Okay I’m getting into writing again… Please send requests, I am open to anything. I mostly write for Loki but I am interested in many fandoms and characters so feel free to request any of them please ✨
“Well, if it isn’t the Great Sherlock Holmes. Funny getting to talk to you again, isn’t it? What’s it been? Almost a month? Just under one?”
Sherlock’s grip on the phone tightens, his blood running cold by that teasing tone in Apollo’s voice. John’s practically hanging off his shoulder, the optimistic side of him hoping- no, praying- that despite his friend’s stiffen appearance, he’ll put both of their worries to rest by saying you’re on the other end, assuring them you’ve somehow escaped your ex and are okay. Alas, life’s never that easy.
“Where is she?” Sherlock isn’t sure if he whispers or shouts the question which is ripped from his mouth before he can truly assess the situation. He doesn’t have time for that. He needs to know…is he already too late?
“Wow, no manners at all, and here I was thinking the whole appeal with British men is them being gentlemen-”
“-Answer the question-”
“-Or you’ll what exactly? Threaten me while enjoying a cup of tea at your flat? In that case, say whatever you want, Holmes. Don’t let me step on your moment. It’s not like I really care anyways. All I’d have to do is just hang up once I’ve heard enough of it…Oh, but I’m sure (Y/n) would be pretty disappointed then. She’s been dying to hear you voice.”
Sherlock presses his lips in a tight line, all his hostile thoughts towards Apollo being replaced by worry for you. He wonders if you’re in the room, listening from afar. If he yells loud enough, would you hear him even through the phone?
“…Why did you call me?”
He can practically see Apollo’s smirk on the other end,“ I just want to talk, that’s all. We’ve known about each other for what…? Seven years? And yet within that time we’ve never been able to have a civil conversation with each other, in fact, if I recall correctly, the first time we met face-to-face, you broke my nose. It’s always been surprising how hostile you are towards me. Sure, you don’t seem like much of a people person, but I figured I’d at least be just another face in the crowd for you. It’s because of (Y/n), isn’t it? Why do you care so much about her?”
“…She’s (Y/n). What more reason is there?” Sherlock’s eyes dart to John who’s quietly sneaking into the kitchen now, his own phone in hand. The detective concludes he’s calling Lestrade.
“I guess that’s something we can agree on then. (Y/n) is extra special, but that’s not what I meant. I want to know why you still care for her when all she does is use you? Haven’t you realized it yet, Holmes? It’s clear she only goes to you second. She left you in London then suddenly landed back in your arms once she needed you to prove her innocence at the trial. She only returned and agreed to date you because she thinks I’m going to hurt her. Notice the trend? She’s never gone to you outside of a time of need. Doesn’t that drive you mad to know she only pretends to love you so that she may gain something in return?”
“You’re wrong.”
“Oh? And why’s that?” Apollo challenges, the sound of boots clicking against a smooth surface echoing behind his voice. He’s inside somewhere, but where?
“I may not be able to tell you the exact reason why (Y/n) loves me, but I know it isn’t to use me as a tool. It’s honest affection unlike what she gave to you. She only chose you first because you asked first, and she was nice enough to give you a fair chance in winning her heart. She only rejected me after the trial because you traumatized her. She was afraid I’d do the same thing you did to her, but (Y/n)’s stronger now and she knows she can trust someone else again. That’s why she came back to me when you threated her again. She trusts I won’t let any harm befall her,” Sherlock sits down ever so slowly to the point that one would think he’s about to sit on needles. He maintains a neutral tone with Apollo, determined to keep the conversation going for as long as he can.
“Hm, maybe you’ve already forgotten this, but last time I checked, she’s with me, not you. You can’t do shit to prevent me from doing whatever I’d like with her because you don’t even know where the hell we are,” he hears Apollo stop pacing and there’s a long pause, one that dares Sherlock to respond, but his tongue’s been caught.
Finally, Apollo speaks again, a hint of a chuckle lifting his voice,“ see, it doesn’t matter who wins her heart, Holmes. It only matters who can outsmart the other…You know, I’ve always resented you during my relationship with (Y/n). I hated the way she’d talk so highly of you, favoring you over her own fiancé. My anger only grew when I saw you at her side during the trial. I’ve spent six whole years in prison thinking of different ways to get back at you for ruining my life, hoping that one could be good enough to capture the attention of such a famous detective like yourself.”
"Since you have the higher ground and are in such a talkative mood, why don’t you finally share how you did it? Your sentence wasn’t up nor were you eligible for parole yet, so how’d you get out?”
“Oh, you know…really isn’t that difficult escaping prison when your uncle’s the warden,” he practically drags out each word for a smug effect.
“Hugh Walsh-” Sherlock kicks himself over the realization, but he isn’t granted much time to dwell on it on his own.
“-Is my mom’s brother-in-law. I never had a close relationship with my dad, so you could say Uncle Hu took on the role and, of course, what uncle would let his nephew rot away in prison if he can somehow prevent it? His only request was that I come up with a good plan instead of being rash. He got me out and covered it up while I went on my merry way to get (Y/n). That’s when the game really began. Luckily for me, she took the bait when I sent her that letter, running right to her knight in shining armor and tying him back into this mess just as I had hoped.
”From there, I just had to keep an eye from afar until the right moment. I gotta say, it took longer than I imagined. You really weren’t taking any chances with her safety, taking her everywhere you go, parading her around like a show dog…Oh, but I’m sure you had fun with it. I’m sure you savored every second of your time with her especially behind closed doors, right? For the first time, she got to be yours. I guess you could say the image of you doing as you please with my fiancée was making me impatient. Fortunately, I noticed you were getting a little too comfortable. You started taking more risks with her, so I decided to take one of my own…“
When there’s another pause, Sherlock takes the bait with growing annoyance,” and what was that?“
”Glad you asked. Marvin Patel, ring a bell?“
"No.”
“God, you really are an emotionless machine…Man in his late sixties, dark hair, nice beard…heard he went missing after a night at the bar; last night particularly.”
“…The body on Abbott Lane…”
“Bingo! I needed a way to lure you away from the missus, so I asked some random drunk if he needed a ride home, killed him in a way that would stump investigators just enough to call their hero, then dumped him on the side of the road to let the show begin. While your head was turned, I simply took my chance to get (Y/n). Of course, she put up a bit of a fight, but nothing a good hit to the head can’t fix. Overall, I’d say my plan worked like a charm, wouldn’t you agree?”
“And what do you plan to do now? There must be another step considering you’ve wasted time calling me,” Sherlock hisses, his irritation with the call reaching its limit. He can hear John talking downstairs to someone signaling that Lestrade’s arrived, but what good will the Yard do if Sherlock doesn’t know anything new worth matter. Out of all the bullshit Apollo’s spewed, nothing says where you are.
“Nothing gets pass you, or should I say, most things don’t,” Apollo sighs, the sound of his boots against the ground starting up again,“ alright, you’ve got me, detective. I didn’t only call to brag, although, that’s been the best part of this conversation. Instead, I thought it would be fair to give you a fair chance. What, like (Y/n) did for me? Isn’t that what you said? It would be a shame to let our game end so easily and I’m sure poor (Y/n) is just on the edge of her seat waiting for you to find her. Can’t let her down, can we?
