#sherlock 4x3

Sherlock x Reader

Summary: When Euros entangles Y/N in her violent game of intellect, Sherlock must sacrifice something he never expected to care for.  As he looks back upon what he will lose, he sees only the fragments of his shattered heart…​

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Sherrinford, High Security Prison

“If you want her out of the game, you’ll have to burn her out of it.”

“Sister, please. I beg of you… don’t.”

Sherlock Holmes stood hunched before the monitor, his tone bleeding with desperation.

“I’m afraid this is non negotiable. It’s either her heart or her life. Choose one or I’ll have no choice but to take both. Of course, the bit about her heart won’t be in the metaphorical sense, you understand.”

A red light blared throughout the room and Jim Moriarty’s jives echoed off the walls. Sherlock’s fists clenched as he looked up at Euros’ sickly smile of triumph.

“I can’t… I won’t destroy everything we’ve built…” he whispered to himself. “Not like this.”

Doctor Watson placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Your sister is insatiable and that makes her dangerous,” he said in a low voice. “There’s more at stake here than just your pride. Soldiers, remember? Maybe you should-”

“Not now John! Don’t you see? I love her!”

Sherlock blanched at his own admission. Y/N was the light of his life and he couldn’t let Euros jeopardize that.

John’s jaw clenched as he stared back with a look of sorrow. “That’s exactly why you need to do it. You need to break her heart to save her life.”

Sherlock looked down at the mobile phone in his hand. As the seconds ticked by, his beloved Y/N came closer to her demise. Euros had set an assassin after her and unless he complied with his sister’s task, Y/N would face a swift death.

He felt a million passions ricocheting in his heart. There were no more tricks up his sleeve. Sherlock had to submit to his sister’s will or face the consequences.

“I won’t lose her…” he whispered. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock turned to John and nodded steadily. “Soldiers.”

With shaky hands, he dialled Y/N’s number and listened to the timbre of the rings.

He closed his eyes as the world spun around him, and his mind raced in reminiscence. Sherlock could suddenly see thousands of snapshots of the beautiful life which he was about to destroy…

***

“John, I’ve told you before, I haven’t the time for your little friend. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I have a case to solve!”

The doctor sighed and rubbed at his throbbing temple. “If you would just hear her out-”

Sherlock stepped over the coffee table and walked to the door. He made a point to swing it open with great emphasis. “Forgive me,” he said to the girl with a smile that was anything but polite. “But I am very busy. If you would kindly take your leave before-“

“It was the perfume, Mr Holmes.”

Sherlock paused at the girl’s quiet declaration. “Come again?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

Y/N cleared her throat. “The perfume,” she repeated. “The victim smelled of perfume the day her body was found.”

“I’m aware. Did you have a point?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Mrs Thewlis was allergic to Ethanol, the prime ingredient in perfume. She wouldn’t be wearing it unless someone forced her to.”

She crossed her arms as she continued on. “I asked Molly to run a toxicology test and the report came back positive. Traces of poison were found in Thewlis’ bloodstream, seemingly absorbed through her skin.”

She paused for effect. “My theory, Mr Holmes is that somebody sprayed the victim with a sort of chemical infused mist and that there was no murder weapon at the crime scene because the victim was wearing it the entire time!”

Sherlock said nothing. He simply observed the girl in curious silence before closing the door and walking towards her.

“You’re saying that somebody doused her perfume with poison?”

“Yes, Mr Holmes.”

“What’s your name?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated to himself. “Well Y/N, congratulations on cracking your first case.”

Sherlock couldn’t wrap his head around it. How could this girl have possibly picked up on something that he had missed? Normally he’d have felt a wounded pride, a violent jealousy at her intellect, but strangely enough, he felt nothing. On the contrary, Sherlock was intrigued by her sharpness. He suddenly felt a burning desire to know more about her.

Sherlock was snapped back to attention by the sound of her voice. “I’m glad that I could be of assistance. Good day, Mr Holmes.” Y/N gave a curt nod as a means of farewell and was just about to leave the flat when she felt a hand on her wrist.

She turned around and saw the consulting detective. “Please,” he said, extending a gloved hand. “Call me Sherlock. Will you stay for tea?”

