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.”
You know you’re being followed. You know who is following you. But as to not hurt his feelings you’ve decided to act like you don’t know quite yet. Enola has been looking into the disappearance of Sir James but hasn’t really turned anything up. At least nothing that she’s told you.
“Duke, disparaître.” He does as you ask and slips from your side as you walk down the sidewalk. Now, you could’ve rented a carriage but what would be the fun in that? He’d have a much harder time following you dressed and behaving the way he was. You round a corner and slip into the start of an alleyway, the alleyways in London are truly disgusting full of filth, trash, animal waste and whatever else the people of London have decided to throw there. He passes you, shoulders bowed as if that would hide their impressive size, a small limp, a fake grey beard and an old top hat low on his forehead.
You start to follow him then, when he stops suddenly you slip your arm into the crook of his elbow,
“Mr. Holmes, what a pleasant surprise.” You tell him coolly and those startlingly blue eyes of his flicker with surprise.
“Marm?” He says in a false accent, you know it’s him.
“Please Mr. Holmes, don’t insult my intelligence, as if you could hide those shoulders.”
“Ms. Adler!” He grumbles and you smile without looking at him, “You are quite an impertinent woman.”
“One would think that you’d be used to it considering your sister. Or is she held to a different standard because she’s your sister?”
“Enola is precisely why I’m here.”
“Following me.” He lets out a loud sigh, “Why don’t you just tell me what has you so concerned so I may ease your fears.”
“Why did Lady Cecily not come herself?”
“As if her mother would let her leave when her fiancé has gone missing.” You tell him, “besides, you saw the pink fan.” He glances sharply down at you. “Since both that and my card mysteriously vanished before Miss Holmes saw it.” He doesn’t say anything and you sigh softly, “I am just trying to help my friend.”
“Ms. Adler?” One of the patrons of the Opera house says looking at you in concern as he sees your companion as Mr. Holmes wants to be seen. “Are you alright?”
“Of course, this is an old friend of my father’s. Mr. Drake.” You lie with a smile, “I could not be safer if I was with my own father.”
“Will Mr. Drake be coming to your performance?” He asks looking up at Mr. Holmes.
“Deaf as can be I’m afraid.” You answer patting Mr. Holmes arm you can practically feel his glare. “I do have some guests coming though, Mr. Mycroft Holmes, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Miss Enola Holmes. Have you met them?”
“The famous detective!” He says sounding thrilled, “I have not but would be most pleased to make Mr. Sherlock Holmes’ acquaintance.”
“I shall do my best to introduce you.” You tell him feeling Mr. Holmes going ridged next to you. This is too much fun. “We best be off. I’ve a busy day.”
“Of course, I look forward to your show tonight Ms. Adler.”
“Thank you.” You tell him moving away with Mr. Holmes.
“Deaf as can be?” He growls.
“How else would I explain someone as dear as a father not coming to my show?”
“You, are a menace.” His voice is low and growly still.
“But also so much fun.” You say with a laugh, you whistle softly and Duke joins you at your side again. “I am not the enemy here Mr. Holmes, I am just trying to help my friend.”
“We shall see.”
“Well, I shall bid you good bye, I’ll see you after the show tonight I hope.” He tips his hat at you, ever the gentleman, and you and Duke disappear back into the house you’re renting.
There’s a letter waiting for you.
Ms. Adler,
I do not want the minnow. I want the shark.
J
If only men could be patient you sigh. You will write back after the show tonight. Instead you start to pack up your little show bag and when that’s done you call for a carriage. You and Duke ride to the theatre, pay the driver then go inside.
The show is over quickly, you’d noticed the Holmes family in your box, Mycroft sitting perfectly still, Enola seemed most excited but Sherlock had flopped back in his seat looking most irritated. Much to your amusement.
You have one of the attendants go and get the Holmes family, as your personal guests they’re more than welcome to come to your dressing room. When there’s a sharp rap on the door you rise and welcome the family into your room.
“Thank you Martin, can you please send Victoria with some tea?”
“Of course Ms. Adler.” He says before giving a little bow and disappearing out of the room.
“Welcome.” You give the siblings a smile, you can see that they’re all related, similar blue eyes, similar dark hair and similar chins.
“Your show was fascinating! Thank you so much for the invitation.” Enola gushes, her eldest brother frowns slightly.
“I’m so glad you were all able to come.”
“Oh, forgive me,” Enola says with a small smile, “My eldest brother, Mr. Mycroft Holmes.” You give him your hand and he bows over it.
“A pleasure.” He says with a smile.
“The pleasure is all mine. Did you enjoy the show?”
“Very much so. The seats were fantastic, however I am unsure of why we were given such a place of honor.” I glance at Enola who has a pleased little smirk on her face. You raise an eyebrow at her and she nods,
“I hired Miss Enola to help find a friend’s fiancé.”
“You, hired?” He glances sharply at Sherlock, “Not Sherlock?”
“No, I felt this required a woman’s touch.” You tell him with as sweet of a smile as you can muster.
You feel like you should send more but you don’t have much else to say. You blot the message then sigh and fold it. You take some red sealing wax drip it onto your message then press your seal into it. You place it on the small tray outside the drawing room of the house you’re renting then sigh softly and make your way into your bedroom. You don’t have to be at the theatre until tomorrow so you could get settled today, one of the good things about being the star of the show.
You’re reading when one of the servants comes into the room with a silver tray and a card on it. You take the card as she says,
“Miss Enola Holmes ma’am.” The left side of your mouth creeps up, you didn’t think it would be so soon.
“Thank you Maggie. Please bring her to the sitting room and get tea.” You tell her as you put your bookmark into the book you’d been reading before you stand
“Of course ma’am.” She says, her drawl so unlike Enola and her brother’s. He was rather handsome, a bit annoying in his desire for you to leave his sister alone but he’d played his part well. Should Mr. Holmes have been more agreeable to Enola taking your case she may not have been nearly as intrigued.
“Miss Holmes. I did not expect to see you again so soon.” You tell her, she looks similar to how she had earlier, the only difference is the hat on her head with her new pin.
“I want to know a few things if you don’t mind.” She says as you gesture for her to sit down.
“I am an open book Miss Holmes.”
“Enola, please.” She implores you and you nod,
“Then you must call me Irene.” You tell her with a kind smile as the maid enters the room with the tea, “Can I offer you some tea?”
“Thank you.” She nods and you pour her a cup and she takes it before dropping three sugar cubes into it. You take your own tea with cream and sugar, much preferring coffee to English tea but when in Rome you supposed.
“You said you had questions, please ask.”
“I must confess that they’re not about the case.” She warns and you tilt your head in acknowledgment that it is fine for her to continue. “My brother seemed rather insistent that I not take your case. I have a feeling there’s more to it than what you said, about being an independent woman.”
“As you know I’m a widow,” She nods but doesn’t interrupt, “My husband was a railroad baron in America named Godfrey Norton. He was a good man, kind and agreeable. He didn’t insist that I stop acting or singing, he didn’t insist that I give up my freedom. Nearly twenty years my senior but I didn’t mind.” When she looks at you in surprise you laugh softly, “I really didn’t. Not many men would have been as agreeable as he was. But he died quite suddenly nearly five years ago. That’s when the rumors started, that I’d killed him. His much younger wife got bored of an older man and had done what needed to be done.” Enola’s eyes widen,
“You didn’t though!”
“You say that as if you know.” You tell her with a small smile.
“I’m a very good judge of character.” She assures you before another sip of tea.
“I did not kill him. Like I told Mr. Holmes earlier, I was quite fond of Godfrey.”
“How do you know Lady Cecily?”
“Her mother and my older sister went to school together.”
“Boarding school?” She asks with a frown and you nod. “Did you go?”
“I did not. We were born in New Jersey, my mother left with my sister when we were just children, I didn’t mind, my father and I got along far better than I ever had with my mother.”
“What brings you here? To London?”
“My sister.”
“You have a good relationship then?”
“Pleasant enough. Not like you and Mr. Holmes, living in the same house with my sister would likely drive me mad!” You say pleasantly while dropping back onto the couch in dramatic fashion.
“You don’t wear a corset!” Enola cries much to your amusement. She’s not wrong though, in order to be in fashion a corset is required. “I didn’t think you did when you visited the house but I couldn’t imagine- forgive me.”
“You are much like your brother.” You tell her with a laugh, “Both saying what you think, then asking for forgiveness.”
“That’s odd, neither of us are usually much like that. There’s just something about you that seems so comfortable, so familiar.”
“I feel much the same about you.” Which makes this all that much worse. Duke comes trotting into the room and plops down on your feet.
“Oh! What a handsome dog.”
“Thank you. He’s my constant companion.”
“I did not see him when you visited the other day.”
“He was waiting outside. If you don’t believe me you can ask your brother.” You tell her giving Duke a gentle pat.
“Speaking of Sherlock. What did you say to him? He seemed rather put out when he came back in.”
“Does he like dogs?” You ask, trying to get more information about the man.
“Yes?” Of course he does, handsome, smart and loves dogs. Does he have a flaw? Other than being incredibly suspicious of you.
“Maybe that explains it then,” You tell her with a smirk, “I told Duke to protect and Mr. Holmes not to touch him.” She hums softly with a little smile. “I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings.”
“Sherlock? Feelings. No, the only person that I think he cares about is himself.” She says with a fond eye roll.
“I highly disagree with you.” You tell her gently as you reach across the table and grasp her hand, “He cares very much for you.”
“Can you tell me more about him?” She asks, “Lady Cecily’s intended I mean.” So you do. You tell her about Sir James Conan, a fine young man to be sure. Cecily is able to be more herself than you’ve ever seen her. While she is quite a few years younger than you, and you grew up in America, you’d met Lady Cecily more than enough times to know that Sir James is a good match. He doesn’t mind that she has a giving heart, one that wishes to be of service to the poor. He was quite impressed with her charcoal drawings and had kept her secret when he’d found out about them. You were truly happy to see your sister’s god-daughter so happy.
Miss Enola too looks pleased when you tell her about Sir James. You’re so engrossed with your conversation, over a proper English tea provided by Mrs. Hudson of course, that you don’t notice the door opening, not until you hear him.
“Enola?” A deep rich voice says.
“Ah, Sherlock.” She sounds slightly disappointed, “my brother,” she tells you, as he enters the doorway, sweeping his hat off of his head when he sees you. It must not be an uncommon occurrence for him to find his sister in conversation with a stranger at any hour of the day because he hardly looks surprised. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” Miss Enola says introducing you to her brother, “Sherlock, my client,” she puts the emphasis on my, “A Ms. Irene Adler.”
“Ms. Adler.” He looks alarmed, but only for a split second then he schools his emotions again. “Enola, you cannot take this case.”
“What!”
“She is, she might, you cannot.” He demands, his ears going slightly pink as he refuses to say what you know he’s implying.
“He means,” you say coolly, “I am a dangerous woman. Independent. I might put ideas into your head.” You tell her standing from the chair that you’ve been sitting in. “Mr. Holmes, I can assure you, any dangerous ideas in Miss Holmes’ head were there long before I arrived.” You tell him studying him with as impassive of an expression as possible.
“It’s getting late.” He says and you know he’s attempting to dismiss you, you arch an eyebrow at him.