”I want you to listen closely because I have a few ‘conditions’ for my hint, but I’m sure you can already guess what they are. It’s the typical movie format really: come alone and don’t tell anyone where you’re going or why. If I so much as think you’ve disobeyed and have someone on your trail- and I don’t care who is it, the police or your little military friend-, I’ll finish what I started six years ago. Did you know that I originally planned on a murder suicide back then? I may not want to lose (Y/n), but if we’re going to being torn apart anyways, I’ll happily take her with me and try our chances together in a new life-“
”-I have one condition of my own,“ Sherlock interrupts, gaining Apollo’s attention.
”Really? You’re going to be a beggar in this situation?“
Sherlock’s slow with his words, picking each one carefully,” I merely want to talk to her…There’s no point in playing this game if the prize isn’t there, right?“
There’s nothing on the other end, Apollo seemingly considering the request and it’s worth. Meanwhile, Sherlock holds his breath, truly begging internally for him to take the chance. Maybe it won’t do anything to actually help the case, but he needs to hear from you even if it’s a single word.
”…S-Sherlock?“ His breath hitches at the whimper of a voice which breaks the silence at last, shaking him to his core.
"Yes, it’s me. I’m here, (Y/n),” he jumps to his feet, his body trembling as he speaks quickly, knowing Apollo can take this chance away at any moment,“ listen, I’m coming to get you, alright? There’s nothing that’ll stop me. J-Just remember everything I’ve told you, okay? We’ve gone over it before- what you do if you’re ever kidnapped. I’ll be there as soon as I can, just hang on a little longer…for me.”
”I-I love you, Sh-Sherlock…“ the last words are whispered so quietly that he can barely hear them especially over Lestrade and John’s voices as they enter the room, franticly looking over to him, but he never turns his attention away from the phone.
"I…I know…I’ll be there soon. I promise.”
He isn’t sure if you heard the last part because Apollo’s soon talking again, his voice melting away the detective’s relief,“ touching stuff, gotta say. Now unless you want to keep pushing you luck, are you ready for your hint?”
Sherlock hums, eyes focused on the floor.
“We’re somewhere I’ve dreamed of being with (Y/n) since we first fell in love. Of course, this one isn’t ideal; more of somewhere you would’ve taken her if it hadn’t been abandoned three years ago, but even with the peeling paint, I’d say it still has that traditional feel to it. If only we had (Y/n)’s lilies…Maybe you could bring her some?…You get it, Holmes?”
“…I do,” he mumbles, already having the exact place in mind.
“I’ll see you then, Holmes. (Y/n) is wishing you luck.”
That’s it. Sherlock lets his hand fall to his side with the phone still clenched in his grip, his eyes focused on the distance. He knows it’s a trap. Apollo isn’t even trying to hide it; he wants to get Sherlock alone and kill him as cliche as it is, but the detective doesn’t have much of a choice. He can’t just ignore the hint and wait for you to miraculously knock at the door safe and sound nor can he risk bringing John which could cost your life…
“Sherlock, what did he say? Where’s (Y/n)?” The doctor asks desperately, reaching for the phone in Sherlock’s hand when he doesn’t answer,“…here, Lestrade said they might be able to track the pings. We can narrow down Apollo’s location and-”
“-That won’t be necessary.”
“What…?” John raises an eyebrow not only at Sherlock’s words but the way he jerks the phone away, calmly walking past him towards the coat rack.
“Look, I know you like to do this stuff on your own, Sherlock, but this is a time sensitive case. If the suspect called you then that’s the best lead we’re going to get,” Lestrade tries to reason, both men watching in surprise as Sherlock causally puts on his coat with a shake of his head.
“It wasn’t Apollo on the phone, it was (Y/n). She said she’s managed to get away from him, but as you can imagine, the poor girl’s rather shaken up and doesn’t know her way back to the flat from downtown London, so I’ll be going to pick her up myself. She’ll have plenty of time to tell us whatever she can about Apollo, information I’ll pass over to the Yard later, however, my only priority right now is getting her home,” Sherlock explains while wrapping his scarf around his neck and giving a smile to both men, one neither believe,“ John, I’d like you to stay here and prepare some tea for when we get back. (Y/n) will need something to calm her nerves. It may also be wise to prepare a first aid kit in case she needs medical attention-”
“-Sherlock, I know you weren’t on a call with (Y/n), I’m not stupid-!” John marches forward, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s arm before he can start down the stairs, but his words are caught in his throat when his friend whips around, giving a deadly glare to the shorter man.
“-I said to stay here. We’ll be back by this afternoon,” Sherlock rips his arm from John’s grip, his words stern yet there’s something else behind them that can’t be made out. He then continues his way downstairs, calling over his shoulder,“ Greg, you can expect a call from me in the morning with any new details!”
John runs a hand through his hair while watching the door open and close, Sherlock official disappearing behind it and leaving the two men alone with more questions than answers,“…something’s wrong.”
“Yeah, no kidding…He remembered my name for once…”
The prosecution wasn’t very thrilled when they discovered Apollo had plead not guilty to charges of attempted murder, but it wasn’t until everyone heard his defense attorney’s main argument that their blood began to truly boil: you shot yourself in a failed suicide attempt and are now blaming Apollo to avoid judgement. It’s a pathetic lie meant to use the victim as a scapegoat to save Apollo’s arse from a hefty sentence, but unfortunately, it sounds pretty convincing to the jury.
One could imagine the fury your friends and family felt as they watched Apollo cry on the stand, describing the night’s events in his own words. At some points, his acting had been so good that some started to think he truly believes in the false fairytale he narrated to the courtroom.
You are the love of his life in whom he had met during your second year of college. The two of you started out as friends before beginning to date just two months into knowing each other. Convinced that you’re the one, Apollo proposed just four months into the ‘wonderful’ relationship, however, he reported issues began to arise after the engagement.
You became depressed which only got worse in the few months leading up to you suddenly calling off the engagement. Within a short timeframe, the two of you separated with you moving in with your mother and eventually blocking Apollo’s phone number when he tried calling you. Despite having broken his heart, he was still worried over his ‘mentally unstable’ ex’s safety and planned to talk to you at your work one night.
Having been told that you’d already clocked off, Apollo met with you in the back parking lot of the store, but he was met with aggression. Soon, the two of you began to argue until you suddenly pulled a gun, pointing it at your own head and threating to kill yourself right then. No matter how much he begged, you eventually pulled the trigger while sitting in the front seat of the car.
Terrified, Apollo immediately called out for help while trying to stop the blood. With no phone on his person, he was ultimately forced to run inside the store and get your coworkers to call 911. One could imagine his joy when finding out that you had survived the attack. The bullet hit the side of your skull, passing through the frontal bone and existing at the far edge of your occipital bone. Miraculously, it only grazed your brain, causing no serious damage like it would’ve if it had only been a millimeter to the side. Apollo was less enthusiastic to discover you’re blaming him for the incident, claiming that he shot you instead.
Being considered a witness himself, Sherlock isn’t allowed in the courtroom outside of his own testimonies which is possibly a good thing since it prevents him from making any inappropriate comments or gestures towards Apollo especially as he told the ridiculous story. While a foolish Mandible shook her head in worry over the defense’s evidence, Sherlock has been confident from the start in his ability to win the game, after all, he’s already discovered several holes in Apollo’s story and the evidence that 'supported’ it. To be exact, Sherlock found four main factors that play against the defense.
First of all, the timeframe is concerning. A few witnesses in the area had called police no later than ten twenty that night, reporting that they had heard a gunshot, however, your coworkers had called at exactly ten forty-two, clearly stating to the dispatcher that Apollo had onlyjust ran in about a minute or two earlier which leaves for a twenty-minute gap between the trigger being pulled and Apollo getting help. Even if Apollo claimed he was trying to stop the bleeding, twenty minutes is quite a long stretch of time to put off calling paramedics as your ex-fiancée lies dying. Anyone else in his situation would immediately get help unless they were purposely stalling.
