlock asked.

"Hmm? What was that?" You replied. Oh god, did he ask me a question?

"The case. What do you think?"

"Oh... uh... I think you're right?"

Sherlock smiled. "See, John, I told you I was right."

John turned another page of the newspaper. "Mhmm." He clearly wasn't invested in the conversation. Sherlock turned to you.

"You know, I noticed you were zoning out again. Is it just you, or do all Americans have trouble focusing?" he teased.

And then there was that. He was always making fun of you for being American.

That little shit.

"Well, at least I don't drink out of teacups while eating crumpets saying 'Long live the queen.'" You retorted.

"At least I sound sophisticated, and not like a drunken redneck." Sherlock says.

"Oh, c'mon. Not everyone from the States is a redneck! Besides, I bet you couldn't do a good American accent for the life of you."

"Oh, please. That's nothing."

"Yeah? Okay then. We can have a bet. I bet you can't talk in a quality American accent for the rest of the day." You challenged.

"If I have to do it, then so do you. You have to talk in a British accent."

"Deal."

At that moment, Lestrade burst through the door. "There's been a murder over on 5th Avenue." He said.

"We'll be right over." Sherlock said.

Lestrade scrunched up his face. "Why are you talking like that?"

"Like what?" He asked, faking innocence.

He paused. "Nevermind. Just get over there as soon as you can."

As soon as Lestrade left, you and John bust out into a fit of giggles.

"Shut up."

~ ~ ~

11:59pm.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, staring at the clock on the wall. The entire day he had to talk in an American accent.

It was horrible.

You certainly didn't help in the matter. You made it your mission to walk into every café and coffee shop and make Sherlock speak. Not to mention making deductions at the crime scene. That was downright embarrassing.

12:00am.

Sherlock jumped off the couch. "Finally!" he said. You chuckled.

"You know, I'm surprised you didn't figure it out."

His smile instantly fell. "Didn't figure what out?"

You turned a page of the magazine you were reading. "I'm surprised you didn't notice that I haven't said a word. I haven't said a word all day."

Sherlock paused as he realized what your strategy was. "You didn't say anything so you wouldn't have to talk in an accent."

"Precisely." You said.

"I hate you."

"I know."

"But I was able to figure something else out." Sherlock said. It always shocked you at how fast he was able to move from one subject to another.

"Hmm? What's that?"

"I know why you always zone out."

"Shit."