***

A soft amber light streamed in through the gossamer curtains of 221B Baker Street. The delicate London breeze danced in through the window, making the thin veils flutter.

Y/N hummed softly as the quaint disturbance roused her from her sleep. She tilted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of the time. 5:45 on a Friday morning. She felt movement to her right, and was suddenly exposed to the morning chill as her blanket was yanked away.

Turning on her side, Y/N was met by Sherlock’s sleeping frame. She gave a shiver and was just about to reprimand him for hoarding the covers when something struck her.

She drew a breath at the sight of him lying next to her. His tousled hair was pressed against the pillow, soft and unruly. His bare chest heaved in slow breaths, moving up and down steadily. His face was unmarred by the stress of his waking moments. Sherlock looked comfortable and at ease. 

Though she had been waking up to this same sight every morning for the past few years, Y/N felt as though she were seeing him for the very first time whenever she caught him in these quiet moments of dawn.

She reached out to touch him just to prove to herself that he was more than a perfect illusion. Her hand lingered mere inches away when Sherlock spoke, his voice heavy with sleep. “You’re awake.”

“Yes, a chill woke me. Somebody was greedy with the covers…”

He opened his eyes and grinned. “How tragic.”

With a soft groan he shifted and pulled Y/N closer, wrapping an arm around her so that she lay with her head in the crook of his arm. She sighed contentedly and grazed his skin with her fingertips. Resting her palm against his chest, she felt the steady beat of his heart.

“What are you thinking?”

Y/N paused for a moment. “I’m thinking that this might be too good to be true.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock said, propping himself up on an elbow. He looked down at Y/N and smiled. “This is much too good to be true, but I would be a fool to question it.” With his free hand, Sherlock cupped the back of Y/N’s neck and brought her close to his upturned lips. “I’ll be damned if I let anything come between us. I swear to you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Sherlock finally kissed her. As the morning rays shone through the airy curtains, Y/N took comfort in the thought that their love was infinite.  

***

Gone was the music.

A familiar burning sensation prickled at the back of her eyes, but still, Y/N denied herself the tears.

She sat quietly in Sherlock’s old armchair, staring at the bullet ridden wall.

“Yoo-hoo,” called a voice from the doorway. Y/N hardly stirred as Mrs Hudson came bustling in with a tray of tea and biscuits.

“Morning’ dearie, I brought you a cuppa’! I thought you might fancy a treat,” the kindly landlady said, forcing a cheery tone.

She took a look around the room and frowned at the gathering dust and drawn curtains. “It’s a bit gloomy in here, isn’t it?”

Grief had taken its toll since Sherlock’s fall, and Y/N was a transparent reflection of it. Her eyes were bloodshot and held an emptiness to them as she reflected within the abandoned flat, lost in her memories.

“It’s fine, really,” Y/N said a weakly.

Mrs Hudson’s gaze shifted. Y/N was wearing Sherlock’s old coat. A mahogany patch stained the collar. A reminder.

“It’s been two years, love. It’s time to let go.”

A glossy trail streamed down Y/N’s cheek, but still she smiled. “He’ll be back,” she said, her voice cracking. “He promised me that he wasn’t going anywhere. If I just wait here, I’m sure-”

“He’s not coming back,” Mrs Hudson said gently.

Y/N turned away. “I told him it was too good to be true.”

Mrs Hudson smiled sympathetically. “I’ll be downstairs, love.”

Y/N grabbed hold of her chair’s armrests and squeezed. She winced as a hot trail of tears slicked her cheeks.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Sherlock wasn’t supposed to have been on that rooftop. He wasn’t meant to leave her grieving. 

He wasn’t supposed to be gone.

Perhaps Mrs Hudson was right. Maybe it was time to move on like John had. Y/N ran a hand through her hair and let out a shaky breath. She was just about to reach for her tea when she heard a loud crash and a scream come from downstairs.

“Mrs Hudson?” Y/N stood up in a panic and rushed downstairs, heart racing.

“Mrs Hudson!” she cried out.

Y/N found her landlady in the kitchen, shattered porcelain on the floor. “Are you alright?” she asked warily.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. It was simply a mild shock.”