The second flaw in the defense’s evidence is the context behind your depression. Family and friends from both parties confirmed that you had showed signs of depression during the months leading up to the shooting, however, the defense failed to explore the possible reasoning for said depression, only highlighting what it led to.
While Sherlock had only regrettable realized it afterwards, Apollo was abusive to you long before the incident, a behavior that had only got worse after the engagement. His favorite tactic to use was threating to commit suicide himselfif you ever left him, something that unfortunately guilt tripped you into staying longer than intended until you had finally managed to put your foot down by calling his bluff. Anyone would be depressed living in that situation. After returning the ring to Apollo and calling off the relationship completely, family and friends could agree that you didseem happier at that point, further securing the reasoning for your previous depression being linked only to Apollo.
The third flaw is the gun. While you had access to a handgun, the one found in your hand at the scene is not the same one, in fact, yours was found to be left untouched in the glovebox of the car. Sherlock is one of only four people who knew about the gun prior to police finding it because he’s the one who instructed you to buy it after you had vaguely mentioned being worried about Apollo. You apparently told no one about it expect for him and your parents, therefore, Apollo had no idea it existed beforehand. Instead, he left two guns at the scene, allowing for the possible question of where you would’ve gotten the second gun if yours had been in the glovebox the whole time.
The last flaw, and Sherlock’s personal favorite piece of evidence: the state of Apollo’s hands which was observed at the scene. Despite him stating various times that he had touched your wound, only his blood-soaked sleeves confirmed this. How could someone touch a gushing head wound and only get their sleeves soiled without a speck of blood to their hands? Gloves, Sherlock had confirmed. Apollo wore gloves when firing the gun which would’ve not only successfully kept his fingerprints off the weapon, but also would’ve kept any gun residue off him. After shooting you, he positioned the gun in your hands to make the scene look like a suicide had occurred. With everything set the way he liked, he threw his gloves away and waited a bit longer to get help, after all, at that point, he believed you were dead, and that all the evidence was covered up. He underestimated your strength and Sherlock’s skill.
Sherlock had been quite pleased with his findings, raving to you about it after Mandible explained the horrified look on the defense’s face when she presented the evidence to the jury word for word just as the amateur detective had instructed her to. The case was in the bag for you, or so Sherlock had thought until it came time for your own testimony. Words couldn’t describe how much his core shook with anger when he first saw that ghostly look on your face as Mandible lead you out of the courtroom. His anger was only fueled upon learning what had happened.
Ever since the day Apollo plead not guilty, you’ve been preparing yourself on what you’d have to say when the time came for you to give your own version of the story. You had rehearsed countless times with Sherlock who tried to help with whatever he could, but in the end, he could only awkwardly comfort you as you started sobbing halfway through your tale. Every time you think about that night, your mind flashes back to the image of Apollo’s empty eyes which matched the darkness of the gun barrel he pointed towards you. How could you possibly get the words out while being forced to sit in the same room as him again?
After countless practice runs, you finally felt confident enough to say what you needed to. As you took your seat in front of the entire courtroom, you made sure to keep your eyes either down or fixated on the person asking you questions. You didn’t dare look anywhere else, choosing to pretend Apollo wasn’t somewhere in the room which worked well enough. You were proud of yourself for getting through the initial story with only a few sniffs and tears. Mandible had explained that the initial story telling process is the hardest, everything after just being simple questions the defense will ask regarding the case. She had even prepped you on a few possible questions, however, there was one she didn’t predict, one that threw your whole world off its axis:
“At any point during your engagement to Mr. Timmons, were you partaking in an affair with Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
Your heart had dropped into your stomach. Mandible never said anything about them mentioning Sherlock. She had been quick to object, demanding why your relationship with him would matter, however, with the defense being granted approval to continue with the topic, she was forced to remain silent as you answered.
“N-No,” the answer had come out as a surprised squeak on your part, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. It felt as if the whole courtroom’s eyes were suddenly burning into you,“ Sherlock-Mr. Holmes and I are only friends. We, um…we met while I was living in London with my great aunt and we would talk a lot…we’ve always maintained a close friendship since, but nothing romantic.”
“Yes, our records show that you’ve kept frequent contact with Mr. Holmes even throughout your relationship with Mr. Timmons. Reviewing these conversations, you’ve openly discussed with Mr. Holmes that you are unhappy with Mr. Timmons and wish you could leave him. Is this correct?”
You had to nod. It was correct. You often confided in Sherlock.
“You also often discussed moving back to London. As seen in the conversation here, you state that your reasoning is to be with Mr. Holmes. Is that correct as well, Ms. (L/n)?”
“W-Well, yes, but-” You had hesitated, but nodded nonetheless. The text message they showed on the screen put the whole conversation between the two of you on display for the entire jury to see. In it, Sherlock asked why you would move back to London to which you had answered exactly 'to be with you ;)’. Of course, you didn’t intent it to have any deeper meaning. You had plenty of other reasons for moving to London, but you decided to tease your best friend. The only reason it was suspicious to move closer to him was because he happened to be a guy, that’s all.
“I will ask again Ms. (L/n). Were you having an affair with Mr. Holmes?”
It was then that you made your worse mistake of the evening. In your dazed state, you moved your eyes to the side of the attorney where they froze upon spotting Apollo. From his seat, his cold dark eye bore into you, studying your every movement and reaction. His words of that night began coming back to you, everything he said about you cheating on him with Sherlock. It didn’t matter how many times you told him the truth. To Apollo, you called off your engagement to be with Sherlock. Poisoned by jealousy, he became determined to ruin your life with Sherlock by any means possible in a typically 'if I can’t have you, no one can’ case.
“Ms. (L/n)?”
The courtroom erupted into cries when you suddenly gagged, your hand flying to your mouth as you tried to stand. Mandible was quick to assist you, running over with a bin and rubbing your back as you threw up what little you had eaten that day. Deciding that you had been through enough for the evening, the trial was put on hold, allowing you to exit the courtroom to your worried family while visibly shaking. Despite not being very verbally or emotionally expressive, Sherlock seemed to worry the most, attempting to ask you what had happened only for you to duck away from his gaze, the sick feeling coming back the second you made eye contact with him.
Needless to say, he was furious upon hearing the defense’s last resort, furious enough to want to march into that courtroom to knock all of Apollo’s teeth out. He hated the way they were using you as a scapegoat, but perhaps he hated it even more that Apollo was practically waving it in his face that he couldn’t have even been your second choice during the relationship. Truthfully, Sherlock didn’t care how he had to be with you. If you had asked, he would’ve taken on all the judgment that came with being the other man just to get a taste of what it was like to feel your love, but of course, that never happened. Unlike Sherlock, you were a good person with equally good morals. You would never play two games at once which was all the more reason that made Sherlock’s fury flare at how Apollo was trying to make you look.
Knowing it will only cause you more pain to jump over the stand and attack Apollo’s smug face, Sherlock remains on his best possible behavior just as he had promised to be when it came time for his own testimony. Just as they had done with you, the defense starts with normal questions concerning what he knows about your relationship with Apollo and how he came to find out about the shooting. Then they move onto the affair accusations. Of course, Sherlock answers truthfully. No, you two have never been romantically involved and no, he did not tell you to leave Apollo so that you could be with him instead (although he had secretly hoped you would).
