Request: @green-spotlight I was wondering if you could do a Sherlock x wife! reader one? Where, instead of Mary jumping in front of Sherlock, Reader does, but she survives

Word count: No idea, but it’s long.

Warnings: (Y/N) gets shot.

A/N: HI! Long time no see. I know I always say I’ll come back and then I disappear but it’s just because I need a job and I have to look for it and bla bla bla. Anyway, here it is. This one is fresh, it’s the first fics I’ve written in months (the past ones were kept in my drafts) so I hope you like it and I hope I’m not too rusty for this.

Enjoy!

The London aquarium was quite a flabbergasting experience to anyone who visited. The big tanks filled with different fish, the blue illumination, and the distinctive smell of chlorine made it a rather peaceful place to meditate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Aquarium will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the exit. Thank you.” The voice from the tannoy announced.

Sherlock ignored it and kept going onward along the blue-lit corridors, through the glass tunnels, up until an area with benches for people to sit. There, a lonely woman sat tranquilly. 

“Your office said I’d find you here,” he said. 

“This was always my favourite spot for agents to meet,” the woman replied. “We’re like them; ghostly, living in the shadows.”

She finally looked at him. 

“Predatory,” Sherlock granted.   

“Well, it depends which side you’re on.” She turned away to look into the shark thank again. “Also, we have to keep moving or we die.”

“Nice location for the final act. Couldn’t have chosen it better myself. But then I never could resist a touch of the dramatic.” Sherlock cocked his eyebrow, rejoicing in his own skin.

“I just come here to look at the fish,” the secretary said.

How dull she was, how boring. Sherlock was starting to get sick just by the mere existence of that woman. It was obvious to him what was going on, and yet there was no one else to show it off to. Where were his companions? He had texted them not longer than five minutes ago the exact location and they weren’t there just yet. 

“I knew this would happen one day,” the secretary continued. She stood up and took a few steps closer to the tank. “It’s like that old story,” she said. She turned to face him.

She was small, just small. She was not a beautiful woman and evidently never had been, she was poorly-dressed, and her whole body expressed how small she was and felt.

It was no wonder to Sherlock why she had done it. She was a nobody, always had been and always would be. She worked for a powerful, beautiful woman who was a constant reminder of how insignificant she was. Of course, she had done it.

“I am a very busy man. Would you mind cutting to the chase?” Sherlock insisted. A rush inside of him needed the whole thing to end quickly.

“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“With good reason,” Sherlock said precisely. “Unlike you,” he thought.

“There was once a merchant in fa famous market in Baghdad…” The woman started.

Sherlock closed his eyes and lowered his head. It was that bloody story again. What was it with people liking it? Perhaps it was the fact that nobody wants to be entirely responsible for their acts and decide to call them upon fate, or just that dumb believing of superior power. In any case, Sherlock was sick of it.

“I really have never liked this story” he sentenced.

“I’m just like the merchant in the story. I thought I could outrun the inevitable. I’ve always been looking over my shoulder; always expecting to see the grim figure of…”

“Death.” A third voice completed. 

(Y/N).

The rush inside Sherlock increased its intensity. She wasn’t supposed to be there, John and Mary were but not her. 

She entered the room and stopped a couple of feet away from Sherlock’s side.

“Hello, love,” Sherlock greeted without looking at her.

“Hey,” she greeted back.

“John?” 

“On his way,” (Y/N) replied.

“Mary?” 

“On her way.” Sherlock shrugged and attempted no to look scattered. She was not supposed to be there. “Who am I looking at?”

“Let me introduce Amo.”

(Y/N) opened her eyes widely. She knew all about that time, Mary had told her just before escaping to try and fix things. 

“I can’t say I’m impressed,” (Y/N) said. Sherlock chuckled at the thought of how obvious it was, feeling good that his partner had caught it too. “So you were Amo? You were that voice on the phone?”

“Using AGRA as her private assassination unit,” Sherlock completed.

“Why did you betray them?” (Y/N) grunted. She could be too emotional sometimes. “Do you know what you caused? The people you hurt? Do you know how that ended? WHY DID YOU BETRAY THEM?”

“Why does anyone do anything?” The secretary asked, knowing well what she had done. She didn’t seem to regret a single thing.

(Y/N) was fuming, Sherlock could hear her breathing and was getting ready to stop her in case she tried to punch the secretary. 

“Let me guess,” he said in an attempt to control the room. “Selling secrets?”