A chill ran up Y/N’s spine at the sound of that distantly familiar voice. It can’t be… she thought incredulously. Carefully, she turned her gaze upwards and noticed for the first time the man standing at the doorway.

“Hello,” he waved awkwardly.

Standing at the other end of the room was Sherlock Holmes.

Y/N stared as he shifted uncomfortably under her critical gaze. Dressed in his signature trench coat and dress pants, he looked the same as the day she had lost him.

“New coat?” she asked, stunned.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Yes, actually. Unlike yours, I suppose. I see you held onto the old one…” He looked to the floor. “it… well, it suits you, mind the gore.”

Y/N ignored his attempt at humour. “You’re back,” she whispered.

When he looked back at her, his eyes glistened. “How could you expect me to stay away?”

***

“You can’t be serious!”

“I swear it’s true!”

Y/N listened carefully from the hall as John, Mary, and Greg conferred in 221B. From what she could hear, they were talking about her and Sherlock. Though it had been months since they had reunited, the pangs of lost love still inflamed their passions. 

“He actually said that to you? Those exact words?”

Y/N frowned at the excitement in Mary’s tone as she grilled John on something that Sherlock had allegedly told him. John laughed and Y/N peeked through the crack in the door to catch him kiss his wife lightly on the nose. 

“Those exact words,” he affirmed softly. “Sherlock is thinking of proposing marriage to Y/N.”

Y/N let out a small gasp and clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her surprise. She blinked as a wave of emotions crossed through her. Marriage? Sherlock? These two words were foreign in the same sentence and she had to take a breath to contain herself. 

“Bloody hell…” she heard Lestrade mutter from the flat. “Our boy’s found it,” he said softly. “He’s found his heart.” 

“Keep your voice down!” John whispered sharply. “Y/N will be here any minute, and she can’t know!”

Y/N stepped back and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. She felt her heart race and couldn’t stop smiling. Sherlock Holmes, the man that she adored more than she ever imagined she could, was on the verge of proposing to her.  

“Sneaking about, are we?“

Y/N gave a start when she opened her eyes and saw Sherlock standing before her, brow upturned. 

She straightened herself and smiled nervously. “I was just about to head inside.”

“Is that why you’re lurking just outside the flat, plastered against the wall?” Sherlock asked sarcastically. 

Y/N shrugged, not knowing what to say. Just at that moment though, Greg opened the door to meet them. 

“Oi, we could hear you gabbing out here. Are you coming in or what? We’ve been expecting you.”

Sherlock peered past the Detective Inspector’s shoulder and found John and Mary grinning guiltily inside. His lips twitched in a hidden smile as he deduced what exactly was happening. “Yes,” he said slowly. “We’ll be right there.”

When Greg stepped back inside, Sherlock turned to Y/N. “You haven’t been eavesdropping on others’ conversations, have you?” he asked sweetly.

She looked at at him in feigned shock. “I would never!” 

Sherlock studied her, his smile growing as he regarded the charming glint in her eyes. In that moment, he caught flashes of a future with her. Since they had met, Sherlock had reimagined his previous notions of the dullness of domesticity. Though marriage had once seemed a burden to him, Y/N had changed that, and Sherlock knew that nothing would be grander than a quaint life by her side. 

“What have I done to deserve you?” he asked softly. Y/N watched as Sherlock pressed her gently against the wall, and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed the crown of her head before leaning forwards and grazing the shell of her ear. “I love you,” he whispered delicately. Sherlock closed his eyes and whispered again, “I love you.”

***

Sherrinford, High Security Prison

“Hello?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. He scanned the room, disoriented. He had felt safe for a moment, caught in remembrance, but the sterility of Sherrinford’s cell had cut through the dream. 

He caught a flash of Euros frowning from the monitor and looked back to find John standing solemnly behind him. Y/N’s voice blared from hidden speakers. Nothing had changed.

“Hello?”

Sherlock drew a breath at the familiarity of the voice on the other end of the line. His task became clear once more. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped.

“Hello love,” he said, his tone strained. 