“Mr. Holmes, it has been brought to our attention that you are assisting with the functions of this case. Is that correct?” While they are obviously attempting to throw him off his feet, he remains unfazed.
“Yes, I am a private detective and Ms. (L/n) has hired me to see over the details. It isn’t a crime to do your job.”
“Perhaps not,” the attorney agrees with a masked look of boredom,“ one more question before we let you go, Mr. Holmes. While you deny that there was ever anything sexual or romantic between you and Ms. (L/n), have you ever felt such feelings towards her?”
Sherlock takes in a breath, scanning the faces in the room as everyone waits for his next answer. His attention lands on Apollo who glares his way, fidgeting with the cuffs of his suit. Sherlock makes eye contact with him, matching the cold look in his eyes that screams everything he wants to do to make Apollo suffer,” yes, I have and continue to have feelings for Ms. (L/n).”
The defense looks completely offput, having to look back at his questions with slight hesitation. Clearly, he didn’t expect that answer regardless of what Apollo has told him,“ a-and you wouldn’t say those feelings have intercepted with your work on the case?”
“Of course not,” the detective rolls his eyes in annoyance,” I am a professional who keeps my personal life and work separate unlike you who are currently sleeping with the prosecutor’s assistant judging on the shade of pink on your shirt collar which matches the very shade of her lipstick.“
…Sherlock did only say he would be on his best possiblebehavior.
Sherlock has been arched forward for what most would say is an uncomfortably long time, however, he barely shifts, keeping his eyes locked on the screen of the laptop before him. He also gives little acknowledgement to the figure who peers over his shoulder quite annoyingly, watching his every movement carefully as he types.
“What are you doing now?” The silence between them is finally broken.
“I asked Mycroft to get me all the nearby security footage that would’ve been recording starting an hour before Apollo’s arrival. I don’t have any direct angles on the flat itself, but as you can see here, a silver Volkswagen fitting the description Mrs. Hudson gave can be seen turning this corner towards the flat here-” he switches the video to the next, “-before later being seen entering the frame of the cameras down the street here.”
“What about Speedy’s? Wouldn’t they have better footage to show the front of the flat?”
“Of course, I already thought of that, and the answer is ‘no’,” Sherlock growls with annoyance. Whether it’s aimed towards the stupid question, or the inconvenience of the cameras could be up for debate; perhaps it’s both,“ Speedy’s is the first place I went to get any possible footage, but apparently their cameras have been down all day.”
He quickly dismisses the thought especially when the voice says nothing more. He instead continues on with his previous point,“ regardless, if that car would’ve continued the entire way down the street, even if going under the speed limit, it would’ve passed that camera sooner than it had which means it made a stop somewhere. Seeing that it’s the only vehicle to make a stop on this block and fits Mrs. Hudson’s description, I feel confident saying it’s Apollo. Now all I have to do is just follow that license plate number and hope it brings me to his location which shouldn’t be too difficult seeing that there are cameras all over London-”
“-Assuming none of the others are down, then yes,” the voice reminds him, not fazed by how much he seems to fight glancing towards them for even a second,“ but what if he leaves London? It’s already been three hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-five seconds. He could’ve long boarded a plane by now and, if that’s so, it would mean you’re already too late, Sherlock. You’ve already failed to save me at this point.”
Sherlock frowns, finally turning to you who stares at him with a disappointed look in your eyes. You shake your head with a trembling voice,“ you promised, Sherlock. You promised to protect me from him but look what’s happened now. You let him get to me. He could kill me at any moment and that’s if he hasn’t already. He won’t make the same mistake as last time either…Why did I ever trust you?”
“…I’m sorry,” Sherlock lowers his head against his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. Why did you trust him? No one ever puts that much trust in him. Perhaps there’s good reason for it considering you’ve now been kidnapped. You should’ve been like everyone else…You should’ve never trusted him.
“That’s your problem, Sherlock,” Mycroft shakes his head with pity, staring his little brother down from where he sits across the room, his hands folded nicely on top of his lap. He leans forward with his words,“ you fell in love with her. You let your silly feelings get in the way of your work despite how many times I’ve warned you against it. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. You havealways been the more emotional out of the two of us-”
“-Be quiet…”
“And all for what? Temporary happiness? A hopeless dream that love will prevail over all for you two? Life isn’t some fairytale, Sherlock. You both would’ve been better off if you’d never fallen in love her to begin with-”
“-BE QUIET!” Sherlock repeats with a shout, standing up harshly.
Think…He has to think straight. He’s tried tracking the silver Volkswagen, but that isn’t working; not quick enough. It takes time to receive and review the footage. Even with the videos he currently has, it gets messy following a single car when it disappears into dense traffic, seeming to know exactly where to turn to escape and confuse cameras. Lestrade has the license plate number and has the police keeping an eye out for it, but if Apollo’s smart enough to lose a camera, he’ll avoid police attention, too.
Sherlock’s fingers dig into his hair as he tries to think despite the horrific sounds of your screams and cries echoing in his ears. It isn’t too late; it couldn’t be. Maybe there’s a certain place Apollo could’ve taken you, somewhere that is secluded yet special to the two of you? You’re from America. Could Apollo be planning to take you back there? If that’s the case, then Sherlock would need to watch flight recorders.
With Lestrade’s manhunt, Apollo wouldn’t be able to easily board just any plane, but still, people are idiots. He could easily trick someone and if he manages to leave London, the window for your survival decreases as does the chances of Sherlock ever finding you. He must find you, though. He can’t lose you for good. He couldn’t live with that-
“-Sherlock, snap out of it!” He gives a slight jump, barely able to recognize John standing in front of him, shaking his shoulders with a look of worry while Mrs. Hudson stands sniffling not far behind him,“ Sherlock? Are you alright?”
John hasn’t been gone long. Sherlock had been so focused on the laptop that he thought it would be a good time to quickly check up on Mrs. Hudson who had been off on her own since Lestrade and the other officers left. When John returned, however, he had found Sherlock crouched on the ground against the couch, his hands tearing strands of hair from his head and his breathing completely uneven. It only took a second for the trained doctor to realize his friend wasn’t in his normal Mind Palace: he was having a panic attack.
Sherlock’s first action after recovering from his dazed state is to smack John’s hands away in annoyance, not sparing a look anywhere else in the room as his mind tries to play catch up to what happened. Normally, John would’ve taken offense to the aggression, but this isn’t any normal circumstance.
“Are you alright, Sherlock?” He asks again carefully, watching worriedly as his friend tries to stand on legs that tremble under his own weight. In the end, he has to use the couch as a means of support to pull himself upright, his knuckles turning white due to the grip he has on the armrest,“ you should really sit down. You don’t look okay-”
“-OF COURSE, I’M NOT OKAY!” Sherlock snaps in a booming voice as if it’s the most insulting question he’s ever heard, although, in this moment, it truly is,“ (Y/N) IS GONE AND YOU EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY?”
“Sherlock-”
“-She’s gone, John! S-She’s gone, and I can’t think like I usually can…I should’ve already been able to find her…” Sherlock whimpers helplessly, collapsing onto the couch and looking at his friend with possibly the most broken face John has ever seen,“ why can’t I find her?!”
“Sherlock, you willfind her,” John states so like it’s a firm fact while sitting next to his friend,“ I can’t think of a single case that you haven’t solved within the time that I’ve known you and you’re not about to start now. The only difference here is this case is personal. That’s why you’re having trouble thinking straight. You just have to slow down and take this one step at a time. Lestrade’s got patrols out everywhere looking for them and Mycroft’s even enforced security at all airports so that no one can leave the country without being completely checked out first…Apollo’s not getting very far with her anytime soon.”