“I am not afraid of the dark.” You tell him and he sighs, “besides I carry this.” You pull a six inch long hat pin from your hat. It’s thicker than a normal hat pin but when you also use it as a knife that is to be expected.
“Oh! May I?” Miss Enola asks and without looking away from her brother you pass over the weapon.
“Enola!” Mr. Holmes says sounding exasperated she ignores her older brother and the side of your mouth lifts slightly. “Ms. Adler,” he admonishes and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing.
“How did you get it so sturdy?” Miss Enola asks with wide eyes.
“Had it made specially, it’s not safe being a single woman in America either but this certainly helps.”
“I am insanely jealous.” The younger woman says turning the hat pin round.
“It’s yours. I have others.”
“No.” Mr. Holmes says through a clenched jaw.
“You’d rather she be defenseless?” You ask arching a brow at him, if looks could kill you’d be long dead by now.
“I rather, she be a respectable woman.”
“I certainly hope, Mr. Holmes, that you’re not implying that I’m not a respectable woman. I did, as a matter of fact, just sing for Her Majesty the Queen two nights ago.”
“You’re a singer?” Miss Enola asks sounding surprised.
“Operatic, I’ve also done some acting but singing is my real passion. Have you ever been to the opera?” When she shakes her head you give her a wide smile, “I shall send you tickets. How many? Just for the two of you?”
“We best invite our eldest brother Mycroft too.”
“I’ll have three tickets sent over.” You promise and Miss Enola beams while her brother glowers.
“Is Mr. Norton also in London?” She asks innocently.
“No, Mr. Norton is long dead.” You tell her and Mr. Holmes stalks across the room.
“I’m so sorry Ms. Adler but Enola and I have an appointment,” Mr. Holmes says plucking the hat pin from Miss Enola’s grasp and handing it back to you as he guides you with a gentle hand at the small of your back out of 221 Bakers Street. You drop the hat pin into the ground so that it sticks straight up out of the floor, then wink at Miss Enola over your shoulder as her brother guides you away. She grins cheekily back at you and you turn your attention to Mr. Holmes. You give him a soft, slow, smile.
“Careful now Mr. Holmes, or I’m going to get the impression you don’t like me.”
“That, is not the only impression I have to offer Ms. Adler.”
“Ah. You mean the rumors that I killed my husband.” You say. He doesn’t respond. “I can assure you Mr. Holmes. While I did not love the late Mr. Adler I was quite fond of him.”
“And his money.” Mr. Holmes mutters, “forgive me.” He says louder as you stand on the stoop of his home.
“You’re not incorrect, his money allowed me freedom after his death. Something not many women can do.”
“Can I hail you a cab?”
“No thank you. I’m only a few blocks away.”
“It’s not safe to travel this late, do you have no chaperone? A maid?”
“I have a chaperone.” You assure him before whistling softly through your teeth. As expected your sleek black German Shepard emerges from the bushes and sits waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs.
“This? A dog is your chaperone?” Mr. Holmes looks truly surprised, then he lets out a loud, “Ha!”
“You don’t believe that Duke can protect me?” You ask with an arched brow and he looks quite skeptically over at you. “Duke, protéger.” You tell your dog who darts up the stairs and between you and Mr. Holmes. He uses his butt to move you further from the man and when Mr. Holmes moves Duke growls. “I can assure you Mr. Holmes. I am perfectly safe.” You start down the stairs and when Duke gives another growl you roll your eyes, “Mr. Holmes do you desire to be bit?” You ask arching an eyebrow at him again.
“Of course not.” He says, his voice clipped and dare you say, irritated. You’d been warned that it might be difficult for you to read the gentleman but you’re finding it exceedingly easy.
“Then, I suggest you let me on my way and leave my dog alone.” You tell him starting down the stairs, with Duke on your heels.
Sometimes you questioned why you couldn’t have dated someone more ordinary.
You were especially questioning this now and you, John and Sherlock were being held hostage by Sherlock’s forgotten and psychotic sister, on a secret prison that Mycroft Holmes had so tenderly described as the epitome of hell. You didn’t know what was worse, the fact that no one knew you were missing and even if they did figure it out, they’d no idea on how to find you, or the fact that you were at the mercy of Eurus who was revealed to have an alliance with Jim Moriarty.
Sherlock had tried to assure you that everything would be okay. He would find a way out, he always did. But you could see through his fake smile and hopeful words. You knew that he was just as anxious as you were.
You were going to sarcastically ask about his brilliant plan when a voice filled the room.
“Hello? Is anybody there? I’m stuck on a plane. Everyone’s asleep. Please help me,” a small child’s voice filled the speakers.
“Hi, can you hear me? I’m here. I can help you, just tell me your name,” Sherlock answered softly.
“Mommy told me not to tell my name to strangers,” she replied, fear evident in her voice.
“Oh, that’s alright. I’ll just tell you mine then. I’m Sherlock and my friends and I are here to help you,”
“I’m scared,” she informed.
“It’s okay, I’m-” he started before the call clicked off.
Eurus spoke up, “That’s better.”
Sherlock snapped, “Put her back on, let me help her.”
“Not so fast brother mine, you have to play along if you want phone privileges,”
“Play along?” you asked.
“Yes, I have developed a series of tasks for the three of you to complete. Each one testing your morality and character. And believe me when I say that time is of the essence,”
The three of you had no choice, not when lives were at stake. You proceeded into the room the Eurus had revealed.
First, Sherlock was made to choose between you or John to kill an innocent man. The incentive? If you did not, his wife would be killed. John protested, but Eurus reminded him that your only chance for survival was to play along. Sherlock took the gun from the hatch and thought it over briefly before handing the gun to John. His logic is that John was a soldier, he had killed before and was better equipped to handle the emotional kickback of it. John nodded in agreement as the man pleaded with him to do it. John asked him if he wanted to pray, and assured him that he was doing a truly honorable thing.
He aimed the gun and prepared to shoot, but at the end of the day he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. So the man took the gun from him and waved it around frantically before shooting himself, hoping that would be enough, but either way he wouldn’t have to watch his wife die. You looked away and John cursed. Sherlock waited, curious about what his sister’s next move would be.
Eurus was bored by the reaction and didn’t hesitate to shoot the wife
“Why? Why’d you do that?” John demanded.
“You didn’t follow the rules. The condition of her survival was that you or Y/n had to shoot her husband. You chose to save your conscience and now the blood of two people is on your hands,” Eurus answered.
“Now then, off you go to the next room, and Sherlock collect the gun, you will need it later on” she said as one of the doors opened.
“On the table you will find a file with three pictures. One of the men murdered someone with the gun that is hanging up. Figure out who the murderer is and condemn him to his fate,” Eurus instructed.
“Oh and to add some suspense-” she said clicking on the tv in the room that contained a video of Moriarty making ticking noises.
“Okay,” Sherlock muttered before taking in every aspect of the photos, quickly eliminating one of the three brothers.
Eurus then spoke up, “At this point I would like to add some emotional context.” She then opened the blinds to show the three brothers each chained to chairs over the side of the ocean. “You have one minute Sherlock.”
“John, tell me everything that you can about this gun,” Sherlock ordered.
John listed off facts and that was when Sherlock realized who the killer was. Everyone was relieved when Eurus revealed that he had correctly chosen. She then forced him to condemn the man to his fate. Sherlock struggled momentarily, then remembered the little girl and the plane, easing his conscience with what he had to do next. He said the words and condemned the man to his death, but instead of dropping him, Eurus proceeded to drop the two innocent men.
Sherlock protested and she responded by dropping the guilty man as well. “You see Sherlock a life does not weigh more considering guilt or innocence,”
“Fine, whatever, I played along Eurus, now let me speak to the little girl,” Sherlock requested.
“Fair enough,”
“Hello? Can you hear me?” Sherlock questioned.
“Yes, I can, you went away,”
“I’m sorry about that, can you tell me where you are?”
“I-I don’t know”
“What about the plane? Is it big or small?“
“It’s big,”
“Okay, now, just do me a favor and look out the window. Is it day time or night time?”
“It’s nighttime,”
“What can you see? Is there land or water?”
“There’s water, with lights in the distance,”
“Very good, now are you sure that there is no one to help you? Have you really really checked?”
“Yes, everyone’s asleep,”
Before he could continue, the call clicked off, and Eurus spoke, “Okay you three off to the next one, it’s time for John and Y/n to have a turn.”
A door opened and as the three of you walked through you saw a small table with six glasses on it and a bottle in the middle.
“What is this?” John asked.
“It’s spin the bottle with higher stakes,” Eurus replied.
“And what are the rules?” you asked.
“You and John take turns spinning from the bottle, drinking from the glasses. One of them is poisoned. Also, Sherlock is not allowed to touch any of them. If you refuse, he dies. If he intervenes you both will die,”
“So we’re basically playing roulette,” John realized.
“Yes, but we have no choice, I’ll go first,” you answered, taking a step forward and spinning the bottle. You hesitated to take the glass it landed on and downed the contents reluctantly. Sherlock and John looked at you with concern.
“I think I’m fine,” you said, smiling fakely.
John stepped up next and spun the bottle, repeating the process, and also coming out seemingly fine.
You stepped up again, knowing that there was now a 25% chance that you would receive the poison.
“Sherlock, I-”
“No talking, just spin the bottle,” Eurus interrupted.
But one look at Sherlock told you that he knew and that he loved you too. You spun the bottle and emptied the glass, not feeling any different.
“I’m fine,”
John spun the bottle, and downed the contents of the glass.
“I’m okay,” he spoke.
There were now only two left. You could feel Sherlock’s anxiety as you picked up the glass, a fifty fifty shot of it being the one that had been poisoned. You closed your eyes and paused for a moment before downing it. The realization that you were fine came with little relief.
John’s expression went blank when he realized what this meant.
“That-That’s okay. We’ve had a good run. Sherlock, you were the best man I’ve ever-” he started but was cut short as he saw you reach across the table and grab the glass downing it without a second thought.
“What? Why would you do that?” he yelled.
“You have a daughter. And Eurus don’t you dare retaliate because I followed the rules, and vagueness always falls to the side of the informed,”
“Remarkable Y/n, you’ve proven your loyalty,” Eurus said.
Sherlock came to your side and pulled you into a hug both waiting for the worse. Then he realized that for something that was ingestable and rapid-acting, you’d already be dead.
“So, none of the drinks were poisoned? Otherwise, she’d already been dead,” he deducted
“On the contrary, dear brother mine, all of the glasses were poisoned. It’s slow-acting, and the only way to get the antidote is to finish the trials and come find me. Even then, they might not make it.”
“Wait,” you said as Sherlock and John were already to the next door.
“We played along, let Sherlock speak to the girl on the plane,” you spoke.
“Fine, fair is fair, you have another two minutes,”
“Hello, is anyone there?” the girl asked through the phone fear even more present in her voice. You could easily tell she’d been crying.
“I’m here again,” Sherlock replied.
“Why did you leave me? Why do you always leave?”
“I don’t want to, but we haven’t got much time. I need you to go to the front of the plane-”
“Where the driver is?”
“Yes, where the driver is, very good,”
“Are you in the front of the plane?”
“I am, it’s very loud and there are a lot of buttons,”
“Do you see the radio? Like a walkie talkie? Can you hear anyone talking to you?”