“Well, it would be churlish to refuse,” the secretary admitted and Sherlock couldn’t blame her. “Worked very well for a few years. I bought a nice cottage in Cornwall on the back of it. But the ambassador in Tbilisi found out. I thought I’d had it.” She looked towards (Y/N) before returning her gaze to Sherlock. “Then she was taken hostage in that coup,” she laughed. “I couldn’t believe my luck! That bought me a little time.”

“But then you found out your boss had sent AGRA in,” Sherlock stated. He finally had an audience to show off with.

“Very handy,” the woman replied in a bitter tone. “They were always such reliable killers.”

“What you didn’t know, (Y/N), was that this one also tipped off the hostage-takers,” Sherlock explained to (Y/N). “Actually,” he said, “I don’t think Mary knows that either.”

The secretary sat back down and rested her handbag on her lap. 

“Lady Smallwood gave the order, but I sent another one to the terrorists with a nice little clue about her code name should anyone have an enquiring mind.” She was proud of her doings. “Seemed to do the trick!”

“And you thought your troubles were over.” (Y/N) was furious.

“I was tired; tired of the mess of it all,” she sighed. “I just wanted some peace, some clarity.”

(Y/N) was about to go on and punch the light out of her, but Sherlock stopped her before she had even given two steps forward.

“The hostages were killed, AGRA too…” She looked across to (Y/N), “or so I thought. My secret was safe. But apparently not. Just a little peace. That’s all your friend wanted too, wasn’t it? A family, home. Really, I understand.”

(Y/N) glanced across to Sherlock, but his gaze was fixed on the secretary who lifted her handbag as if in preparation to stand, and rests one hand on the open top of it.

“So just let me get out of here, right? Let me just walk away. I’ll vanish. I’ll go forever. What d’you say?”

“After what you did?!” (Y/N) roared furiously. She once again started walking towards the woman.

“(Y/N), no!” Sherlock yelled. That’s why he didn’t take her to her cases.

In a fluid moment, the secretary stood up, pulling a pistol from her handbag and aiming it at (Y/N), who stopped and backed away. 

(Y/N) considered her options for a second before obliging. “Okay.” She moved back to stand at the other side of Sherlock.

The secretary stopped pointing with her pistol and looked at it as if it was a toy. 

“I was never a field agent. I always thought I’d be rather good.” 

(Y/N) scoffed. She was upset and she knew they were wasting their time by trying to reason with her. She never understood why Sherlock insisted on talking to the criminals first.

“Well, you handled the operation in Tbilisi very well,” Sherlock complimented and (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“Thanks.”

“For a secretary.” 

(Y/N) and the secretary looked at him with wide eyes. 

“What?” The woman frowned.

“Can’t have been easy all those years, sitting in the back, keeping your mouth shut when you knew you were cleverer than most of the people in the room,” he blurted out.

“I didn’t do this out of jealousy!” She defended herself.

“No?” Sherlock smirked. “Same old drudge, day in day out, never getting out there where all the excitement was. Just back to your little flat on Wigmore Street.”

The secretary gaped.

“They’ve taken up the pavement outside the Post Office there. The local clay on your shoes is very distinctive.”

The woman looked down to her dusty shoes. She looked like a rag, no wonder why he thought she was jealous.

“Yes, your little flat.”

“How do you know?”

Sherlock was ready for a quickfire session to kill time and show off to the woman he married. He cocked his head and smirked as if he had already won.

“Well, on your salary it would have to be modest and you spent all the money on that cottage, didn’t you? And what are you? Widowed or divorced?” He focused in on a plain gold band on the index finger of her left hand. “Wedding ring’s at least thirty years old and you’ve moved it to another finger. That means you’re sentimentally attached to it but you’re not still married. I favour widowed, given the number of cats you shared your life with.”

(Y/N) watched the woman closely. She knew that look, that void of fear, that confidence. The woman wasn’t shaking, nor she was feeling vulnerable. No, she was starting to burn in anger. She was a crazy woman who thought she was better than anyone else, of course, she would burn if anyone told her she was anything less than that.

She hadn’t done it out of jealousy, she had done it because she could. 

“Sherlock…” (Y/N) warned.

“Two Burmese and a tortoiseshell, judging by the cat hairs on your cardigan,” Sherlock continued. “A divorcee’s more likely to look for a new partner; a widow to fill the void left by her dead husband.”

“Sherlock, don’t,” (Y/N) insisted with a louder tone.

But instead of listening, Sherlock rose his voice ad he got fully into his stride. “Pets do that, or so I’m told, and there’s clearly no-one new in your life, otherwise you wouldn’t be spending your Friday nights in an aquarium. That probably accounts for the drinking problem too: the slight tremor in your hand… The red wine stain ghosting your top lip. So yes. I say jealousy was your motive after all - to prove how good you are…”

The secretary turned to gaze at the entrance as Mycroft walked in.