“…He doesn’t have to in order to hurt her.”
John goes quiet, realizing the truth behind Sherlock’s words, although, he tries to shake them off quickly,“ Apollo’s like Moriarty, don’t you think? It seems to me that he’s just been trying to get inside your head this entire time be it from that letter to the video call. That’s the same strategy Moriarty used. They trick you into loosing focus and giving them the upper hand. You can’t let Apollo win like that.”
“It’s alright to worry about (Y/n) but worrying to this extend isn’t doing anything to help her,” Mrs. Hudson nods in agreement with John’s previous words, setting a hand gently on Sherlock’s shoulder,“ you’ll figure this out, Sherlock. In the meantime, you have to trust that (Y/n) is a smart girl. I’m sure she knows what to do to buy you more time.”
Mrs. Hudson has a point. You’ve always had a knack for understanding anything involving criminal justice, after all, it’s been a passion of yours long before you even met Sherlock. While the protective side of him wants to argue, his rational reasoning can’t deny that you’re decently informed on not only criminal behavior, but also how to heighten your chances of survival. It also aids your case that the suspect in question is your ex. If anyone knows how to keep Apollo talking long enough for Sherlock to follow his trail, it’s you.
Sherlock doesn’t say anything, but the slight nod of his head gives at least some sort of hope to John and Mrs. Hudson, the latter of which later excusing herself to go make dinner for the group while John stays to further comfort Sherlock, assuring him they’ll catch Apollo.
Regardless of the support of his friends or the warm dinner Mrs. Hudson cooked, the detective still feels numb inside waiting. He barely eats anything as it is, let alone under so much stress. Luckily, no one says anything when he leaves his nearly full plate of food on the table, immediately going back to his laptop to review the footage once again in hopes that he’ll find something new with a clearer mind even if it’s unlikely.
A little after four hours in, Sherlock receives a surprising phone call from his mother. While it could’ve been a simple coincidence with terrible timing, he has other suspensions which are quickly confirmed when being met by his mother’s quivering voice hinting that she’s on the verge of tears. Seeing that you’re kidnapping hasn’t been made public through the media, Sherlock internally curses Mycroft as the source, realizing that he must’ve mentioned the current situation to their parents even though Sherlock has had yet to even tell them anything about you being back in his life.
His mother doesn’t even say 'hello’. Instead, the first words out of her mouth after a few sniffs are asking if it’s true that you’re missing and in danger. Of course, no matter how much he wants to lie to both her and himself, Sherlock can’t do so to his mother, reluctantly telling her the truth with assurance that he’s working on the case as they speak. It’s difficult to miss her mumbled sobs in the background as his father takes over the call, sounding much calmer as he has his son promise to call back if he needs anything at all, but the promise is halfhearted with Sherlock’s focus elsewhere.
When John had picked up his own phone only a half an hour later and mentioned Mycroft’s name, Sherlock listens in when the doctor asks if there’s any news, however, he curses to himself when hearing John’s disappointment that follows. The rest of the conversation merely points towards Mycroft calling to check up on his little brother’s progress and wellbeing himself. John, being his irritating self, tells him the truth of Sherlock’s 'panic attack’ earlier, but at least he has the decency to lie and say the detective’s doing 'a little’ better now that he’s wrapped up in his coat on the couch trying to enter his Mind Palace to think, his back turned to the world the betrayed him.
“Um…I don’t know if he’s in the 'talking’ mood,” Sherlock hears John say. Shortly afterwards, he ends the call, his footsteps following to the direction of his chair before he can be heard sitting down. At the same time, Sherlock’s own phone begins to ring, but having no intention of speaking to his brother, he ignores the sound as well as John asking,“ shouldn’t you answer it?”
“I’m not talking to Mycroft,” Sherlock pouts stubbornly, his voice muffled by the sound of the couch pillow he has his face pressed too close against. If Mycroft doesn’t have updates on you, then there’s no reason for the brothers to interact at the moment. Sherlock’s too busy for another lecture about feelings being a weakness.
John gives a sigh, walking over and plucking the phone off the table mere feet away from Sherlock to check who’s calling, after all, there’s always the chance of it being someone other than Mycroft especially since he’d just gotten off the phone with the older Holmes brother himself.
If the detective had been facing him, then perhaps he would’ve seen the way John’s eyes widened, but since his back’s turned, the surprise in his voice has to be enough to portray the emotion,“ S-Sherlock, it’s (Y/n)-!”
In one swift movement, Sherlock has leapt up from his sulking position to snatch his phone away from John, his wide eyes meeting with the caller ID. Sure enough, the name showcased on the glowing screen matches the one in which has filled his mind all day…it really is you.
He barely gives any thought into answering while bringing the device close to his ear. He does nothing to hide the desperate tone in his voice; desperate to hear your own voice in return,“ (Y/n), where are you-?”
“Well, if it isn’t the Great Sherlock Holmes. Funny getting to talk to you again, isn’t it? What’s it been? Almost a month? Just under one?”
No words can be said to calm Sherlock down. The detective’s face is pale beyond belief, his eyes wide with clear panic despite his efforts to hide it. He disappears into his Mind Palace for the majority of the drive, only snapping out of it long enough to either snap at John for his poor attempts of comfort or to order Lestrade to drive faster.
The inspector does his best to bite back any sour words, realizing that this is no time to argue or get offended by the man’s harshness. To be honest, he’s a bit afraid to. Never in all his years of knowing Sherlock has he seen him so visibly panicked or upset.
Lestrade still has no clue what’s going on, only that John had gotten Sherlock’s attention during his phone call which is when the latter man’s personality immediately switched like a light. Next thing anyone knew, he was running towards Lestrade’s car, shouting at the confused inspector that they need to get to Baker Street quickly. Usually, he’d assume Sherlock’s just being his normal, crazy self and not think much of it, but by that desperate look the detective had given him, saying that it concerns you, he knew something’s truly wrong.
John sits in the back seat, his phone glued to his ear as he listens to poor Mrs. Hudson’s cries and does his best to reassure her even through his own jumbled worries,” we’re heading there now…Mrs. Hudson, you have to try and calm down. Take deep breaths, alright?…I know, I know…We’re almost there…“
While no one can tell, Sherlock’s listening intensely to John’s words, trying to pick up on any clues as to what’s going on there, yet he refuses to actually ask. Deep down, he just knows…and it makes him sick to consider.
It only takes a couple of minutes to reach Baker Street, but it feels like hours to everyone in that car. Sherlock doesn’t even wait for Lestrade to properly stop the vehicle, swinging his door open and leaping out in one quick motion before bursting through the front door, John not far behind.
The first thing they find is Mrs. Hudson who sits on the stairs leading up to their flat, her head in her hands as she sobs with a violence shake in her shoulders. When seeing the boys, she reaches up, her arms and voice trembling,” S-Sherlock…they’re g-gone…h-he-“
He completely ignores her and her words, instead entrusting her to John’s care while he races up the stairs at least two steps at a time, shouting your name.
Once reaching the top step, Sherlock slams the half open door completely open, not bothering to worry about it possibly punching a hole in the wall. He puts his main focus on scanning the flat, taking note of every little detail that he can.
A fresh fire burns brightly in the fireplace, keeping the room toasty warm. The only other light inside the dark flat is the dim lamp behind his chair, a blanket pooled at the bottom of said chair with the book you’ve been reading as of lately lying page-side down on the ground beside it.