“No, there I don’t see one,”
“Okay look out the window, tell me what you can see now,”
“The lights, they’re getting bigger,” she said before letting out a short scream.
“What? What happened?”
“The whole plane, it’s shaking,”
“That’s just turbulence,”
“I’m scared,” she whimpered.
“I know you are, but I’m here and I’m going to help you,” Sherlock reassured.
The call clicked off again and the three of you had no choice but to proceed to the next room. Your mind was racing with the realization of what you just did. You were going to die. Even with Sherlock being Sherlock, you couldn’t expect him to be able to save you. Not this time.
“Hey sis, don’t mean to complain, but this one is empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?” Sherlock asked.
“Not at all Sherlock, it’s time to pull out that gun I had you grab earlier. You have one bullet and one choice to make, John or Y/n. Only two of you proceed from here. You have to choose one or the other, lover or friend. And remember you are limited on time, between the poison and the plane in the sky” She gleamed.
“Okay, alright then. Thank you Sherlock, for everything. Make sure that the quote on my gravestone isn’t something stupid. And no flowers.” you said taking a step towards Sherlock.
“What are you doing?” John demanded.
“I’m making his choice simple. You are a doctor who saves lives, and you have a daughter. Sherlock will learn to love again, but he cannot orphan a child,” you explained voice wavering ever so slightly.
“You can’t-” John started as you turned back towards Sherlock.
“Now then, you can not blame yourself, this isn’t your fault. And no turning to drugs, a promise is still a promise whether or not I’m here to hold you to it. Just make it quick. I love you,” you said, turning your back to him trying to make it easier for him. You really hoped that he wasn’t going to make it any harder than it needed to be.
Sherlock raised the gun, he needed to think.
“Sherlock, you can’t actually be serious. You can’t do this,” John pleaded from the side.
“Jim Moriarty said you would make this choice,” Eurus said as she watched the scene unfold before her.
A single tear rolled down your cheek as you waited. Sherlock’s face changed and John watched, fearful of what was about to happen, just as Sherlock lowered the gun.
“What are you doing? They’ll both die if you don’t shoot her,” Eurus shouted.
“Not on my watch,” he muttered.
You turned around just in time to see him placing the gun under his own chin.
“No, no, Sherlock you can’t,” Eurus complained.
“10” Sherlock started,
“9”
“8”
“Sherlock,” you warned
“7”
“6”
“You don’t know about Redbeard yet,”
“5”
“Sherlock, stop it at once!” Eurus called as she sent darts into the room.
“4” Sherlock whispered, focus draining.
“3”
“2”
But then darkness consumed him completely.
When he awoke, he was confused on where he was. His mind completely blank for a moment before allowing him to remember. He scanned his surroundings. He was in another cell, this one was much smaller and the walls were covered in pictures of him from childhood to the present. He was thinking through an escape plan when he was interrupted.
“Sherlock? Are you there?” the little girl on the plane called out.
“Yes, I’m here,” he answered.
“You said you would help me and you went away,”
“I’m sorry, I got cut off. But I’m here now,”
“Why don’t grownups tell the truth?”
“I am telling the truth, I promise, you can trust me,” he said trying to calm her.
“You were gone for such a long time, where did you go?”
“I’m honestly not quite sure. Do you know how long I was gone?”
“No, I don’t”
“Are you still in the front of the plane?” he asked
“No, it was scary.”
“Well I need you to be super brave and go back to the front of the plane,”
“I’m going,”
“Are you there?” he asked.
He heard a gasp and then John answered, “Yes, I’m here,”
“John? Are you okay? Where are you? Is Y/n there?” Sherlock questioned.
“I’ve just woken up, but I think I’m okay, and Y/n’s with me, she’s still asleep. Where are you?”
“I’m in another cell and I’ve spoke to the girl on the plane again, she says we’ve been out for a long time,”
“She’s still up there?”
“Yeah, the plane will keep flying til it runs out of fuel. Now, tell me everything you can about where you are,”
“It’s dark, cold, the walls are rough, stone I think,”
“What are you standing on?”
“Also stone I think, there are like 2 feet of water and chains, Sherlock my feet are chained,” he replied.
“Okay, that’s alright I’ll find you. Focus on Y/n, see if you can wake her. Also be aware that between the weight difference and the amount consumed she is going to be affected by the poison significantly sooner than you. I can’t know the specifics without knowing what it was or how much the dose was, but it’s very important that you keep her lucid for as long as possible,”
“I will,” he said moving to your side, stepping on something. “Sherlock, there is something else in here,” he added.
“What?”
“Bones,”
“What kind of bones?”
“I can’t tell, but they’re small,”
Then the realization hit him, “Redbeard…”
“Who is Redbeard?” the little girl chimned in.
“Oh, hello again, did you make it to the front of the plane?”
“Yes, but I still can’t wake the driver up,”
“That’s okay, what can you see now?”
“I can see a city and a big wheel,”
“Okay, that just means that you and I get to drive this plane together, just you and me,” Sherlock explained.
“Look again for the radio, it should be in reach of the pilot,”
“I still don’t see it,”
“That’s alright, keep looking, we have plenty of time,”
“My ears hurt,”
“Does the city look like it is getting closer?”
“Yes, a little bit,”
“Alright, that means that you’re nearly home,” he said, beginning to feel helpless.
“Sherlock,” John spoke, “We’re in a well. Y/n and I are in the bottom of a well,”
‘There aren’t any wells in the prison, and why is there a draft?’ Sherlock thought. Then he figured it out and pushed one of the walls out to reveal that it was a trick and he was really back at his childhood home.
This is when Eurus chimed in, explaining his final task.
Meanwhile:
“Come on Y/n, wake up,” John urged as he was checking your pulse.
“John?” you asked groggily.
“Yes, I’m right here.” he smiled, taking your hand.
“Where are we?” you asked, trying to stand.
“We’re at the bottom of the well. Now take it easy,”
“Where’s Sherlock? Is he okay?” you asked, realizing the severity of the situation.
“He’s fine and he’s coming to help us,” John reassured.
“That’s good,” you replied lightly, feeling the exhaustion of the day taking its toll.
John noticed your shift in demeanor, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” you yawned.
“Seriously Y/n, tell me how you are really feeling,” he prompted.
“It doesn’t matter, it’s not like we can do anything about it,”
“Humor me,” John insisted.
“Well obviously I’m tired, wet, and cold. My head hurts, but everything else is kind of numb,” you replied unaware that Sherlock heard every word.
“Check her breathing and keep her talking,” Sherlock ordered lowly, before turning his focus back to Eurus. She told him to discover the truth about Redbeard, solve the puzzle, and save his friends. She then began to sing the song from their childhood.
“Eurus I went through that song, every line. Every word. There was a beach tree out on the grounds and I dug and dug and dug, and there was nothing. No one,”
“It was a clever little puzzle wasn’t it Sherlock? I think it’s time to up the stakes.”
“Sherlock!” John called out, “The….filling….water”
“John! Are you okay? You’re breaking up.” Sherlock asked to receive no response.
The comm was failing, and you and John tried your best to move away from the water.
“Eurus, I don’t understand, what am I missing?” Sherlock pleaded.
“Hello? The plane, it’s tilting!” the little girl screamed into Sherlock’s ear.
“The bones….Y/n…..they aren’t dog….they’re human…..hear me?” John’s voice came through in pieces, but it was enough for Sherlock to figure it out.
“Finally Sherlock, it took you long enough. Dad was allergic to dogs, so no matter how much you begged we could never have one. Redbeard. Wasn’t. A. Dog.” Eurus revealed.
And then Sherlock remembered. He remembered his young friend with red hair, Victor Trevor, who he called Redbeard when they would play pirates. He remembered how he went missing. He remember searching for him and trying to reason with his sister to tell him what she did.
“You and Victor were inseparable. You always played pirates, but I wanted to play too,” Eurus recalled.
“You killed him, you killed my best friend” Sherlock realized brokenly.
“I never had a best friend, I had no one. No one to play with. And soon, you will have no one too,” she replied falling back into song.
“Okay fine, let’s play,” he said intently, dashing out of the room and towards the gravestones with the funny dates realizing that they were the key to the puzzle. He worked to complete the cipher and crack the code once and for all. He was finally going to solve his first case.
Meanwhile:
The water was now at chest level and still rising. You were struggling more and more to maintain your grasp on consciousness. Only registering bits and peaces of what John was saying. Your mind was foggy, adrenaline being the only thing aiding it.
John came to your side, checking your pulse again, as it became harder and harder for you to focus.
‘John….Sherlock…..Eurus….The Girl…..Sherlock….The Plane…’ your mind was struggling, but then you put the pieces together.
“You-you have to tell Sherlock,” you said taking John’s arm and staring at him as if the fate of the world relied on it.
“Y/n you’re fine, you can tell him yourself when we get out of here,” John replied with a fake calmness to his tone.
“No, the plane, you have to tell him about the plane,” you urged.
“What about the plane?” John questioned.
“It’s not real, it’s all in her mind,” you explained, “Please John you have to tell him. It might save him.”
With that, you felt a rush of dizziness and sort of stumbled forward into John who had to reposition himself in order to keep you both upright.
“Okay, hang on Y/n, I’ll tell him. Just stay with me,” John promised.
“Sherlock?” he called out,
He shook the ear piece trying to get it to work. “Sherlock?” he repeated.
“John! Are you okay?”
“Yes, but the water is getting higher and we’re running out of time, where are you?”
“I’m solving the song,”
“Is that strictly necessary?”
“Yes, it’s the key to all of this. How’s Y/n?”
“Not good, but she wanted me to tell you that the plane isn’t real,”
“What? How does she know?” Sherlock asked.
John turned to you to ask for your explanation and noticed with dismay that your eyes were closed.
“Y/n? Y/n you have to wake up!” John demanded.
Sherlock becoming overwhelmed, elected to take the comm out of his ear. He needed to think. He focused on the song and the dates and figured it out:
“I am lost. Help me, brother, Save my life. Before my doom. I am lost. Without your love. Save my soul. Seek my room.”
And without a second’s hesitation, he sprinted to Eurus’ room. As he entered the building he could hear the girl on the plane again and it made sense now, you were right.
“We’re going to crash!” she screamed.
“I think it’s time you told me your real name,” Sherlock huffed.
“I told you, I can’t tell me name to strangers,”
“But I’m not a stranger am I? I’m your brother” he said as he opened the door to Eurus’ room to find her sitting in the middle of the floor, tears running down her cheeks.
“I’m here Eurus” he said as he carefully tried to approach her.
“You’re playing with me Sherlock, we’re playing the game.” she smiled, eyes still closed.
“Yes, we are playing a game. I get it now. The song was never a set of directions,” he spoke softly.
“I’m in the plane, I’m going to crash, but this time you’re going to save me” she said fearfully.
“Look how brilliant you are, your mind has created a perfect metaphor. You are high above us all alone in the sky and you understand everything except how to land. While I am just an idiot on the ground. But I can help you land, I can bring you home,” he said softly sitting in front of her.
“No, no you can’t it’s too late,” she cried.
“It’s not too late,” he assured her.
“Every time I close my eyes I’m on the plane and lost. Lost in the sky and no one can hear me,”
“Open your eyes,” he whispered, taking her hands, “I’m here and you’re not lost anymore”.
