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.  

Sherlock x Reader

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

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Sherrinford, High Security Prison

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“It was the perfume, Mr Holmes.”

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

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

“I’m aware. Did you have a point?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Mr Holmes.”

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you thinking?”

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

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

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

***

Gone was the music.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t supposed to be gone.

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

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

“Mrs Hudson!” she cried out.

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

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

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

“Hello,” he waved awkwardly.

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

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

“New coat?” she asked, stunned.

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

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

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

***

“You can’t be serious!”

“I swear it’s true!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sneaking about, are we?“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Sherrinford, High Security Prison

“Hello?”

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m listening,” she said uncertainly.

Red lights flashed and Moriarity’s malarkey reigned.

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

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

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

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

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

“Experiment?” she scoffed.

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

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

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

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

She said nothing.

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

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

no. no. no. no. no… 

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

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

Shattered glass and silence. 

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

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

Sherlock looked up at his sister, his eyes bloodshot. 

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

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

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

He kneeled in sterile reminiscence. 

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

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

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

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…)

oh yeah, and visit my multi fandomtaglist!!!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

Tagging the wonderfully fantabulous: @twisted-monster@starryeddie@high-functioning-lokipath@the-chaotic-cow@turkisherlockian@kabubsmagga@aephereal​@andthevillainshallrises​@cosbloos​@cookiemumster1​​@eternal-silvertongued-prince​@i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson​@lucywrites02@danzalladaggers 

Sherlock x Reader

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?” 

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GiveFragmented Passions a try!!!

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…)

oh yeah, and visit my multi fandom taglist!!!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

HAVE A BRILLIANT DAY!!!

tagging the great:  @twisted-monster@starryeddie@high-functioning-lokipath@the-chaotic-cow@turkisherlockian@kabubsmagga@aephereal​@andthevillainshallrises​@cosbloos​@cookiemumster1​​@eternal-silvertongued-prince​​@bogginsreadings​ @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson​@lucywrites02@danzalladaggers

Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes (BBC)

• Sherlock

Drabble: Why did you do that?

Being Sherlock’s lover will like

•John Watson

Sherlock Approval

•Jim Moriarty

(not sorry for this gif)

(Coming soon)

Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: The reader lives in a house full of roommates. During a party, you decide to go to your room only to find that there’s someone waiting for you. Reader is gender neutral.

Warnings: Hints of depression. Comfort fic.

Word Count: 1990

A/N: So originally this was a comfort fic I wrote only for myself a little while ago (that’s why Sherlock’s a bit out of character, so, sorry for that) but then I figured other people might enjoy it too. After altering it a bit, here it is!

Also, I want to say that if you’re going through something and you feel stuck or that there’s no way out, you are not alone. You will get through this and I promise that things will get better if you just keep going.

You open the fridge, looking dully into the appliance. Your eyes glaze over the options laid out before you as party music swells in the background. Your roommates are throwing another party filled with people you sort of knew but not enough to call your friends.

You pick up the jug of water from the fridge and close the door. There is always an open invitation for you to join the parties, seeing as you live here, but you never felt wanted. No one ever asked if you wanted to join, they merely left you to your own devices. You suppose you had isolated yourself. Still, you did join in on occasion, not wanting to miss out on any true “college experiences.” Water falls into your glass.

A scream of amusement echoes from the living room. You focus on your glass of water.

Your room is located in the attic, as if you needed a visual representation of your isolation. It’s not the sort of attic space most people envision, it’s actually quite a nice space. You do get the whole floor to yourself.

You walk past the partiers, feeling like a ghost, someone who lives here and yet doesn’t belong. Climbing the stairs, you can hear the music change to a very popular song that you once liked until it was played a million times. Talk about beating a dead horse.

You open the door to the attic and lock the door behind you, not wanting any drunks wandering in. You climb the spiral stairs up into your hideout of a room. Your night would be quite different than the scene happening downstairs as you ponder what show to watch.