Quickly concluding that you’re nowhere in the main room, he calls your name again while turning on his heel and racing into the bedroom. Flipping on the light, he tosses the covers off the bed yet finds it empty. The closet? Empty. The bathroom? Empty. The kitchen? Empty again. He checks every single spot he could imagine someone hiding, every spot he holds onto hope of you being, and yet you’re nowhere to be seen…no one is.
Regardless, he circles aimlessly around the flat. There must be some clue to help him. Coffee has been made in the kitchen with a couple of his experiments and papers tidied up meaning you must’ve woken up not long after they left, deciding to do a little cleaning before sitting down to read until their return. One of the kitchen chairs has been knocked over, something you wouldn’t have left willing especially after recently cleaning which means something happened afterwards, giving you a reason to knock it over-
”-Sherlock!“ Lestrade appears in the doorway, catching his breath,” what the hell happened?“
”…She’s gone…“ Sherlock whispers, bringing his hands to his head as he tries to think, his nails digging into his scalp with frustration.
"What do you mean ‘she’s gone’?”
“I MEAN SHE’S NOT HERE!HE GOT TO HER!” Sherlock snaps while beginning to pace. As if suddenly realizing something very crucial, he stops and pushes pass a confused Lestrade, making his way downstairs to Mrs. Hudson’s flat with the inspector trailing after him.
John has Mrs. Hudson sitting down on her couch where he’s given her a bag of frozen vegetables to press against her aching cheek and his jacket to wrap around her shivering shoulders. Their eyes immediately lock with Sherlock once he finally joins them.
"What happened?” There’s no greeting or words of comfort, only a stern demand that’s harsher than intended.
“I-I’m so sorry, Sherlock. I woke up to someone bangin’ on the door and thought that maybe you two had left and forgotten your keys, but w-when I opened it, that man forced himself in and demanded to know where (Y/n) was,” Mrs. Hudson whimpers, her voice rushed and eyes flooded with tears,“ I tried to lie to him, I really did. I-I told him she’s doesn’t live here and that I’d call the police if he doesn’t leave, but then he threatened me a-a-and (Y/n) came o-out-”
She stops when her sobs become too much by beginning to overlap her words. Sherlock kneels in front of her, running a gentle thumb over the purple bruise forming on her cheek. This time, his voice is much softer when speaking to her, but still stressed nevertheless,“ it’s hardly your fault, Mrs. Hudson. He must’ve been watching us to know when I left (Y/n) alone. For now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Don’t leave any details out.”
The landlady sniffs with a troubled shake of her head. Doing as he said, she gives as much detail as she possibly can, from what the man looked like to the colored car she had a mere second to spot parked out front.
According to Mrs. Hudson, the man had easily pushed his way through the front door, getting increasingly aggressive before finally punching her when she threated to call police. It wasn’t until you made an appearance at the top of the stairs that he abandoned all interest in the older woman, marching upstairs towards you instead. The two of you disappeared from sight but could be heard arguing which quickly took the form of threats and shouting, mostly from the man. That’s when Mrs. Hudson first tried calling John, a call that went unanswered.
The loud screams went quiet until the man came back downstairs, this time carrying you who, from what Mrs. Hudson could see, were either passed out or on the verge of it. The landlady was ready to bravely tell him to stop before noticing the gun he held, one a man of his sort wouldn’t be afraid to use, no doubt. Knowing full well the poor woman couldn’t do anything to stop him, he stepped out the front door with ease, leaving a frightened Mrs. Hudson to hurry and call the boys once again, an attempt that would finally be successful.
John rubs her back as she sniffles again, his eyes going to Sherlock with concern,“ it couldn’t have actually been Apollo, though, right? I thought you said he was in jail?”
“He was…”
Lestrade, who had been listening by the doorway and piecing together the story himself, shakes his head while pulling out his phone,“ I’m calling for backup.”
Surprisingly, Sherlock does nothing to stop him, allowing him to step into the hallway to make the call while he merely stands there frozen himself, considering all the parts of Mrs. Hudson’s account.
Apollo’s in prison. He saw him there. Maybe he hired someone to take you? It’s possible, but the description Mrs. Hudson gave of the man sounds too identical to Apollo. It’s not as if he physically visited the man in prison either. His enemy could’ve simply tricked him and been out all along, waiting patiently for the second Sherlock lets his guard down. The second he leaves you alone in the middle of the night…the second he slips up and lets you down.
Sherlock plops down next to Mrs. Hudson, his head in his hands as he takes deep breaths. He must find you. You couldn’t have gotten too far yet, but the question is how far Apollo’s planning on taking you? How much time does Sherlock have to find you and get you back before Apollo does something rash; something even the great detective wouldn’t be able to reverse?
“Sherlock…we’ll get her back, alright? Lestrade’s getting a team out here to help,” John tries to offer at least some comfort, looking over to his motionless best friend. Never has he seen Sherlock so distraught, nor did he ever think he would, yet it’s believable.
He’s seen firsthand how Sherlock’s typically cold, robotic demeanor changes for you and for you only; how much he loves you and has strived to protect you. Now you’re gone with your life in danger. Having someone you love forcibly taken away is enough to make any man crazy and Sherlock isn’t just any man. There’s no telling how he’s going to approach the issue.
Sherlock stays quiet and stationary to the point that, for a second, John begins to fear the stress of the situation has actually caused him to pass out, however, when he reaches out to tap his friend, he leaps up suddenly.
“Mrs. Hudson, you said that car was parked directly in front of the flat?”
“Y-Yes, a silver one. I didn’t see the make or anything just-”
“And you think that’s the vehicle he took to get here?” Sherlock ignores the other details she tries to give.
“I’m certain. It was gone by the time he left, and I hadn’t noticed it before.”
Sherlock gives a half-hearted nod, striding out of the room in a causal pace that worries John as do his calm words,“ then I’ve got a call to make.”
‘…He’s going to burn down London to get her back.’
You’ve tried your best to go back to sleep, aware that if you don’t, you’ll end up regretting it later in the day, but despite your efforts, you just can’t seem to succeed. Your stomach feels too twisted for sleep with even the slightest of sounds making you flinch. Once that happens, your anxiety refuses to let you rest until you’ve at least peek at the door to ensure no one’s there.
Part of you wishes Sherlock would’ve woken you up and taken you to the crime scene, too. At least then you wouldn’t be alone, yet if he did that, you may not have gotten your dream about Walsh either. You’re not sure if Sherlock knows about the connection between Apollo and Hugh, but if he doesn’t, then he should. It’s important detail, after all, one that could act as a reason for how Apollo got out of prison.
Flipping over on your stomach, you stare at the bedroom wall blankly, debating if you should text him. How would you even set that up? ‘Hey, I know you’re probably really busy, but the guy who runs the prison is Apollo’s uncle’. It might be best to simply wait for his return and tell him face-to-face, that way you know you’re not ruining an important moment. Sherlock’s waited so long for a good murder to come his way; you wouldn’t want to step on your boyfriend’s moment.
You wonder what they’re currently up to. John’s probably fighting to stay awake while listening to Sherlock complain about all the simple clues missed by the investigators, taking any chance he gets to insult their intelligence along the way. The thought makes you chuckle especially when considering the note he had left you.
His eyes must have sparkles in them right now; that spark of happiness he tries to hide from most people because they never appreciate it. You, on the other hand, adore the way his usually dull eyes will fill with that rare emotion any time he begins discussing his investigations. While you need to tell him about Walsh, you also can’t wait for him to return and tell you all about his morning just so that you can see that thrilled glow that showcases his inner child and joy.