As she looked at him, he saw for the first time how much of a child she still was. There was so much fear in her eyes. “You just took a wrong turn last time, this time get it right. Just tell me how to save my friends,” he pleaded.
Meanwhile:
John tried unsuccessfully to wake you up. He was forced to support your weight completely which was becoming harder and harder to do. The water was now at the bottom of his neck and he knew that time was running out. He was starting to give up hope when the water stopped.
“Sherlock!’” he yelled hoping that his friend was nearby.
“John! Help is here, Scotland yard, they’re getting rope and bolt cutters. Y/n - Is she still breathing?” Sherlock asked, fearful of the answer.
“She’s-I can’t tell. I’m holding her up and don’t want to move her,” he explained.
“I have the antidote, Eurus gave it to me before they took her away,” Sherlock said.
Moments later multiple officers came back. The tossed down a harness for John to wrap around you so that he could move freely. As soon as your weight was supported, he checked your pulse and breathing.
“Sherlock,” he called up.
“Yes John?”
“She’s still breathing,”
Sherlock was filled with relief. Everything after that happened quickly. The team lowered some bolt cutters down and John was able to sever the chain. They then worked together to pull you out of the well. You were immediately taken to the ambulance and Sherlock injected you with what he had calculated as the needed amount of the antidote. Due to the beginning signs of hypothermia along with the unconsciousness, the EMT’s decided that it was best to take you to the hospital.
Sherlock debated momentarily whether to join you or to wait for John. He decided to stay and wait for his best friend. Pulling him tightly into his arms as he exited the well. Sherlock wasted no time administering the antidote and then sat with John as another EMT gave him an on-site work up.
“She was right you know, the plane wasn’t real” Sherlock said.
“Really?” John asked as they began to walk away from it all.
“Nope, just a metaphor,”
“What happens now?”
“Now, my sister will go back to prison. My brother will make sure she is taken care of after facing the wrath of my parents. You go home and see your daughter, holding her just a little tighter than normal. I go to the hospital to see my girlfriend, and if she is okay, take her back to her apartment where we will spend the night. Tomorrow, we will all meet at Baker Street and clean up the mess from the explosion, putting our lives back together again,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly.
“Do you really think that it’ll be that easy?” John asked, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as they got in a cab.
“Of course not,” Sherlock smiled and John rolled his eyes.
The rest of the car ride was comfortably silent, both of the men were replaying the events of the day in their heads, considering how close they had come to losing everything. Sherlock’s mind drifted to his sister. He wondered if this had all been avoidable, if only he had been there for her sooner. He also wondered that if his mind was capable of covering up Victor Trevor, what other truths had it spared him? But mostly, his mind focused on you, he hoped that you were okay.
As the cab stopped, John had asked Sherlock to call with an update as soon as he knew anything. As much as he wanted to go and see you himself, Sherlock was right that he really needed to spend some quality time with his daughter. On the way to the hospital, Sherlock was caught off guard as the driver’s phone rang. The cabbie picked it up spoke for a moment before handing it to Sherlock, “it’s for you,”
“Hello Brother Mine,” he said knowing that only Mycroft would have the resources to pull this off.
“Sherlock, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he asked.
Mycroft had been away on official government business which is why the three of you had chosen now to go see Eurus in the first place. He must have received word from one of the boys at Scotland yard what had happened.
“I’m fine, had quite the run in with our little sister,” Sherlock answered.
“I heard. Any news on Y/n yet?” he asked sincerely.
“I’ve just arrived at the hospital. I need to give the cabbie his phone back. Impressive by the way. I’ll call you soon,” Sherlock replied.
“Sherlock?” Mycroft called out.
“Hmm?”
“I truly am sorry,”
“I know”
And he did. His brother was only ever trying to do what he thought was in his best interest. Sherlock may not have entirely agreed with his methods, but never doubted that his heart was in the right place. He pulled out his wallet and generously tipped the cabbie before heading inside and asking the nurses station as to your whereabouts and condition. She informed him that she would have to check with a doctor and asked him to be seated in the waiting room.
He sat down and waited as patiently as he could muster. He wanted, no, he *needed* to see you and to hold you. The few minutes it took the nurse to return felt like an eternity to everyone’s favorite consulting detective. In that time his brain was being particularly cruel and reminding him of all of the things that could be wrong. For instance, you could have been unconscious longer than he anticipated, he might have calculated the wrong amount of antidote, you might have neural deficits, you might- before Sherlock could continue torturing himself, the nurse reappeared. She informed him that you were awake and practically ready to be discharged, just waiting for a confirmation from the doctor. She gave him your room number and pointed him in the right direction before excusing herself to do more work.
His face lifted into a smile as he opened your door. You were already sitting on the side of the bed in some scrubs (since your clothes were soaking wet). And just as you saw Sherlock, the phone rang and you answered it, signaling for him to wait a second.
“I forgive you,” you said without missing a beat.
There was a pause as the other person spoke.
“Of course I knew it was you, Mycroft. Who else would manage to call me before Sherlock could even get into the room,”
-another pause-
“As I am sure you already know, I am fine, as are your brother and John. And I was serious, I don’t blame you and while I know it is a mue point to tell you not to blame yourself, I do feel that it it necessary to remind you that-”
-a briefer pause-
“Of course not, I-”
-pause-
“Goodnight Mycroft, try to get some sleep,” you finished before hanging up the phone and turning to Sherlock with a smile.
“Your brother is something else,” you said as you motioned for Sherlock to sit next to you.
“That he is,” Sherlock agreed, wrapping his arm around you, “how are you feeling?”
“As well as can be expected considering the circumstances,” you answered.
“That’s acceptable,” he said, pulling you in tighter.
“How are you doing?”
“Why are you asking me? I’m not the one who was poisoned and nearly drowned.”
“No, you’re just the one who had to face a secret sister, multiple deeply unsettling moral dilemmas, confront childhood trauma, watch his girlfriend and best friend almost die, twice, among other things. So I’ll ask again, how are you doing?
“As well as can be expected considering the circumstances” he said repeating your earlier answer.
“I love you,” you said wishing that you could undo the day and spare Sherlock from it entirely. You leaned back into his embrace taking in the comfort of knowing that even if you couldn’t change the past, you could be there for him moving forward.
“I love you too,” he replied, thankful that you were okay and thankful that it all was over.
The two of you continued to sit like that just quietly taking in each others’ presence. It would take twenty minutes for you to be officially discharged and another twenty to arrive at your apartment at which time you elected to shower and head to bed.
As you fell asleep in Sherlock’s arms, his mind was still trying to wind down. He sincerely hoped that you would be okay. He, you, and John had been through a lot. He knew that he would be fine, and that John was better equipped to compartmentalize his emotions after his time in the military. You, on the other hand, were a wild card. He had never been around you when you went through anything traumatizing, and had no idea how you were going to react. He promised himself that no matter what, he would be there for you. Eventually, he was able to fall asleep, his mind somewhat eased.
The next day as Sherlock predicted, the two of you would meet up with John at Baker Street to begin repairing and cleaning the flat. Mycroft had stopped by briefly to provide each out you with new cell phones and explained that he would be paying for the repairs as well as for your medical bills. He also informed that Eurus was back in a newly secured prison and he was leaving to go speak to his parents as Sherlock requested. He apologized again for everything and then left. You, John, and Sherlock bid him well and then continued to clean up. After a while, the three of you went downstairs and collected Rosie from Mrs. Hudson and go out for dinner.
You looked between the four of you as Sherlock was explaining something brilliant and John was listening intently, looking away occasionally to make sure his daughter was doing okay. A smile found its way to your face as you realized that this was your family. No matter how bad things got, nights like these made everything worth it. This. This is why you would never elect to date anyone more ordinary, even if it would be the death of you.
AN: This is loosely based off of The Final Problem and is Sherlock x Reader. There is violence and death, so consider yourself warned. I hope you enjoy and as always feedback is appreciated.
Emotional Context. Sherlock had once been able to deny its importance, instead, governing himself with logic and reasoning. However, his connections with his friends and the people who cared about him had started to change his mind on such matters. This came with both benefits and negatives as it had opened him up to new vulnerabilities and pain, especially now. As it was during this time that he discovered that his sister was more than just a suspicion. In fact, Eurus was a secret that scared his dear brother Mycroft more than anything else.
Sherlock struggled to retrieve any memory of her. That was at least until the name “Redbeard” was brought up. He had loved Redbeard his faithful dog and childhood best friend. He couldn’t remember what had happened to him, at least not until Mycroft filled in the gaps. Since that discovery, he, his brother, and John had left to check in on Eurus’ security. Sherlock and John wanted to prove that she had left multiple times once impersonating as a girl that Sherlock met during a case, and once as John’s new therapist. Mycroft was insistent that this was impossible, so they went to settle the matter once and for all. What they were not expecting was for it all the be a trap.
They were soon captured and forced to complete trials that tested personal morality and will power all centered around Sherlock. It seems that Eurus was fascinated by her brother and wanted to better understand him. It didn’t help that she had previously formed an alliance with Moriarty and knew more about Sherlock than he did her. But that was all Mycroft’s fault now wasn’t it? The first challenge forced Sherlock to choose either John or Mycroft to shoot an innocent man in order to save his wife. Both inevitably refused and the man in a last-ditch effort took his own life in front of them. Eurus didn’t hesitate to kill the wife, questioning the three whether or not keeping their hands clean costing two lives was any better than taking one life and leaving one to survive. She then ordered Sherlock to collect the gun, which now only had one bullet, and continue.
The next trial was equally grim. Sherlock was forced to deduce which of three brothers was a murderer provided only the gun and three pictures. To add to the suspense, she presented the three brothers hanging over the ocean tied up with weights. If they dropped they would inescapably be drowned. Sherlock made the correct deduction much to everyone’s relief, but Eurus dropped all three explaining that the life of an innocent weighs no less than the life of the guilty.
The third trial was where it got personal. There was a small wooden coffin. It was nothing special about it. Sherlock quickly deduced that it was built for a woman, one with no close family, one who was sensible, one that- he was interrupted when Mycroft brought over the lid which had a mere two words on it, “Words unsaid”.
“Whatever does that mean?” John asked.
But deep down Sherlock knew and he feared what was about to happen next.
“It’s Y/n,” he replied.
“Y/n? What does she have to do with this?”
“Why quite a lot Mr. Watson, and very good Sherlock. Now then, this ought to be fun. In a moment, I am going to give her a ring. She’s alone in her apartment which is hooked up with explosions. Now then brother, you will have two minutes to get her to say the magic words. The catch? You can’t say them yourself, you can’t give her any indication that you or she is in danger. Just play your mind games like you used to,” Eurus grinned.
“What are the magic words?” Mycroft asked.
Sherlock’s face fell into a pained expression as he considered the task at hand.
“He has to get her to tell him that she loves him,” John realized.
“Yay! Now that everyone is on the same page, let’s give her a ring.” Eurus cheered, “Oh and for added fun,” she clicked on the tv showing video of you in your flat.
Sherlock studied the video feed, you looked horrible, something had clearly upset you. He could tell that you had recently been crying. As the phone rang he prayed that you would answer it. The clock seemed to loom over him as it continued to click down. He watched as you slowly retrieved yours and glanced down at the name answering it almost immediately.
1:40
“Sherlock?”