When you reach your door, if you were in the right frame of mind instead of this numb feeling, you would have noticed that it is slightly more ajar than how you’d left it. Instead, you nudge the door open and trudge into the room.

“Not in a partying mood?” A voice says from across the room. Your heart skips a beat until you look up and recognize the dark-haired intruder. Currently the man is fiddling with a bobble-head sat on your bedside table. One he had gifted you.

“Jesus Sherlock, can you give me a warning next time?” This hadn’t been the first time the famous detective had showed up unexpectedly into your life and you knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“I moved the door, I thought you’d notice,” Sherlock turns and faces you. His face never ceases to take your breath away and you’re sure he knows it despite how discreet you try to be. Although he could be rather oblivious at times for a genius detective.

You look back at your door and feel embarrassed that he had caught you off your game. “I…I must’ve been distracted, that’s all,” you answer, hesitant to meet Sherlock’s eyes. His brow is furrowed.

“Yes I suppose that’s true.” You can feel his eyes picking you apart, examining every piece of you as he’s known to do. It’s particularly annoying when you’re trying to hide something, especially from him.

“Could you quiet your thoughts please? I can hear them from over here.” You move to your desk and place down your drink. You already know exactly what he would deduce.

Your water which usually is filled with ice, sat ice-less meaning you didn’t drink it for pleasure. Your distractedness where you’re usually so observant and alert. All the obvious signs that you hadn’t cared for yourself the way you should: messy clothes, tangled hair, bags under your eyes. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that there is something wrong with you.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, clearly still observing you. You close your eyes. You need to get him to think of something else.

“I see you’ve found Sherlock Jr.,” you say, referring to the bobblehead he was fiddling with. It’s a bobblehead of the consulting detective himself. You once called him a bobblehead when you were struggling to come up with an insult, to which he faked offence. Then one day he gave you a gift. You laughed, as he knew you would. You wonder who else he gave gifts like that to.

“Yes, I’m rather flattered by the décor.”

“It’s a gift, Sherl, I wouldn’t throw it out.”

“No but you could have stowed it away instead of…putting it on display.” He got you there. You are rather happy to see your detective each day, often bobbling his head for comfort. But you can never let the man know of course. You don’t need his ego getting any bigger.

“How did you get in, Sherlock?” you ask, steering the conversation away from you.

He hesitates before answering. “Well you do leave your front door unlocked, not the wisest decision I might add. Plus under the guise of a party where strangers filter in and out, it wasn’t hard to slip by unnoticed.”

You snort. “I highly doubt that.” Sherlock is a very tall man which already sets him apart without the serious demeanor he carries and his clothes standing apart from usual party attire.

He looks down, caught. “I might have…blended in amongst a group entering.”

You squint at him, still disbelieving that he could blend in here but you let it go. A loud cry comes from downstairs carrying even to the attic. You guess that more people have arrived.

“Still dwelling amongst the party animals?” His voice dripping with mockery and his eyes slightly widening as he speaks.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” you say. Although getting used to it might be part of the problem and Sherlock notes it no doubt.

“Why do you put up with it?” he asks, his question a loaded one. You know of course he means why do you still live here at all but you don’t feel like answering. So you counter his question with your own and change the subject.

“Should I even bother asking why you’re here?” Your back is against the desk and you fold your arms, playing defence. Again, noted by the detective.

“That depends,” he says. “Have you finally accepted my offer?”

You sigh. “Sherlock,” but you can’t find the words to respond any more.

“I have a new case and you’re the only one who can help me,” he says, his eyes showing more emotion than usual.

“The great Sherlock Holmes needs help?” you tease him, trying to lighten the mood and push down your negative feelings.

He gives you a look which tells you you’re past joking. “I’m serious. And besides, you don’t belong here Y/N, and you know it,” he takes a step forward, a sign of his begging and you can’t meet his pleading eyes, instead looking at your feet.