Coming to terms with the fact that you aren’t going to get anymore sleep simply lying in bed, you reluctantly crawl out of the warm blankets into the cold bedroom air. You’re quick to dress yourself in Sherlock’s fuzzy robe before entering the rest of the pitch dark flat. On your way through, you make sure to switch on lights in the hallway, kitchen, and main room, secretly feeling as if they will protect you from anything lurking in the shadows much like you did as a child.
When feeling that things are illuminated enough, you head into the kitchen next, deciding that the boys might enjoy some coffee once they return. While you don’t think Sherlock’s much of a coffee person himself, you’ve seen John drink it often and honestly, he’ll likely be the one who needs it the most.
After locating a bag of grounds on a low shelf in the cupboard, you finally set up the coffee machine which begins to fill the pot at a dripping pace. While waiting for that the finish, you decide to do a little bit of cleaning, first starting with Sherlock’s experiments on the kitchen table then picking up the many papers in which he’s left trailing across the floor.
Peeking out the flat window, you scan the dark streets which are completely empty, at least, from what you can tell. Of course, the sun isn’t going to rise for serval hours so most people, even if awake, won’t be out wandering. You can only imagine how cold it is out there, too. Even the flat’s freezing…Perhaps you should start a nice little fire as well?
There isn’t much wood, although, there are a few pieces next to and in the fireplace with a couple of John’s old newspapers stacked lazily on top of the woodpile. It takes you far longer than expected to find a lighter considering John had confiscated most of Sherlock’s, but fortunately, you know your boyfriend keeps a small blowtorch hidden away in the top corner of the furthest left cupboard. Once climbing up to retrieve it, it only takes you about a minute or two to crumble piece after piece of newspaper then stuff them in between the wood ready to be set ablaze.
At last, the fire’s started, and the coffee’s made, allowing you to happily grab a book before sitting on Sherlock’s chair with a cozy blanket. The calming atmosphere even convinces you to turn off a few lights and be content with just that of the glowing lamp behind you along with the fireplace.
With the quiet crackling of the fire in the background, you allow yourself to curl up onto the chair, your head resting against the palm of your hand as you read. You aren’t sure how long you managed to sit there enjoying the peace before your eyelids began to feel too heavy with your thoughts slowing. You soon find yourself leaning your head back, letting the book fall shut on your lap as you finally give in to the tiredness as you had hoped you would.
…You sleepily blink your eyes open again, having sworn you just heard a muffled pounding. Assuming Sherlock and John are finally back, you listen for their voices, but can’t seem to hear anything else in your drowsy state. Too tired to get up, you decide you’d rather wait for them to come upstairs instead. In the meantime, your eyes close once more as you start to drift back to sleep. Surely your boyfriend will wake you up any second now.
“-AH!”
You jolted up, your heart racing in unknown fear. Before, you had dismissed yourself as hearing things, but that was definitely a scream, one that came from downstairs and from a woman…Mrs. Hudson!
Suddenly very awake, you jump to your feet, letting the blanket and book hit the floor as you quietly tiptoe to the door, your legs feeling heavier with each step. In denial, you keep telling yourself that you’re just hearing things and being paranoid, however, you still feel increasingly afraid the closer you step to the door.
“…Mrs. Hudson?” You crack open the door slowly, gazing down the dark staircase hoping to find no one and, if someone, Sherlock and John talking to Mrs. Hudson, but for once, it seems you’ve been paranoid for a reason.
Your blood runs cold, and you feel lightheaded as if a verge away from fainting which might not be too far from the truth seeing that you can barely stand straight on your own. Your legs wobble under your weight, forcing you to use the doorframe for support. Your whole world shakes like an earthquake, yet you’re frozen, your terror filled eyes unable to look away from the bottom of the staircase or those dark eyes that you both hate and fear so much…
“Hello again, my darling (Y/n)…”
The sirens on top of police cars illuminate nearly the entire street in blue, something that must drive the neighbors mad given the late time of night, or rather, early time of morning since the clock has only just hit the second hour of a new day.
While most investigators on scene are sluggish and even a bit annoyed that they had to switch sleep with work, Sherlock’s unbothered by such a trade. Unlike John who follows his every step while glaring daggers at the back of his head and not bothering to suppress his yawns, Sherlock can function with little to no sleep, at least, he stubbornly insists that he can. Besides, he’s been getting far more sleep as of lately thanks to you keeping him in check, so one night without it won’t kill him (just John apparently).
It’s been well over a week since Lestrade has called the detective for any help by which time Sherlock had become desperate for something to cure his boredom. The only thing that would’ve made this trip better is if you would’ve tagged along instead of John who has a tendency to complain this early, but of course, when Lestrade had called Baker Street, you were still fast asleep. Not having the will to disturb your peaceful slumber, Sherlock opted to drag the poor doctor along in your place. Lucky him.
While the detective would rather you be at his side always, this desire makes him look forward to returning home, a foreign wish compared to his usual need to sniff around crime scenes all day long. Chances are, you’re still fast sleep and will be until your typical time of waking up which is anywhere around eight to ten, giving him plenty of time to curl up next to you and get a few hours in himself; if he can get this case solved quickly of course, which shouldn’t be an issue.
A white sheet with an obvious body under it lies to the right on the sidewalk. Sherlock immediately makes his way over to it, not hesitating to pull the sheet back so that he can get a good look at what he’s dealing with.
The victim is a middle-aged man who lies on his back mostly on the sidewalk with only about a third of his body on the road. His beard is nicely trimmed while his hair is the opposite, being an uncombed mess. His clothing is nothing too expensive or poor, yet it’s littered with smudges of dirt and small tears. A large stain covers part of his lower shirt and, upon closer inspection, Sherlock can clearly smell it’s beer; a cheap brand as well.
A sizable wound covers the side of the man’s head, soaking his hair and dripping the side of his face is blood. Blood also pools under his right side from a deep stab wound he had received at some point. Judging on the dryness of the head wound’s blood compared to the blood seeping out of his side, it’s safe to say the former wound occurred first.
After lifting the shirt up, Sherlock finds several dark bruises spread around the man’s abdomen. Said bruises match a men’s size eleven boot which can be concluded by noticing that they’re near perfect prints of a boot or, at the very least, a very visible heel in some spots. A boot, not a shoe, because the thickness of the sole’s pattern is used on nonslip boots not to mention the heaviness of a boot allows for easier bruising compared to simple tennis or dress shoes.
Following the blue and purple marks downwards, Sherlock also takes note of the man’s wrists which are red with irritation as if something had been tightly wrapped around them. A wire to be exact as the marks are far to skinny and straight to be made from a rope.
John yawns from where he stands off to the side, fighting himself not to start leaning against the stone wall or else he might actually drift back to sleep again. He hopes you never doubt how important you are to Sherlock since he allowed you to stay home sleeping in a warm bed instead of being forced to stand at a freezing crime scene hours before the sun will rise.
Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t get too jealous since, anymore, Sherlock tends to bother you during the rare occasions that he seeks out any attention from another human being. While John may have been rudely awoken at one forty in the morning, chances are, you’ll be dealing with the detective’s childish habits for the rest of the day (to hell with it, he’s still going complain regardless).
“So, what do you know happened?” John asks once Lestrade approaches after finishing a conversation with another investigator. He, too, looks just as tired as any normal person would at the given hour.