“Ah, Y/n, I-” he started.
“I ought to kill you for giving me such a scare. Baker street exploded it’s all over the news and I’ve been trying to get ahold of you ever since. Are you okay? Is John okay? What happened?”
“We’re fine, just a little accident,” Sherlock replied calmly.
“I thought you were dead, the least you could have done was sent me a text” she whimpered.
“Oh come on now, you know I’m more clever than that, besides I’ve been busy, you know how it is” he mused.
1:20
“Y/n, do you remember the phone call we had just before Reichenbach, right as Moriarty had begun his master plan?” he asked feeling rushed.
“Of course I do, I still have nightmares from that call,”
“Well, I need you to tell me what you said that day,”
“There’s no way in hell,” you replied. Sherlock was able to see how much this upset you and clenched his eyes shut feeling the pressure.
“Please Y/n, I really need to hear it,” he begged softly.
0:60
“Sherlock, is everything alright?” you asked concerned at his unprecedented demeanor.
Eurus warned her brother to remember the rules.
“Everything is fine, I just need to hear you say it,”
“Why? This better not be one of your experiments,”
“It’s not, I promise. I wouldn’t do that, not to you,”
“I don’t get the big deal,”
“Please Y/n,”
0:30
“I-I can’t”
“Why not?”
“Because you didn’t say it back,”
0:25
“If you meant it then, if there is any chance that you mean it now, please say it again,” he begged.
“Sherlock,” you pleaded
“Please Y/n, please tell me what you said that day on the phone, our last call together before the fall,” he said with such sincerity and emotion.
0:18
“You called me to tell me that everything had been a lie, that Moriarty was right. You told me that you only had one choice left. I begged you to stop, to wait until I could get to you, that together the two of us would figure something out. But you said it was too late,” you recalled tears streaming down your face.
“And then…” he prompted.
0:12
“And then I pleaded with you not to do it,”
“Why? What was your reason?”
0:08
You hesitated for a moment, “ because I cared about you,”
“That’s not what you said Y/n, what exact words did you say?” His own eyes were betraying him at this point.
0:03
“I told you that I loved you, that fake or not, I would still love you” you cried, “And you didn’t say it back.”
Just then the phone clicked off as Eurus ended the call.
Sherlock redirected his attention to Eurus’ screen, “Okay Eurus, I won. I made her say it. What now, what happens next?”
“Funny isn’t it? I don’t recall her actually saying the words ‘I love you’. She said ‘I loved you’ and ‘I would still love you’ and while close, I just don’t think that cuts it for me.”
“Wait!” Sherlock screamed launching forward as Eurus hit a button and he was forced to watch your apartment explode. All that Mycroft could manage was staring in shock as the tv quickly cut to black. John went to his friend who had sunk to the ground staring vacantly.
“You didn’t tell her before Reichenbach and now you’ll never be able to, tell me Sherlock, are all those complicated little emotions worth it? Because to me it seems that the emotional context is what destroys you. Now pull yourself together as the next challenge is even more enduring.”
She paused for a moment before adding, “take your time,” and shutting off her screen.
Sherlock rose to his feet and John and Mycroft hesitantly went towards the next door, turning back when they heard him whisper “no” before aggressively attacking the empty coffin taking out his rage and immediate grief. After annihilating it, he sat back against the wall.
Regretting that he could not properly console his friend, John forced himself over to Sherlock handing him the gun saying, “I know this is beyond difficult and you are being tortured, but you have to keep it together, we have to keep moving”
“This isn’t torture, it’s vivisection, we are experience science from the perspective of lab rats,”
“Right now, we are soldiers who just need to survive, this is not the time nor place for mourning,” John said firmly.
“Alright,” Sherlock agreed and John helped him up.
The three men continued to the next room where Sherlock was tasked with choosing whether to kill John or Mycroft. He made his decision, Eurus’ game was over, and he pointed the gun under his own chin taking a calculated risk.
When he awoke, he was alone in a small cell plastered with pictures from his childhood. He quickly called out for John and Mycroft. John answered explaining that he was in a well, but otherwise seemingly fine. There was no response from Mycroft.
Sherlock quickly figured out that he was not actually in a cell but rather in a collapsable structure outside his childhood home. Eurus tasked him with discovering the location of Redbeard and upped the stakes as she started filling the well that John was chained to the bottom of. Sherlock racked his brain trying to solve the same problem who’s solution had evaded him as a child. That was at least until in an escape attempt, John solved an important piece of the puzzle.
Redbeard was never a dog.
Sherlock suddenly remembered his childhood best friend Victor Trevor who his brain had so cleverly disguised to help preserve his psyche. With this new information, Sherlock was able to figure out the Eurus’ song corresponded to the gravestones with the weird dates. He quickly deciphered the message and went to free John who was running out of time.
Outside of the well, he discovered his sister, “I’m so sorry Eurus,” he spoke sincerely.
“You needed me and I abandoned you, I could have saved you,” he added.
“I just wanted my brother,” she replied childishly.
“I’m here now, and we can fix this, just free John, don’t make the same mistake you made with Victor,” he pleaded.
“I don’t want to quit playing the game, I don’t want you to leave me again,”
“I’m not going to leave, I’m going to save you,”
Not knowing how to respond she simply stepped back and allowed Sherlock to save his friend. He dove into action turning the water off and then retrieving a key carefully tossing down to John so that he could free his ankles. He searched for a moment to find what Eurus had used to get John down there to begin with and found some rope that he leveraged against a tree and tossed down to his friend.
It was as John was climbing over the side that the police cars and helicopters arrived. Mycroft’s people were there to collect Eurus, who went with them peacefully. Sherlock and John were both checked over by the EMT’s and given shock blankets. They were informed that Mycroft was safe and simply left back in Sherrinford. Once he regained consciousness, he his people and sent them in helicopters to take care of Eurus. But then? Who called the police?
“William Sherlock Holmes” you yelled slamming the door to Greg’s station car.
John and Sherlock had never turned around so fast in their lives. How were you here? Hadn’t they both watched your apartment go up in smoke? Or, was that merely another one of Eurus’ tricks?
“You’d better have a good explanation for-”
“I love you too,” he interrupted shocking both you and John.
“What?” you asked in disbelief.
“I said I love you too, I wanted to say it during that call two years ago, and I wanted to say it earlier today. I promise I will explain everything, and I understand if you no longer fill the same way, I’m sorry for not saying it before,” he confessed.
You stared at him in awe, taking a step closer still staring at him. You closed the remaining gap between the two of you and smoothly connected your lips with his allowing them to communicate for you. After an instant of shock, Sherlock reciprocated allowing the blanket to fall off of his shoulders as he pulled you in closer. When he pulled away, both of you were slightly dazed and smiling.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” you whispered.
“That I do,” he answered.
From there, Greg dropped John and Sherlock off at John’s place where he happily greeted Molly and wasted no time collecting Rosie. The next day the three of you would meet up at 221B Baker Street and begin cleaning and repairing that flat as Sherlock did as promised and explained everything. After two weeks the renovations were complete and John and Rosie moved back in with Sherlock who had decided to utilize space in 221C for experiments to keep Rosie away from them both for her safety and his sanity.
You became more than a frequent visitor and eventually moved into one of the bedrooms of 221C however you spent far more time in Sherlock’s bed than in your own. You watched Rosie as the boys went out on cases and would occasionally tag in for John. Being in a relationship with Sherlock was interesting to say the least, but you wouldn’t trade a second of it.
Did you miss me? Either way, I’m back with a short series. This is the first and shortest part, I hope you enjoy it. You can find my other imagines HERE
“I have a present for you, a game of sorts, you’ll love it,” Moriarty smiled as he spoke to Sherlock. He could barely hold back his excitement at what fun this was.
“And what is this game?” Sherlock asked feigning boredom.
“Oh, straight to the point Sherlock, I love it,” Moriarty beamed.
“I haven’t got all day,” Sherlock replied becoming impatient.
“It involves all of your favorite things: murder, time restraints, puzzles, logic, etcetera,”
“And what if I chose not to play,” Sherlock questioned.
“You would never,” Moriarty answered completely sure of himself.
“You’re right, what are the rules?” Sherlock asked.
“One Murder, and it’s a good one. Solve the case, catch the killer, blah blah blah, get the antidote,” Moriarty explained.
“Antidote?” Sherlock asked.
“This is the good part. I have poisoned one of the people you care about. That person has roughly-” he checked his watch, “36 hours before the poison kills them.”
“Anything else?” Sherlock asked.
“Anything else?” Moriarty mocked.
“That’s it, Sherlock. A nice little game to distract you for the next day and a half. You’re welcome.” Moriarty smiled expectantly.
“What do you get out of this?” Sherlock asked.
“Everyone seems to think that you are so clever. Maybe you are, maybe you’re not. This is a test to see whether or not you are a worthy adversary. I hope that you don’t disappoint. Now, what is that thing you say? The game is on isn’t it?”
And with that Moriarty exited. Sherlock would have threatened him or went after him but he knew by now that Moriarty was too smart to not have an escape plan. There were probably snipers aiming at him for the entirety of that conversation. He waited a sufficient amount of time before exiting and beckoning for a cab to take him back to Baker Street.
He already knew that this was about to get interesting. He felt guilty about the excitement Moriarty’s challenge was bringing him. This was like Christmas and he couldn’t wait to tell John and Y/n.
This is part one of a two part Sherlock x Reader imagine. It is full of angst and definitely something different. Fair warning it contains possible triggers involving a kidnapping. For more of my writing click here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the emotional rollercoaster that is this fic.
The first time that Sherlock was semi-aware of himself, his mind was uncomprehending and imperceptive, which was a first. He was striving against everything to regain control and wake himself but instead, he found an unnerving nothingness. It was as if his mind was entirely blank. The second ‘awakening’, after an unknown amount of time, was not much different. Sherlock struggled to regain clarity, but was seemingly unequipped to do anything about it. His mind moved so slowly, that it might as well not have been moving at all. His sense of awareness and limited charge over consciousness once again faded.
“Sherlock? Sherlock are you okay? Wake up. Please wake up,” a voice pleaded.
But while it resonated as familiar, Sherlock simply could not connect the voice with a name or face. His mind was still moving too slow, at least now though he was aware of this fact. Something was wrong, very wrong. Sherlock was by all accounts locked out of his mind palace. He couldn’t remember anything or really register his surroundings. Something was interfering with the chemistry of his brain and prohibiting him from ‘Sherlocking’. He knew that it was likely some new hybrid of a sedative and a brain dampener. But how he knew that and what that meant, were completely lost on him.
“It’s no use,” another voice, this one raising a red flag with Sherlock for some unknown reason, beamed.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” the homely voice quipped.
“I already have though, haven’t I? Maybe if you weren’t so ordinary you’d understand that,” the villainous voice challenged.
Sherlock knew that voice, but who was it? And why couldn’t he wake up or remember anything?
“I may be ordinary, but at least I’m not a coward,” the first voice spat back.
“I am not a coward,” the man growled.
“Then why won’t you fight fair?” the girl questioned boldly. After waiting for an answer she added, “It’s because you know you wouldn’t stand a chance. You might be clever, but one on one, without your precious minions, your cheap tricks, and threats, you are nothing more than that, clever. And even on his worst day, Sherlock is more than you’ll ever be. And you know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be going through such great lengths to constrain him.”