“… To make up for the inadequacies of your little life.”

The secretary was still looking at the entrance. Inspector Lestrade came in followed by three uniformed police officers.

“Well, Mrs Norbury. I must admit this is unexpected,” Mycroft said, hiding away his true feelings.

“Vivian Norbury, who outsmarted them all,” Sherlock slurred, dripping in sarcasm. “All except Sherlock Holmes.”

He took a step forward, holding out his left hand. (Y/N) and the police officers behind her also stepped forward.

“There’s no way out,” he whispered.

“So it would seem,” Mrs Norbury smiled. “You’ve seen right through me, Mr Holmes.”

“It’s what I do.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Maybe I can still surprise you.”

Swiftly, she brought up the gun and aimed it at Sherlock. Everyone got defensive instantly. 

“C’mon,” Lestrade pointed at her, “be sensible.”

Sherlock held his hands out to the side. Mrs Norbury shook her head.

“No, I don’t think so.”

She fired. The bullet headed towards Sherlock who stood there unmoving. (Y/N), who had no doubt anticipated that this was going to happen, hurled herself sideways in front of him and the bullet impacted her lower chest. Blood sprayed outward and immediately there was a large bloodstain on her shirt. Crying out, she fell to the floor against a nearby bench.

“Surprise,” Mrs Norbury said, filled with spite.

(Y/N) rolled over to slump against the back of the bench, gasping in pain. As two of the police officers hurried over to Mrs Norbury to disarm her, Sherlock stared at (Y/N) in shock, then dropped to his knees to press his gloved hand against the wound. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and whimpered. 

“Everything’s fine. It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. “Get an ambulance!” He commanded, looking round to Mycroft.

“You are such a cock,” (Y/N) whimpered.

“I know,” Sherlock smiled sadly. “But now, dare I say it, it’s not about me.”

“What do I do now, detective?”

Sherlock started checking her frantically just as John ran in. Without asking any questions, he checked her too and laid her down on the floor. 

“It’s all right,” Sherlock kept saying, “it’s all right.”

“You can do better than that,” (Y/N) groaned and John kept track of her vitals.

“Like what?”

“Like what about you shut up next time?” Sherlock chuckled and nodded.

“Noted,” he said. “Anything else?”

“If I don’t die…” She started and Sherlock interrupted her.

“Which you won’t.”

“IF I DON’T DIE,” she insisted, “I want you to be more loving towards me.”

“What?” Sherlock frowned and John laughed. “No.”

“Oh, oh, I think I’m losing her,” John joked, “(Y/N), stay with us!”

“Okay, fine,” Sherlock agreed. “But only when we’re alone.”

“That’s not how it works,” John coughed. 

“It is how it works!” Sherlock cried.

“It’s not!” Mary laughed and kneeled down next to (Y/N), helping John to keep her stable while the ambulance arrived.

“You two are too nosey,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Loving, you must be loving at all times or I’m going to die,” (Y/N) repeated. She was falling unconscious, so John and Mary urged Sherlock to keep her awake for just a couple of minutes now.

“Okay, what else?” Sherlock asked, “What else, (Y/N)?”

“Breakfast… in bed…” She mumbled.

“I already do that!”

“For me… breakfast in bed… for me,” (Y/N) insisted.

“You are such a cock” John mocked Sherlock.

“Yes, I’ve been told that twice in the last minute.”

Mary laughed and so the paramedics got there.

-

When (Y/N) woke up, she was surrounded by people. Mrs Hudson, Molly, John, Mary, and obviously Sherlock.

“We’re so glad you’re awake.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Look at you!”

All of them, talking to her nonstop. She only nodded and smiled, not knowing who to reply to first.

Her room was filled with flowers and balloons, and the dim light of midday snuck through the window, making it warm and cosy. She didn’t feel a thing because she was doped, but she faintly knew (by what she could catch hearing at least) that she had gone to surgery. 

“I’m glad you’re awake and fine,” Sherlock said after everyone shut up.

“That’s all?” She complained.

John hit Sherlock slightly. The detective rolled his eyes and pulled out little cardboard cards from his pocket. He cleared his throat and started reading in a painfully monotone voice.

“My love, I am delighted for your recovery and I can’t wait for you to come back home to me. I’ve missed having you in my arms, smelling your hair in the morning, and just looking at your… bright, beautiful eyes every day. You are my soulmate, and the thought of losing you was so painful I knew right then and there that I… Nevermind that part, it’s bullshit,” he skipped three cards while everyone else either rolled their eyes or chuckled at him. “You are the love of my life… My best friends… Kiss, kiss, kiss… Er… The message is clear I think.”