Red lights flashed in warning and Sherlock looked up. “This isn’t a social call,” Euros said icily. “Don’t try and mitigate the blow with pet names. It’s her heart or her life Sherlock, I think I’ve made that clear.” 

A pang of alarm shot through him. There was no way out. 

“Sherlock, is that you?” Y/N asked from the other end of the line. “Are you alright?”

Sherlock walked to one of the cell’s walls and leaned an arm against it, seeking purchase. He thought of Euros’ hire, trigger finger itching for a clean shot.

“Sherlock?” she called again. “Can you hear me?”

Sherlock needed to burn her out of his story. "I pray you’ll forgive me…” he whispered to himself. Standing tall, he straightened his collar and detached himself from the warmth that Y/N had inspired in him throughout all their years. Sherlock Holmes became ice.  

“Y/N?” he said. “I need you to listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” she said uncertainly.

Red lights flashed and Moriarity’s malarkey reigned.

“About us,” Sherlock continued, “We’ve come far.”

Y/N laughed. “You called to talk about us?What’s this-”

"Don’t interrupt,” he said curtly. “I need to fix this.”

There was a moment of silence before Y/N responded. “What are you saying?” she asked slowly. 

"I mean to say that I’m ending this. Our experiment.”

“Experiment?” she scoffed.

Sherlock’s voice was brisk and steady, devoid of feeling. "Indeed. You see, our relationship was was only ever a simulation of sentiment. A psychological examination. A game of science.”

He could hear Y/N’s breath hitch and he clenched his fist in guilt. He was slowly approaching the end. 

“It’s all been a rouse,” he said tensely. “ A clever experiment to test the naivety of the human mind, and you Y/N, were the ideal subject. Insecure, wide-eyed, and unduly retentive; you were foolishly loyal to a man that never cared, and it has proved your undoing.”

Sherlock waited for Y/N to hang up the phone. To curse him or yell obscenities from the receiver. He waited for her anger, silently praying she would cut him off. It was the only way Euros would spare her, and Y/N’s acrimony against him was well worth her life.   

She said nothing.

Subconscious sirens hammered in his mind. Sherlock couldn’t know for sure if she had believed him. He had to push harder. “ You’re nothing more than a failed enterprise,” he said sharply. He heard his voice rise until he was sure he sounded near hysterics. “ You have nothing left to offer, so I implore you to leave me be!” 

Silence dragged on until Sherlock finally heard Y/N sniff. She let out a shaky breath and spoke. “Sherlock,” she began softly. “I’m not sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you can’t expect me to believe a word of what you just said.”

no. no. no. no. no… 

Sherlock shook his head furiously. She wasn’t supposed to be kind. She was meant to be hurt. 

Y/N gave an unsettled laugh before continuing. “I love you, Sherlock,” she whispered. “I love—”

Shattered glass and silence. 

Sherlock collapsed to his knees. “Y/N?” he asked gently. A shiver ran up his spine at the blackout stillness. “Y/N!” he cried out. His hands trembled in horror and bile rose in his throat. It isn’t so… he thought. it can’t be so… 

“I’m afraid you’re out of luck, brother.” Euros said softly. 

Sherlock looked up at his sister, his eyes bloodshot. 

She cocked her head to the side, feigning sympathy. “You failed,” she said simply. “Let’s move on, shall we?” The screen went dark and the cell lit up with crimson light. 

Sherlock stayed abased, kneeling on the cold flooring. A damp heat trailed down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe it away. He thought of Y/N. He thought of her smile. Her laugh. Her silence. 

He thought of their thousands of moments past and the finality of her fall. 

He kneeled in sterile reminiscence. 

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*psssst!* try reading Corpses and Roses!!!

I FINISHED IT! I FINALLY FINISHED IT! THIS CURSED FIC HAD BEEN TRAPPED IN MY NOTES SINCE THE SUMMER BUT I FINALLY FINISHED IT!!!!

Hey you guys!!! What’s going on??? This fic is veryheavy on the whole Molly x Sherlock ordeal back in Sherrinford, so I hope that’s something you’re into! I just thought it would be cool to write about snapshots from Sherlock and Y/N’s relationship, soooo yeah! Thanks for reading!!!!

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