“You have too much faith in him and that will be your downfall. I will show you, don’t worry,” he promised.
Sherlock could hear a door being closed. He knew both of those voices. He knew that something was very wrong, but he couldn’t sort it out. His mind was slowly beginning to function again, but it was agonizing for Sherlock to be cognizant of his deficits. He pushed himself to remember, to wake, to do something, but it was all happening in its own time.
He heard the door opening again, this time noting that there was no sound of it being unlocked. This must mean… it meant that…. Ugh! Why couldn’t he just think!
“What are you doing?” the girl’s voice asked, he could hear her physically struggling. “Where are you taking me?” she questioned, fear evident in her voice. “Stop, no, please don’t do this,” she pleaded, being forced out of the room.
Okay, so the girl. She was someone that he knew. His instincts told him that she was someone very dear to him. She was in danger. The two of them were captured by the man with the weird Irish accent. That man was the one holding them here. She knew him, so he and she had met him before. The door wasn’t locked which meant that they were bound. Otherwise, she would have been able to escape. As he was regaining more and more of his memory and brain power, he decided to redirect his attention.
He could not force himself to wake up, which meant he was most likely still sedated. His senses were very limited. His brain was foggy, but becoming less and less so. He was able to access his memories concerning his family and childhood, feeling somewhat reassured that Mycroft would have his people searching for him. He forced himself farther into his mind palace. He was going through places and people, starting to piece his life together until he saw a door for 221B. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He had never been locked out of his own mind palace before. Some part of him knew that “unlocking” this door was the key to everything he needed to know about the girl, the man, and their current arrangement. But he had absolutely no idea how to accomplish that task.
He resigned himself to focusing instead on regaining consciousness. He tried to start small, focusing on his breathing and then trying to move his fingers or toes. He just needed to reclaim control over his movements and then he’d be able to force himself awake.
Before he could make any progress, he heard the door open again. Someone, presumably a male carrying something substantial, based on breathing and time in between steps, had entered. The thing that he had been carrying was dropped roughly and then Sherlock had heard a click and the rustling of chains. Something was being hoisted up.
As the man left, Sherlock realized his mistake. It was not something being hoisted up, but rather someone. He speculated that it was his mystery girl. She was obviously unconscious and worse for wear. He felt an instinctual urge to make sure she was okay but was unable to act on it. He tried to focus, but it was becoming harder and harder as the exertion and exhaustion of fighting the drugs had taken over.
When he regained awareness, he was frustrated to realize he was still unconscious, though it was less and less present. He wondered how long this had been going on. Surely, someone had noticed and would come for him. He then remembered that he was not alone in this. However, as he listened to his surroundings it did seem that he was alone in the room again. He wondered how long the girl had been gone for this time. He hoped that she was okay. She was strong, that is what he loved about her.
Wait-
He loved her. He knew that now, it was consuming. She wasn’t just some girl that he knew. She was someone he loved. He needed to wake up, to remember, to protect her. He ran through the entire conversation he had heard between her and the man replaying it word by word.
“Maybe if you weren’t so ordinary you’d understand that” the man had said.
Ordinary. That word. It stuck out, but why?
“Aren’t ordinary people so adorable?”
“You’re ordinary. You’re on the side of the angels.”
“And now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out your ordinary just like all of them.”
“She is nothing Sherlock, she is ordinary, just another plaything for you to impress.”
Sherlock heard the pieces of conversations playing in the man’s voice. He was so close to remembering him and his name. It was there, he could feel it. Now he had a new goal. He replayed every word that the girl had said, hoping to spark a similar reaction, but it didn’t work.
The door opened, and this time there were three people who entered. One, the girl, was being chained up again, involuntarily whimpering. Her injuries were worse now, she was obviously being tortured. The man who had restrained her left the room leaving one other in the room.
“Aw look at him, isn’t he adorable when he’s sleeping, brain wearing away to nothing,” the irish man spoke.
“Leave him alone,” the girl tried.
“I really don’t think it is him you should worry about,” he said moving closer towards her. Sherlock heard her struggling away from him, “funny, all that blood really brings out your eyes.”
“What is that you really want?” she asked, her tough facade starting to falter.
“This. Exactly this. I want to watch your hope fade until you beg me to end you. I want to burn the heart out of Sherlock. Turning the hero into the villain. It’s as simple as that,” he informed leaving the room, calling out “I’m looking forward to our next little session, Y/n.”
And that was it. That was what Sherlock needed to unlock the door of his mind palace. And then it all came back to him. Mrs. Hudson, John, Moriarty, Lestrade, his cases, his violin, his flat, and above all else you. Y/f/n Y/l/n. His brilliant, kind-hearted, resilient, beautiful, girlfriend. The two of you were walking home from a date when you were both attacked and captured. He didn’t know how long ago that was now, but surely everyone was searching for you.
With that, he had full control of his mind, and he slowly brought himself back to consciousness, fighting the sedative. He managed to maneuver his arm to pull out the IV. He forced his eyes open, wincing at the harsh light. He laid still for a moment, allowing his body to process what it needed to do. As much as his mind was restored, physically he would still be affected. He worked on moving his muscles to speed up his circulation.
“Sherlock?” you all but whispered. You wanted to believe that you were seeing him move but knew that it very well could be your mind playing tricks on you. Tears streamed down your face.
But then he looked at you, and as your eyes met any doubt you had faded away.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, struggling to conceal his own emotion as he took in your form. You were chained up in nothing but a bra and your shorts. There were deep cuts littering your bruised and shaking body. You likely had multiple fractured if not broken ribs. You were held up by your wrists which were raw and also bleeding. Your hair was damp which led him to believe that waterboarding or forced intermittent drowning was involved. Beyond that, he could tell that you hadn’t slept, ate, or drank anything.
“How long have we been here?” he forced himself to ask.
“I think three days, it’s kind of hard to tell,” you answered.
“And do you have any idea where we are?”
“Not really, just that there are two levels and we never leave the basement.”
“Okay, okay, that’s fine,” Sherlock muttered, already starting to plan an escape.
“Sherlock? Are you okay?”
“Me? I should be asking you that,” he said forcing himself to sit up, groaning slightly at the numbness.
“It looks a lot worse than it is, I’m just glad you’re awake,” you tried to smile.
“I’m going to get us out of here,” Sherlock promised.
“Take your time,” you tried to joke. But the laugh turned into coughing which was extremely painful.
“Just try to conserve your energy,” he said trying to hide the worry in his voice.
“I love you,” you whispered, allowing the exhaustion to take over, knowing that you were safe now.
Hi guys! This mini-series is based off an episode of criminal minds called ‘Amplification’. You can find more of my writing on my Masterlist here.
Working alongside Sherlock and John had put you in numerous compromising and even dangerous situations. It was not a rare occurrence to find yourself in harm’s way, but that never discouraged you. The way you had always viewed it was that John and Sherlock had gotten on fine before you, and they would continue in that fashion if for some reason you were incapacitated. Furthermore, you felt that there was no nobler way to die than saving/protecting the lives of others, especially those you cared about. This mindset of yours never faltered, even during “The Case of the Killer Lightbulbs” as John named it on his blog.
You were at the market when you got the call informing you to stop what you were doing and go outside where a car would be waiting for you. You were used to it by now, Mycroft was known to be the dramatic type. The ride was long and you wondered what the nature if thus case would be: Murder? Blackmail? Theft? National Security? Or, was it just Mycroft trying to get information on his little brother again? Whatever your thought process was during that car ride, it did not prepare you for what was coming next.
You were taken to Scotland yard which was swarming with various officials from detectives, to the military, to the CDC. You were led through to a room where Mycroft, John, and Sherlock sat.
“Okay, you may go now, shut the door on the way out,” Mycroft said to your escort.
As she did, he passed a folder to you, Sherlock, and John and began debriefing, “Yesterday 24 people checked into local area hospitals, all of them with the same symptoms, all of them had been at the same park around 4 pm yesterday. Now at just after 8 am, 14 of the 24 are dead. Lung failure and black legions among a myriad of other symptoms.”
“Anthrax?” John asked.
“Anthrax doesn’t kill this fast,” you replied.
“Unless it has been genetically altered,” Sherlock surmised, “What do we know about this strain?”
“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a spiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs. They are both odorless and invisible. The normal antidote is not effective against this strain,” Mycroft explained.
“Why exactly are we here?” John asked.
“We believe that this was a trial run, but don’t know what for. An outbreak in London would be detrimental, so we’ve called you lot in,” Mycroft replied, “You have full access to any resources you deem necessary,” he added handed you special badges, “Finally, here is Cipro, we don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s worth a shot. I wish you the best of luck.”
You, Sherlock, and John downed the pills and were left alone in the office as Mycroft had to step out.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” you said, still trying to get your head around the idea.
“It isn’t the first time, and most definitely won’t be the last,” Sherlock replied.
“So, where do we even start?” John asked.
Over the next two days, the three of you visited the hospital and spoke with remaining victims, analyzed the strain in the lab, located a second but smaller attack that happened weeks ago but only affected 4 people, and started to narrow in on a suspect list. You also created a list of possible targets, however it was too large to do any good. The three of you had come to realize that you were looking for someone with a significant background concerning biological agents. You knew that the person you were looking for most likely was in cohorts with the military or CDC and had a relation with the bookstore that was the target of the first attack. It wasn’t long before Sherlock had discovered who was behind it all.
This led you and Sherlock along with a team from the CDC to the home of Alfred Wilson to further investigate. John was at the hospital lending his medical assistance. And Mycroft and his men went to Wilson’s workplace and other known frequented locations. You and Sherlock stood outside as you waited for the all-clear.
“While they are doing that we should probably take a look around,” Sherlock decided.
The two of you walked towards the back of the house looking for anything out of the ordinary. Sherlock was distracted by a phone call from Mycroft explaining that the lab was clean and Wilson was still MIA. Sherlock turned to inform you of this news but realized that you had wandered off.
“Y/n?” he called and looked for you. He found the path that you must have followed. “Y/n,” he called again. He saw the shack and darted towards it, “Y/n!”
That is when you came into his line of vision, “Sherlock get back! Get back, get out of here!” you shouted frantically locking the door.
“Y/n? What are you doing? I don’t-” he started, but then he saw the broken container of white powder and the ventilation system. This was where Wilson had developed and even tested the strains. And you had already been exposed, which meant that if the Cipros was ineffective as it most likely would be against this mutated strain, you had less than 24 hours.
He called Mycroft who got the necessary people there. They wanted to get you out and to the hospital as soon as possible, that was not your plan though.
“Y/n, the CDC is here, they are preparing to extract you,” Sherlock explained through the phone.
“There’s no point, I’ve already been infected, I might as well work to solve the case,” you argued.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mycroft interjected.
“Sherlock, take me off of speakerphone,” you ordered.
“Alright, tell me what you see,” Sherlock humored you.
“Alright, well first off Dr. Wilson is dead, so we can rule him out. There are two workspaces and two sets of handwriting on the papers. So he either had a partner or protege,” you paused as a fit of coughing took over, “I’ve read through everything in here, the cure isn’t here. But maybe they can take the spores and reverse engineer them.”
“Okay, Y/n. Is there anything else that sticks out to you?” he asked.