“That’s all?” (Y/N) asked again.

Yes, she had technically forced him to date her, and then to marry her, and she had kind of manipulated him to promise her to be more loving, so she couldn’t really complain if he didn’t get it right the first twenty times, but she was the one laying on a hospital bed because he couldn’t get his head out of his own arse!

Sherlock exhaled heavily and looked around. Curious and impatient eyes were all over him, making feel terribly uncomfortable.

“The thought of losing you is unbearable, I was very anxious during your surgery and have been like that up until now that you’ve woken up,” he admitted.

“He also spent the night right here,” Mrs Hudson added. (Y/N) then noticed an unused blanket by the visitor’s sofa.

“Thank you, Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock groaned and gave (Y/N) a cheeky look. “I’m not good with words, but do know that I’d be damned if you, my wife, died.”

“How romantic!” (Y/N) smirked sarcastically. Sherlock eyed her, knowing she was just messing with him.

“I love you, I truly do.”

“And I love you,” (Y/N) said.

Sherlock then walked closer to her and kissed her softly on the lips. “Don’t ever follow me on a case, please.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Then don’t jump in front of me if I get shot.”

“Better you stop being a massive cock, ey?” 

“I can’t promise that.” Sherlock smiled.

-

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Sherlock x Reader

Summary: When Sherlock blows off his Valentine’s plans with Y/N, she’s just about ready to give up on their relationship and move on. It isn’t until she receives a text from the consulting detective that she decides to hold off on the impulse and give him one last chance. 

Will Sherlock Holmes have enough heart to save the day?  

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“Good morning, John!”

Doctor Watson looked up from his spot at the kitchen table and smiled. “Good morning, Y/N,” he said kindly. “Big day?”

She looked down at herself and shrugged. “Something like that.”

It was the morning of February fourteenth in London, and the city was buzzing with lovesick couples rushing about for last minute gifts and tokens. Y/N had stopped by 221B Baker Street to visit Sherlock for the occasion. 

It was their first Valentine’s Day as a couple and she couldn’t wait to celebrate it with the man that she loved. She had dressed in her finest clothes and picked up a platter of muffins from the café next door.

“JOHN! HAVE YOU SEEN MY HEART ANYWHERE?” a voice called out from down the hall.

John and Y/N turned their heads as Sherlock entered the room, dressed in a suit and his signature coat and scarf. 

“Have I seen your heart?” John asked slowly. 

Sherlock tossed his scarf on the table, narrowly missing the platter of treats that Y/N had placed down earlier. “Yes, heart! You’re a doctor for goodness sake! You know, the thing that pumps blood, and-”

John took a breath and rubbed his temples, gingerly. “Yes. I’m well aware of what a heart is as well as its physiological function, but I don’t understand the context of your question!”

“It’s imperative that I find the organ before noon!” Sherlock scowled. He threw his hands up in the air and pushed past Y/N, not bothering to say hello. “Mrs Hudson!” he cried out, disappearing out the door once more.

Y/N sighed and perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. She should have seen this coming. Sherlock was always so preoccupied with his work that he often forgot about her.

John smiled at her sympathetically. “It’s fitting that he look for a heart today of all days,” he said. 

Y/N nodded and crossed her arms. “Most would argue that he hasn’t got one.”

“You don’t mean that,” John said, reaching for a muffin. 

Y/N swatted his hand away. “I really don’t,” she admitted. “I think he has the biggest heart out of all of us. He’s just a bit unconventional in how he shows it.”

Before John could respond, his mobile buzzed. He checked the notification and frowned. “You’re not going to like this,” he said. 

Y/N pursed her lips and motioned for him to carry on. 

“It’s Sherlock,” John continued, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “He’s left for the police station on a homicide case. He just messaged me to meet him there.”

Y/N let out a groan. Today was supposed to be special. She had planned for them to spend Valentine’s together and instead, Sherlock had run off to bond with a corpse and a killer. 

“That’s fine, John,” she said. “I’ll just head home then.”

Doctor Watson nodded, then stood up and gave one last meaningful glance at the muffins which Y/N had brought for Sherlock. She leaned forwards and pushed the platter closer to him. “Be my guest,” she said, defeated.

John smiled sheepishly, snagged a muffin, and rushed out the door, waving goodbye behind his shoulder. 

Y/N winced when the door locked behind him. It seemed like she would be spending Valentine’s Day on her own. 

