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.”
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.
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!!!!
If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson…)
Summary: Sherlock has always had bad ideas… but this one is just ridiculous. After a spider bite renders the consulting detective unconscious, Y/N has to deal with her partner’s carelessness.
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“I don’t think this is a good idea…”
Sherlock turned to Y/N and grinned. “Well, it’s not the worst, either. How else will we substantiate the accused’s defence?”
“Allow me to rephrase,” Y/N began tensely. “This is by far the most ludicrous idea that you’ve ever had! And that’s saying a lot for you, Sherlock Holmes!”
“It’s perfectly sane,” he assured. “Even so, ludicrosity is the essence of methodical study!”
Sherlock and Y/N stood in St Bartholomew’s Hospital laboratory as they investigated their latest case which John had already dubbed ‘The Spider’s Web’. A woman, accused of killing her neighbour denied the charge, pleading innocent after an alleged spider bite incapacitated her throughout the thirty minutes in which the murder was surmised to have occurred.
Now, Sherlock and Y/N hovered over an illuminated examination table, where the case’s greatest piece of evidence awaited testing… the spider.
Y/N looked down at the arachnid crawling in the mason jar and cringed. “What are you trying to prove here, Sherlock?” she asked. “That you’re a reckless investigator with an unhealthy disregard for his own safety? We already know that!”
Sherlock looked up at her and quirked a brow, unimpressed. “If the spider bites me, and I blackout for a half hour, we’ll be able to prove the accused’s story. If I’m completely unaffected, we’ll know she’s lying and the Crown prosecutor can present my findings in court. Really Y/N, keep up.”
“Couldn’t we just ask Molly to run a toxicology test?”
“I like to be thorough,” Sherlock shrugged.
“You like to be showy is what you mean…” Y/N mumbled to herself.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Sherlock gave one last pointed look before pulling out a pocket watch and handing it to Y/N. “The moment I show any signs of wooziness or sickness after the bite, I need you to start taking time. Thirty minutes, Y/N. Remember that.”
“Sherlock, this is so dangerous!”
“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “I’ve done my research and gone through the preliminary analyses. I am absolutely convinced that nothing will happen. The accused is clearly lying, I know that to be a fact!”
“What if something does happen?” Y/N pressed.
“I’m never wrong,” Sherlock insisted. “At worst, It’ll be a small nip. I’m sure of it.”
Y/N rubbed a hand down her face and sighed in defeat. “Alright Sherlock. If you’re sure.”
“I’m positive.”
Y/N gestured towards the waiting spider and looked at Sherlock deliberately. “Go ahead,” she invited.
He made a move towards the mason jar but stopped short. “No kiss for good luck?” he inquired.
“I thought you said that nothing would happen.”
“Well yes, but it would be nice.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes and Sherlock stifled a laugh. “No, you’re right,” he said. “You’ll owe me a kiss after I prove you wrong, and show you that this experiment is completely safe. The accused is guilty and her story is nothing more than a rouse.”
Flashing Y/N a self-assured grin, Sherlock carefully shrugged off his coat and rolled up the sleeve of his dress shirt. Y/N watched as he lifted the mason jar to eye’s length and squinted at the small creature inside. “It’s nothing more than a common house spider,” he said surely. “It could hardly incapacitate a fly, let alone the likes of me.” He lifted his other arm and dipped the jar above it, gently forcing the spider out. “Do your worst, old friend,” he whispered to the arachnid.
Y/N clasped onto the pocket watch tightly as the spider crawled the length of Sherlock’s arm. “Why isn’t it biting you?” she whispered. “I don’t suppose it’s agitated,” Sherlock whispered back.
Y/N tapped her foot, growing impatient. “Perhaps you should agitate it.” she said snidely.
“You’re beginning to agitate me, Y/N,” he retorted. “Perhaps you’ll have the same effect on the spider.”
Y/N smacked his arm playfully, giving him a jolt. It was there that the spider decided to bite.
“Ouch!” he cried sharply. “That’s curious. I wasn’t expecting such a sting.”
Y/N bit her lip and watched as Sherlock shooed the spider back into the mason jar. He was uncharacteristically quiet as he did so.