You were going to continue but the coughing took over again. You hung up the phone to spare Sherlock. By the time you caught your breath John was entering in an orange hazmat suit.
“Orange is not your color,” you joked, “On a serious note how are the patients at the hospital?”
“Right now, let’s focus on you,” he redirected, “how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” you replied.
“Are you sure? I could give you something to ease the pain,” he explained.
“I’m fine and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” you snapped.
“Okay, no narcotics, got it,” he confirmed, “how can I help?” he asked.
“I read through all of the papers and none of them talk about the cure, but I think that it has to be in here somewhere. Probably hidden considering that Dr. Wilson was a former military scientist. He was paranoid and most likely tried to protect the cure from his partner. So look for something innocuous, something that you wouldn’t expect,” you explained, starting to feel slightly light-headed. That is when your phone rang again.
“Yes Sherlock?” you answered.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“That is irrelevant, why’d you call?”
“Mycroft said that Wilson’s co-workers were unaware of him having a partner. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”
You went over to the desk again scanning for what you missed. It was like it was on the tip of your tongue, but your brain was too foggy to see it.
“Just list off everything that is on their desks,” Sherlock said wishing that he was in there with you.
“Wait, I’ve got it,” you replied, “Dr. Wilson was a professor. He has syllabi and a framed picture of him teaching. I even read a paper that he graded, or so I thought. He wouldn’t let just anyone into his lab but clearly,” you started before being interrupted by a wave of painful coughing, “he valued himself as an educator. What if the second desk wasn’t a partner, but a student? And the paper, it was formatted like a thesis. See if Mycroft can crossmatch the list of Wilson’s students and/or students at the university that Wilson taught at with past employees or customers of the bookstore.”
“Okay, will do,” he said hanging up.
“Y/n, you did good, now we need to get you to the hospital,” John tried.
“Okay,” you conceded knowing that there wasn’t anything else you could do there. A couple of CDC workers came and took you to a decontamination shower that they had set up, with John close behind.
“John, go help Sherlock,” you instructed.
“I’m gonna stay here and see you off to the hospital,” he insisted.
“I am about to be stripped down and bathed, my pride can’t take the thought of you witnessing that. Besides the way I see it, you can either stay here and watch me die or go out and prevent it from happening.”
“If you’re sure,” John replied, feeling torn.
“Go on,” you reassured him.
———————
Tags: @fanfictionsilove @delightfulheartdream
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After the delicious breakfast Henry and (y/n) had he told her that they must attend a charity event that his brother was throwing. She always enjoyed those types of outings with him, she liked the attention and how Henry would proudly show her off and twirl her around the dancefloor, Henry always made her feel wanted and appreciated. However with that type of short notice, she was left running around her wardrobe room with Jennette and Angelina on her side, trying to pick an outfit, it wasn’t like she didn’t have any, but she always wanted to be perfect, the Cavill family had accepted her but not without difficulties, at the end of the day they all saw her as this little shiny toy Henry would dispose at some point.
“What about this? It still has the tag on it”
Angelina spoke lightly holding up the extravagant green gown Henry had bought her one day, she had mentioned her favorite designer so the next day Henry sent her 8 different gowns that he liked.
Angelina was new to the roaster, Jennette (y/n) quickly came to the realization that a few of the maids and butlers were giving out information about (y/n) to Henry’s mom, she was a wonderful lady when (y/n) was around because she saw her as just a girlfriend and not the wife, so they swiftly got replaced. (Y/n) approached Angelina and let her fingers trace the fabric as she turned to look at Jennette.
“Isn’t the slit a bit too much for a family event?”
“I think it’s finally time for you to make this statement… miss Cavill”
(Y/n) giggled at the name, Jennette liked calling her that as a small joke and a reminder that she is now the lady of this house. (Y/n) was always a big personality but this life made her feel small and uncertain. She bit her lip before she started nodding to herself, Angelina smiled in triumph due to feeling accomplished with finding the dress for (y/n).
“Angelina help miss (y/n) put the dress on, I’ll be downstairs if you need me”
“Yes miss jennette”
As (y/n) started to take off her robe to slip on the right dress, jennette walked out of the master bedroom and towards the entrance of the house, that’s where Mister Henry was waiting for his lady. Jennette was curious about the reason he had asked to see her privately to talk about (y/n).
she wasn’t worried about it though, Jennette had a good feeling about this since everyone could clearly see how madly in love he was with her, he had brought other women home in the past yet they were never introduced to the staff, they had remained anonymous visitors. She slowly walked down the marble stairs while Mister Henry was standing in front of a mirror, fixing his tie.
“You asked to see me sir?”
“Yes Jennette”
His tone of voice was light as a feather, kind and melodic as he finally rearranged himself and took his eyes off his reflection and turned to Jennette who was patiently waiting close to him.
“How’s (y/n) been doing?”
“She is finally getting comfortable, Angelina has been helping with making her feel in charge”
Henry slowly nodded as a ghost of a smile on his lips. He remembered how scared she was in the beginning, how she would stutter while talking to the staff or some days she wouldn’t even leave the bed until he came home. He could recognize how much she has flourished and rose to the occasion. He was so thankful when (y/n) started to smile while talking to him about Jennette, she needed an ally and now Angelina was another soldier
“I’m going to ask her to marry me”
Jennette gasped in a happy demeanor and started to clap fastly with her fingers while her palms remained together. Henry was aware how close the two of them had grown to become, Lady Jennette has been around his family since he was a young adult, when he first started getting involved in the “family business”.
however all his brothers had kids and a wife, (y/n) was the only woman he could see a future with, just the thought of her with a big round belly made him feel all warm and fuzzy, he felt alive next to her and her presence never left his mind, he had a reason to keep living and working. As soon as he had laid eyes on her that night he stayed at the hotel she was working at he just had to have her, it was almost compelling
“Of course you can’t tell her”
“I would never dream of such a thing sir”
Before Henry could speak he heard the door of his bedroom open, along with giggles that probably came from Angelina and (y/n). Both of them waited for her to turn the corner and appear.
(Y/n) felt his eyes on her as soon as she stepped at the top of the stairs. Jennette was smiling at the sight of her while Henry remained silent. Angelina helped her lift up her dress ever so slightly so she can take the steps down without a problem. You could hear her heels click on the well polished floor. Ever since she met him the look he gave her every time he saw her was addictive, she felt like the most beautiful woman in the world when he gave her this intense look that scanned her body.
“If the slit is too much I can go change”
“You look stunning my love”
He reassured her and walked to her. His hands immediately found hers and her raised one to his lips to place a gentle kiss on her knuckles while never breaking eye contact. She smiled back and instinctively she filled the space between them so she could hug him, his cologne made her feel safe knowing that he was there was the most comforting idea.
After a few moments she pulled away but their hands remained intertwined. Every single time they had to attend a family event he could sense her anxiety, at any other gala she was right at home but when it came to his family she looked like a kid going through school exams.
“Don’t be nervous love”
“I’m not nervous”
She quickly shot back in defense. She could tell that he wasn’t convinced, yet he chose to let it go, acknowledging the fact that pushing her more would only do more damage than good. Her hair was down and styled to perfection, her make up was done to bring out her beauty even more, she looked like a true goddess coming to bless the mortals.
“Don’t wait for us jennette”
“Yes sir. Have a good night”
-
The car ride was spent by (y/n) looking out the window while her one hand traced her necklace and the other held Henry’s, he chose to silently support her. He could comprehend how scary his family could be for an outsider, of course they were nice when she was around but (y/n) was no fool, she noticed the quick side eyes and the few whispers when she turned her back, she only bit her lip and smiled for Henry’s sake, as well as the fact that if she wanted to be in this family she had to outsmart them, she was aware that they acted like that because she was the girlfriend, as soon as Henry would propose nobody would dare to say anything, she would officially be a Cavill. It was a shallow reason but she just wanted to be recognized for what she was, a woman that all she did was fall in love.
As the driver opened the door Henry got out first and then he helped (y/n) get out, before she got the chance he slightly kneeled in front of her to fix the end of her dress that touched the floor. His gentle grace of his fingers from her calf that went over her thigh brought goosebumps all over her body.
“I love this dress on you”
“I think you will have to wait until we get back home to show me how much you do”
Henry’s reply was to lean down and press a kiss on her naked left shoulder before offering his arm for her to take as they walked in the Mansion as a couple.
(Y/n) felt the awfully familiar tightness in her chest as they entered, people were mingling, the smell of cigars lingered in the air as you could see the smoke in the air, even though the staff had done it’s best to open windows and keep the air fresh.
“(Y/n)!”
She heard a woman call her name at a rather enthusiastic tone. As she turned she saw it was Henry’s sister in law Chiara. She was dressed in a black dress that was a bit more modest than hers, yet it complimented her delicate figure in such a way that made her look like the glamorous Hollywood stars back in the day. The brunette woman opened her arms and offered (y/n) a warm hug. (Y/n) hugged back, feeling grateful that the host was one of the people in this family that she actually got along with. Chiara had married into the family years ago, she was rather tall and very intimidating, she vividly remembered the story of how Charlie traveled back and forth from the UK to Austria just to get a date with her.
“You look exquisite”
(Y/n) complimented her, Chiara smiled as she gave an up and down look with a smirk on her painted lips.
“Same goes for you dear, the hawk is going to have a heart attack… love it”
Chiara and (y/n) had bonded over how tightly Henry’s mother held the strings, Chiara was the first to pull (y/n) aside and warn her that she is like that with anyone however she is all bark and no bite. Many nights have been spent over the phone with Chiara giving advice to (y/n). They were so different yet they found comfort in one another.
“How are you Chiara?”
Henry joined in, he didn’t care that Chiara forgot to greet him, quite the opposite he was pleased (y/n) was getting the attention she deserved. Chiara looked at him and in the meantime Charlie started to approach her from behind, (y/n) had to admit that even though she met Chiara while she was married she still felt like Chiara was a single woman, Charlie traveled a lot which Chiara had stated multiple times that it was the reason she was still married to him, she needed her space and craved time alone. So as one can assume that she wasn’t really eager to have a baby either.
“I’m well, I’m surprised you guys made it. I thought you had to be in Scotland”
“(Y/n) is not fond of Scotland”
He simply responded. To be fair she thought it was a beautiful country but it was springtime and she wanted to go somewhere with a bit more sun. A waitress approached the two couples and offered champagne, Henry reached for two glasses and offered (y/n) one, Chiara and Charlie were already holding a glass.
“Here you go love”
“Thank you”
“Cheers, to another successful season”
Henry raised his glass while the others followed. As they clinked their glasses and all the group took a sip, the taste of the bubbly drink soothed (y/n)’s nerves, her shoulders started to relax and the tightness on her chest was little to none.
“Where’s mom and dad?”
“Oh last time I saw them they were talking to our brother”
“We should go say hello”
“Alright, it was nice seeing you”
(Y/n) said before Chiara leaned in a bit to whisper in her ear “you got this doll”.
(Y/n) giggled at her and Chiara just stepped back and gave her a playful wink. Henry’s hand found the small of her back before gently guiding her away from the couple, the last glimpse she got off the couple was Chiara turning to say something to her husband as she flipped her long wavy hair back.