***

Y/N surfed through the channels of her telly, her grip on the remote tightening with every romcom and couple’s programming that flashed by. She had waited the entire day for Sherlock to contact her, but the sky had since darkened and she had yet to hear a word from his end. 

She was just about to head to bed when her mobile buzzed. 

Baker Street      

Will you come?

S.H.

Y/N pursed her lips at the hesitance in Sherlock’s text. Usually, his messages were orders, not suggestions. He knew that he had done wrong, she was sure of it. She took a breath and typed back a response. 

I’m not sure if I can.

Y/N waited a moment before receiving a reply. 

Please?

S.H.

Please…That was all it took for her to fall for the consulting detective all over again. The entire day, she had been thinking of ending their relationship for good. Shifting back to the safety of an unlikely friendship. But with only a few texts, she knew that she couldn’t. Sherlock Holmes might have been the coarsest man in London, but he was hers. 

I’ll be there.

Though she hated to admit it, Y/N was excited to see the consulting detective. Not wasting another minute, she grabbed her coat and raced out the door of her flat. 

***

Sherlock tapped his foot nervously and checked his watch for the third time. Y/N was late. He gripped a fresh bunch of roses in his hand and winced when a thorn nicked his skin. 

“It’s your own fault, you know,” John murmured from behind a newspaper. 

Sherlock turned to his flatmate and scowled. “Though I appreciate your remark John, perhaps you can keep all further comments to yourself!”

The Doctor tossed his paper onto the table by his armchair and leaned forwards, eyes on Sherlock. “The poor girl has been waiting the whole day,” he said slowly. “The only reason you even invited her back to the flat is because I reminded you that today was Valentine’s Day.”

Sherlock held John’s gaze for a moment before finally looking downwards. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I’m a fool.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and tossed the flowers to the floor, kicking them away with contempt. “I’ve lost her,” he lamented, walking towards the window. “How could I have been so careless?”

“I find myself asking the same question most days. About you being careless, that is.”

Sherlock turned around and saw Y/N leaning against the flat’s doorway, a tight smile on her face. 

“You came,” he said breathlessly. 

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted. 

Sherlock felt a pang of guilt course through him. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

Y/N approached him, her arms crossed. When he leaned forwards to kiss her, she gave him her cheek. 

“I suppose I deserve that,” he muttered, shooting a glare at John when he heard the Doctor chortle at the snub. 

“You really do,” Y/N scoffed. She studied Sherlock, taking in his crisp suit and windblown hair. “Why am I here?” she asked. “You were too busy to see me for all of the fourteenth, but suddenly decided to ask me over in the dead of night?” 

Sherlock shifted on his feet, not quite knowing what to say. “I’ve done wrong,” he said finally. He took Y/N’s hand in his own and looked her directly in the eyes. “And I’m not just talking about today.”

She quirked a brow, waiting for him to continue. 

“I’ve always put you second,” he said. “I cast you to the sidelines in place of my work, and I’m sorry.” He put a hand on her cheek, his eyes flicking down towards her lips. “Truly, I’m sorry.”

Y/N smiled and kissed him lightly. “I forgive you,” she whispered. In truth, she had already decided to let it go. Though his behavior did hurt her sometimes, she knew that in the grander scheme of things, Sherlock was doing the city a service by solving the mysteries that nobody else could. 

“Oh yes, before I forget!” Sherlock blurted out, bending down on a knee. “These are for you!” Y/N watched as he picked up a grungy bunch of flowers from the floor, the petals curled and limp. 

Sherlock’s face lit up as he presented the offering to her. His eyes crinkled from his wide smile and glinted proudly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” he said. “I picked these myself.” 

“He really did,” John affirmed. “They’re roses from the garden patch where the victim was found buried earlier today.”

Y/N accepted the flowers carefully. “They’re lovely,” she said hesitantly. When she glanced back up at Sherlock, she couldn’t help but beam at the pleased expression on his face. 

He winked at her then offered out his arm, gesturing for her to grab hold of him. “I may have failed you earlier today, but I plan on fixing that,” he said. “How would you like to join me on a stroll about the city?”

Y/N gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know Sherlock, you have a lot to make up for,” she teased. 

He leaned forwards and kissed her. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead against her own and grinned. “Then we have no time to waste,” he whispered. 

As Valentine’s day drew to a close, Sherlock Holmes and Y/N began their adventure, leaving Baker Street in one another’s arms. 

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Why not read Reservation For Holmes?

I don’t think Sherlock would be the best Valentine’s date :)

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HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

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