“I’m well aware of that Sherlock and youknow it.”

“Then why? Why are you still here, why aren’t you with–” he cuts himself off and you look up. “Your talent is being wasted here.” He doesn’t address the slip up, much to your disappointment.

“I’m in university, Sherl, isn’t that where people go to enhance their talent?”

“Oh please,” he scoffs. “There isn’t anything at that school that you don’t already know. You are needed elsewhere.”

Hearing that you are needed causes your heart to swell but you don’t let it alter your mood. “I can’t.”

You know Sherlock wants you to meet his eyes but you’re afraid if you do, you might break. So instead you focus on his famous blue scarf.

“The Scotland Yard could use your skills–”

“I can’t go to London Sherlock.” You look up and swallow back your emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. “I…I can’t leave, my family is here–”

“A family you don’t get to see anyway—”

“A few states over is different from an entire continent Sherlock.” The man stares into your eyes. “I have a life here, and you can’t just…you can’t just keep showing up and…” You cut yourself off as you feel tears sting your eyes.

He bites back any retort he had had prepared at seeing this. The tension leaves his body as he deflates and he sighs. “I didn’t…I don’t mean to upset you, Y/N/N.” You nod, not looking at him. You know he doesn’t.

“I just want what’s best for you. Can you honestly say that this is it?” You bite your lip as a tear slips down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away but you know it’s useless. He’s seen, of course he has. His voice becomes even softer. “You’re not happy here Y/N, you know I know you’re not. There’s no sense in trying to hide it.”

A few more tears escape as you finally gaze into his eyes that swirl with sympathy, an emotion not typically expressed by him. “You don’t know that uprooting my life is going to help.”

“No, I don’t,” he says honestly, and you nod, wishing he would lie. “But I would like to try.” His hands come up to grip your shoulders, lowering himself to meet your height and level your gaze. “Please let me try.”

Your face scrunches together as you are unable to contain your tears anymore and a sob escapes you. He quickly but gently pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms around you, surrounding you with comfort. He places his chin on your head and rubs his hand up and down my back.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers and you squeeze him tight, thankful to have him here.

“I don’t know what to do Sherlock,” you whisper back once your sobbing silenced.

“I know,” he says. “But we’ll figure it out. I promise.” You stay like that until you even out your breathing.

“I’m scared,” you admit. “I don’t want to ruin this. What if you find out that I’m not good enough? What if I let you down–”

“Impossible.” Sherlock pushes you back to put his hands back on your shoulders. Your eyes are locked on one another. “You could never let me down. I know exactly what you are capable of, even if you can’t see it yet.”

He gives you a smile and you smile back, feeling better after admitting what’s been weighing on your chest. You stare into the eyes of the man you didn’t know you needed.

“Where’d you learn how to comfort people?” you joke while wiping your cheeks.

“Wikihow,” he replies which gets a genuine laugh out of you. He smiles as he  receives his intended result.

“Thank you,” you say, staring sincerely into his bright blue eyes.

“What for?” he replies, half-kidding, wanting you to say it.

You shake your head and smile. “You know. For being here,” you say. “I didn’t know how much I needed…this.” You hesitate on saying the word “you”, afraid to reveal too much about your feelings. His smile indicates he knew anyway.

“Of course, it’s what I do,” he says with a cheeky smile.

You pause. “So, what happens now?”

“It’s up to you. Either you can move in with John and I, we’ll find room don’t worry, or I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would be willing to set you up in another flat in the building if you prefer your own space.”

I have had quite enough of my own space, you think, gazing around your room. Plus, the thought of living with Sherlock is much too tempting to resist. Either way, the idea of seeing Sherlock every day makes you deliriously happy and you start to hope for the first time in a while.

Also the fact that the only two options the detective gave you are to live close to him makes your cheeks flush. You feel wanted.

“I’d like that,” you say. The two of you stand there smiling at each for a few moments.

“Good, I’ve already started packing for you.”