(Y/n)’s heart stomped so loud she started feeling the pressure on her ears, out of instinct she clenched her jaw and tried to mask her nervousness. Henry spotted his parents and walked to them, knowing well that (y/n) is already done with the situation and depending on how this goes they might have to leave immediately.
“Henry and (y/n), is so good to see you”
Henry’s father, Colin, was the first to greet them with a kind smile on his face. Colin had always been nothing but kind to (y/n), which was surprising to her since she had stereotypically thought that the father would be the hardest one to crack. Colin hugged his son and then proceeded to take (y/n)’s hand and give a kiss on her hand.
“It’s good to see you young lady”
“Thank you”
“How are you dear?”
His mother Marianne said before going in for a very forced hug, yet she was grateful they still had a civil type of communication especially around others.
“I’m well, how are you?”
“You’ve lost weight, I was hoping you would have gained some, oh you would look so cute with a little baby bump”
(Y/n) let out a nervous giggle, not knowing how to answer. They weren’t even married, let alone have a baby, she wanted to have kids but she was still young and wanted to enjoy having henry for herself a little longer.
Henry’s hand went from the small of her waist to wrapping around her as a way to bring her closer to him. He had heard this over and over again, the only difference was that to him they questioned if she was worthy to bring an heir to the family.
“Not yet mother, I still enjoy seeing her in these tight clothes”
“Henry we are still your parents. He is right Marianne, let them have some fun”
“I’m sure (y/n) can have fun but Henry you are not getting any younger”
(Y/n) was at the edge of just disassociate as her gaze started to focus on a vase behind Marianne. In any other case if this woman was a random stranger she would have popped off and started to insult her. The squeeze she received from Henry’s hand pulled her out of her trace. She bit her lip as she tried to find the right thing to say, she wanted kids but the subject of babies was something they hadn’t even discussed other than the cheeky comments during sex. The squeeze she received from Henry’s hand was enought to bring her out of her trance and now the tightness on her chest was replaced by a fire of anger.
“You know last time you questioned my credibility as a potential wife, so this new situation of wanting me to get pregnant is at least a step”
“Honey I don’t know what you are talking about”
“You do, we all do”
She hit back before downing the rest of her drink. Henry smiled in triumph, he was taken back by her boldness on one hand, on the other she held her own and showed the spark he loved to see.
“I think it’s time for us to leave. I love you both”
Henry hugged both of his parents and his dad gave (y/n) another kiss on the hand, when she turned to Marianne (y/n) smiled and took her in for a big hug, making Marianne let out a small “oh”.
“Water under the bridge… dear”
(Y/n) said at a lower tone before she pulled away and took her spot again next to Henry.
“Have a good night”
Henry said before taking (y/n) away from them. Henry’s hand slowly slid from her waist to her bum, he didn’t do anything he just let it rest on it. (Y/n) was smart enough to understand that this small change of movement meant that not only was he not mad she responded, he was turned on by her.
“You never seize to amaze me love. I’ll call the chauffeur but we got 15 minutes before he arrives”
“Plenty of time to see what decor they have in the bathroom”
Summary:You always said ‘yes’ to Sherlock Holmes - today, was a day of change.
You descended the stairs from your apartment. You hit the base and approached the open door of 221b where you willed yourself not to peer inside.
You had almost made it past your neighbours when Sherlock called you name so loudly that it echoed against the walls. Faltering on the next step, you stopped and retraced your path until you were staring at the face of the consulting detective standing in the middle of the room.
“John and I are heading to the garden on Fifth Street to examine the crime scene. Your expertise will be required - you’ll join us, yes?”
With a short hum, you delivered an answer. “No.”
It was clear that the detective hadn’t heard as he clapped his hands with excitement. “Excellent! Now we’ll uncover the - wait, no?”
His mind finally caught up and when he turned to challenge your response, you were gone. John was in the middle of putting on his coat when he noticed his friend chase after you.
Thankfully you were only in the small lobby on the ground floor, putting on gloves to brace the weather outside.
“What do mean ‘no’?”
You heard him from the stairwell, footsteps growing louder until he was visible and smirked. “According to the Oxford Dictionary-”
“You know what I mean! I don’t understand why - hold on, you’re not still mad about last night, are you?”
Before you could respond, Mrs Hudson came rushing out from the back exit of her shop with a take-away cup in hand, gently pushing it into your hands.
“Now, you be careful there, dear. It’s fresh and very hot.” She mothered and turned to see Sherlock on the stairs, sending him a look of disapproval. “And shame on you for ruining Y/n’s perfectly good coffee machine by grinding the teeth of the deceased.”
“I was testing the effects of - oh, nevermind!” Sherlock abandoned his explanation when you disappeared from him once more.
You were now standing on the street curb as you waited for a taxi to hail down. He caught up behind you and stood directly in front of where a vehicle rounded around the corner.
“I upset you - but that doesn’t mean that you should just walk out on an investigative lead.”
As a cab pulled up to a stop, you opened the door and scoffed, turning to the man. “Your faith in me is a little disappointing, Sherlock. I’ll see you and John on Fifth Street.”
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…
▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️
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: 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.
I don’t think Sherlock would be the best Valentine’s date :)
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…)
IMAGINE: BEING AN AMERICAN INTERN WHO’S WORKING WITH MOLLY AND MEETING SHERLOCK FOR THE FIRST TIME.
“Molly, I need—” Sherlock bursts into the lab, startling both you and Molly as you look up from your test tubes. Sherlock raises an eyebrow at you, slowly approaching the two of you as he places a folder down on the countertop, before he finally asks, “Who are you?”
You blink at him, taken aback by his directness. “Who are you?”
Sherlock scoffs, taking note of your accent as he shakes his head. “Oh, the classic American ignorance.”
“Excuse me?” you splutter, and Molly quickly inserts herself between the two of you before conflict can arise. “I—”
“Sherlock, this is y/n, my new intern.” Molly quickly informs, and you reluctantly press your lips into a flat line as Sherlock looks you up and down. Nervously looking to you, Molly continues, “y/n, this is Sherlock Holmes.”
A/N: I watched Enola Holmes and as Sherlock has been a fave of mine for ages, I decided it was about time I wrote a fic for him! Based more on the lighter Enola Holmes Sherlock, with appearances of the young detective herself. Thank you to @crimsonheart01 for beta reading for me and allowing me to scream at her about Mr Holmes!
Plot: Arabella Williams (OC) seeks assistance from Sherlock Holmes. While he solves the mystery of case, Sherlock discovers that things he had once considered unnecessary may be more significant than first deduced.
Word Count: 1,048
CHAPTER ONE
Arabella Williams stood outside of 221B Baker Street, the cold wind whipping around her. Her coat billowed around her skirts, the buttons keeping it tight around her chest. The approaching London winter blew in, and the chill had come early that year. She had been too distracted by her cares to plan accordingly for her trip out in the weather, regretting not having checked before leaving her home.
Arabella lurked on the doorstep, wondering whether or not to ring the bell. She had been there for at least ten minutes, standing still in front of the entrance, so lost in the battle between her conscience and rational thinking that she could have been mistaken for a poorly placed garden statue. Many times she would lose her will, walking out onto the street, heading back towards her home before appearing again at the gate, over and over, each time getting closer and closer to the door. She resolved that in all probability, she would be inside within the hour.
The same arguments played over in her mind. There was really no need for her to be there. Everything would be fine if she just kept her thoughts and worries to herself. She was safe, well cared for. There would be no fears about her security for the rest of her life.
Arabella shook her head and once again turned, walking down the path, reaching the end before pausing at the iron gate that led her back out to the street. Reaching out and touching it, Arabella could feel the cold metal, even through her gloves. She tapped her fingers, for the final time considering her position. Could she really live with not knowing the answer for the rest of her days? Would it just be something that faded into the recesses of her mind over time or would she always be wondering?
If her current behaviour was anything to go by, she would be sent to an asylum within months. Rounding back up the path, she marched back up to the door, thrusting her hand out towards the pull of the bell. Stopping short once more, hesitating on the impression that maybe the truth would be worse than a deteriorating mind.
You’ll never rest until you know for sure.
Coming to the complete and resounding conclusion that this was the only way that she would live in peace, Arabella closed the space between her hand and the pull.
As she wrapped her hand around it, the door sprang open and a peppy young girl stood before her, barely filling the doorway. She had goggles sitting atop her head, her hair pulled back from her face and her hands donned in thick gloves. A cheerful smile spread across her face, the fullness of her cheeks and the crinkle around her eyes giving evidence to her youth.
“Good afternoon! Enola Holmes, at your service.”
Another Holmes. Not the one that she was looking for.
“I, umm… I was wondering if, perchance, Mr Holmes was here?“ Arabella’s voice was kind, with a slight hint of shock.
Enola shook her head. “I’m sorry, he’s stepped out, but I am his sister and ward. He has been training me.”
The girl extended her hand, and Arabella hesitantly shook it.
Was she mistaken in her actions? Should she turn around and go directly to the police? She had entertained the idea once or twice, but knew that wasn’t an option. There was too much at stake for news of the case to get out to the public, and there was no guarantee of secrecy. Neither were her social circles an avenue for assistance. In this, she was completely alone.
For many nights now she had spent her evenings and nights in various stages of denial, racking her brain to the point of near insanity as to what to do. Hours lying in bed in anger, falling asleep only to wake up to the renewed flame of frustration. Other nights, eventually lulling herself to sleep upon a damp pillowcase, tears still streaming as she fell into slumber. She had finally exhausted all of her possibilities, finally settling on the reputation detective. Little did she know, she would have her pick of investigators.
“Are you, I mean, can you… help?”
Enola’s smile turned to a smirk indicating that it wasn’t the first time her capabilities had been questioned.
“I can promise you that if you were to allow me to take your case, I will do so with the utmost professional manner.”
There must have been some truth to her words, as Arabella wondered aloud how it was that Enola had come to find her on the doorstep when she hadn’t yet made known her presence.
“Oh, I saw you approach from the street as I was at the window, and continued to observe you. There was no appointment made so I assumed you had arrived here on a whim. Given your indecision as to get my attention, I assumed that were I to come down, you would make your decision as to whether to come up or not.”
Arabella was overwhelmed. She had come to speak with the well renowned detective, and hadn’t anticipated another option. However, being at her wits end, Arabella considered her new choices. She wrestled with the knowledge that the case would not be appropriate for the girl, but maybe if she left just enough information, Enola could pass the case along to Sherlock and he would contact her. If he didn’t, then perhaps she was right after all to think that it was nothing to pursue and she would go on with her life as it was intended to be lived. Either way, she would be able to escape the cold for a time before having to head back and face her reality.
Time was now of the essence, she had sat in consideration for long enough. An unbiased opinion could be enough to quash her irrational fears. Arabella was unable to hold off finding the answer to her question any longer.
“So, shall we?” Enola asked, standing to the side as if she already knew the answer.
Arabella took a deep breath and nodded, moving past Enola as she stood to one side, allowing her in.
![[gif] // requester: anonymous (edited) // request hereIMAGINE: BEING AN AMERICAN INTERN WHO’S WORKIN](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e524f6afe76dd5223a11eac8c5eeb487/bec615a913da9521-51/s1280x1920/3664019c274176198304e3a61eb07d7aff764bfb.png "[gif] // requester: anonymous (edited) // request hereIMAGINE: BEING AN AMERICAN INTERN WHO’S WORKIN")