They waited a few minutes, but there was no obvious reaction. “How long has passed since the bite?” Sherlock finally asked. Y/N checked the time. “Five minutes and thirty seconds.”
He smirked. “Now you see darling,” he began smugly. “I told you that nothing would happen. As the world’s greatest consulting detective, I’m too apt for mistakes! In fact…”
Sherlock hadn’t finished his thought when his speech slurred and he stumbled back a step.
“Sherlock?” Y/N called warily. His knees buckled and Y/N reached out an arm to catch his tall frame. “Perhaps it wasn’t a simple house spider…” he mumbled. She wrapped her arms around him and gently lowered him to the floor.
“Oh no,” Sherlock moaned jaggedly. “Y/N, this can’t be happening! What have I done? All my life, I- I—”
Y/N dropped to her knees and held his head against her chest. “What is it, Sherlock? Does it hurt badly?”
“No,” he said weakly, his eyelids fluttering. “It’s much worse than physical pain, I’m afraid.”
Y/N felt a wave of panic course through her. “Don’t tell me it’s lethal!” she cried out. “Is this going to kill you? Are you going to die?”
“Not lethal,” he affirmed faintly. “I just can’t believe I was wrong. I’m never wrong…”
With that, the consulting detective closed his eyes. Y/N stared down at him incredulously as he began to snore softly. It wasn’t the spider’s venom that he was worried about. It was the fact that he had made a mistake!
Y/N rolled her eyes at his ego. “You’re an idiot,” she said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “But you’re mine, I suppose.” With the unconscious consulting detective resting on her lap, Y/N reached for her mobile and dialed John’s number.
“Doctor Watson here.”
“Hello John,” Y/N began. “Are you still near St Bart’s?”
“Yes, of course. Sherlock told me to stay on standby, though I’m not quite sure why.”
“It seems he’s a bit lethargic… knocked out cold, really.”
“Is he wounded?” John asked anxiously.
Y/N spared a glance at Sherlock and smiled at his unruly curls. “Yes John, he’s been wounded. Though it’s not what you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s mostly an injury to his pride.”
John sighed on the other end of the line. “I think I understand. Stupid experiment gone wrong?” he asked causally.
“Does he conduct any other kind?” Y/N replied with a laugh.
“On my way.”
Y/N tucked her phone away and looked at Sherlock still lying on her lap. “The wounded detective,” she mused. “This could have been easily avoided.” She watched his deep breaths and though she wanted to be annoyed at his stubbornness, she couldn’t find it in herself to reprimand him. It was as she had said before. Sherlock Holmes may have been careless, pompous, and snide; but he was hers.
“I know you can’t hear me,” Y/N teased. “But I think the accused is innocent…”
Sherlock’s light snoring was his only reply, and Y/N giggled. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered. “Is it too late to tell you not to let the bedbugs bite?”
This was a weird one I’ll admit, and it was scarring. Just writing this fic made me itchy and yeah-no. I really hate spiders. Ack, I’m actually cringing… WHY DID I DO THIS TO MYSELF??? Okay, now I’m genuinely scared, I’m checking every corner of my room just in case…
Oh, as for the title… arraignment and araña, get it???? Okay, no direct relation BUT law and spiders are kind of the theme for the fic sooo…
***If you’d like to be tagged in any future Sherlock fics, just tell me in the comments! (and if you’d rather not be tagged in ALL Sherlock fics, please specify; EX: Reader x Sherlock, Reader x John Watson…)
Summary: Sherlock and Y/N have known each other for years, but the promise of love threatens to jeopardize their friendship. Perhaps a dinner date will ease their worries…
Did someone say friends to lovers?
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The rich scent of rosemary and cooking sherry wafted past Y/N’s nose as she and Sherlock settled into a restaurant booth. Warm candlelight cast soft shadows against the tapered walls.
It was their first date as a couple, so despite having been friends for years, there was a new expanse of unexplored emotion between them. Everything had changed, and they both could feel the effects of their delicate shift from companions to lovers. Tonight held tight reins upon their future.
Yes! Yesss!!!! Soft Sherlock content is here!!! You are feeding us well with all this fluff, my friend. I love seeing this part of Sherlock. He’s a big softie :3