“The lady in this house here called saying she had recently returned from her work shift to hear yelling outside by the street. When she looked outside her window, she saw a car drive off with the body left behind- thought it was a drunk man kicked out of his cab until noticing the blood,” Lestrade explains. He takes a long sip of his coffee while scanning the area before smirking and glancing at the detective who’s kneeling on the ground in front of them,“ no girlfriend today, Sherlock?”
“No, she’s back at the flat,” he replies simply, standing to his feet once finishing his study of the body.
“-You know I was joking, right?” Lestrade chuckles, figuring he just hadn’t picked up on the previous sarcasm in his voice.
Sherlock raises an eyebrow, finally realizing what George meant, but not that it changed his answer any,“ and I wasn’t. My girlfriend is at home sleeping.”
Lestrade stares at Sherlock for a solid minute as if he had suddenly grown two extra heads, yet to his further surprise, John confirms the shocking update,“ no really, he’s being serious. (Y/n) is his girlfriend now.”
“Since when?!”
“That’s none of your business-”
“-Since that night she accompanied us to that crime scene actually. Isn’t that right Sherlock?” John throws a smirk at the detective who grumbles in annoyance.
“His actual girlfriend…Like they’re romantically involved and everything?” John gives an amused nod at Lestrade’s dropped jaw,” My God, how’d he manage that?”
Sherlock rolls his eyes at the two men as they laugh, his patience growing thin. He’d never admit it even if they notice, but there’s an embarrassed red tint to his cheeks,“ if you want to have a laugh about someone’s relationship, then I suggest it be Anderson’s. I came here to solve a murder, so if you no longer need me, I’ll be going-”
“-Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Sherlock. (Y/n) seems like a nice girl and all, I just didn’t expect you’d actually reel her in or even be the type to…never mind,” Lestrade shakes his head with one final chuckle, although, he’s honestly happy for Sherlock despite his surprise,” you’ll have to invite me to the wedding.“
He stops Sherlock from marching away, apologize once again to get him to stay and share what he’s found out about the crime scene. Luckily, the detective lets his irritation melt away, reviewing each deductions he’d made of the body per usual. His main focus is explaining how the man had been killed elsewhere by being beaten to death, the stab wound not playing any factor in the death itself.
John’s phone begins to ring, cutting off Sherlock which earns him a glare. He quickly rejects the call and focuses on what was previous said about the body,” are you sure it plays no role at all? What if, after beating him, the killer stabbed the body to make sure he was fully dead?“
"If you would’ve taken a closer look at the body instead of focusing on my love life, you would’ve noticed he’s been dead for quite some time; longer than the stab wound has been there. His final cause of death would’ve likely been the massive head wound which has already long dried unlike the stab wound.”
John rolls his eyes at Sherlock’s sour comment before kneeling to take a closer look at the body himself. His friend is, in fact, correct. The man’s skull is cracked open, the blood nearly dried completely. He either died from the wound itself or the blood loss from it. Either way, he’s been dead for a couple of hours with the stab wound being fresh.
"Why would someone take the time to stab a dead body like that then?” Lestrade questions. Once again, John’s phone goes off. This time, he steps away from the group while sparing a glance at the caller ID and answering it.
“To throw first responders off trail.”
“Yeah, but why? What benefit would that really give them?”
“Sherlock-” John tries to interrupt, but he goes ignored.
“To delay the investigation most likely. If I hadn’t pointed it out, you lot would’ve sat here saying the man died of a stab wound, not realizing the truth until an autopsy’s performed. That would give a killer plenty of time to-”
“-SHERLOCK!” John shouts uncharacteristically, earning nearly everyone’s attention in the area.
He’s about the roll his eyes at John’s annoying behavior, however, he freezes instead once turning to face the doctor. His face is pale and eyes wide in a panic as if he had just witnessed the murder himself. Sherlock’s eyes travel from John’s stricken face to the phone screen in which he holds away from his ear, the caller ID clearly reading ‘Mrs. H’ who shouldn’t be awake at such an hour unless…
…With that, a horrible sickness sets in Sherlock’s stomach, causing the world to begin spinning around him.
Multiverse right? THE READER IS DATING STEPHEN AND OPENS A PORTAL SOMEHOW TO 221B AND SEES SHERLOCK AND IS CONFUSED AS TO WHY STEPHEN LOOKS DIFFERENT TILL STRANGE STEPS OUT THE PORTAL!!
so the Murphy ones was a disappointment huh? Maybe you like Sherlock more.
warnings: jealous Sherlock, teasing Sherlock, really: He’s really teasing and an asshole here
“I just could pull your panties to the side, no one will notice”.
It were these words that made sure you ended up in the hallway outside the rooms in this situation. At the wedding of your best friends. Because what else would you be doing here but getting fucked by your boyfriend?
During the photo shoot, Sherlock suddenly leaned over to you and whispered those words in your ear. And yet it would be many hours before he finally made it happen. You had no idea that he didn’t say because he wants you generally instead of him being lead by his jealousy.
And then, when you have been waiting for him finally touching you, stupidly, this one case came up. And all the time you could think of nothing but disappearing into your room with Sherlock as quickly as possible. Because now and then Mr Holmes had nothing better to do than to sneak his fingers up your skirt whenever he felt unobserved, just to tease you. But at the same time he teased himself as well without knowing. Because when the case was solved you didn’t even make it to the room, but at least you made it up the stairs where the guests’ rooms are.
The position is betraying, his movements are, your frantic breathing even more so. Upstairs in the hallway on the old armchair in front of the window sits Sherlock, you squat over him while he rams into you again and again from below. You would probably have moaned loudly if he hadn’t taken the precaution of putting his big hand on your mouth from the start, while he holds you in place with the other. He didn’t have the time for foreplay, and he didn’t need it. Because his words and his touching all the day left you already waiting for him.
It’s all due to his jealousy that you didn’t make it back to the room. Because in the time he was trying to solve this case, you were talking to Molly’s boyfriend. And he really doesn’t like that. Even when you both don’t have much to contribute to these cases, probably couldn’t contribute much either, except to get in the way. But that’s what pushed Sherlock even more. The fear that you might find something you like on this man.
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget that guy’s name” he hissed at you after grabbing your wrist and dragging you up the stairs. You could say he’s making good on his threat. Apart from the fact that you haven’t a clue whether the guy’s name is Tom or Tim anyway, Sherlock has rarely slammed into you so hard, it’s almost uncomfortable.
Your legs tremble, not only because of the oncoming orgasm, but because squatting isn’t really part of your daily exercise and every muscle is in pain and screaming for release.
“I’m going to fill you to the brim, you are mine” he whispers in your ear, ignoring any attempt by you to stop him. Even as your nails dig into his skin you have the feeling he speedens up on purpose. He knows you’re not ready, that you need one more moment. But he doesn’t care: he is in the mode of punishing you and he will succeed. Again and again he moans low in your ear, licking your earlope, biting your neck. All that while gripping your face tighter as his thrusts become faster and faster until he suddenly stops deep inside you with a deep moan.
You curse into his palm as you feel the twitch of his cock and his hand that was just at your hip slaps your clit once with full force, making you wince in pain.
“You were very naughty… maybe you’ll behave better next time” he breathes to you, giving you a firm kiss on the temple as he pushes you off his lap to pull his pants back up from his thighs. Your eyes widen as you stare at him, frustration and anger boiling up inside you more and more. You slowly feel his warm cum making its way, running down your thighs.
“You might want to visit the bathrooms again, or the others will see this mess” he explains in a cold voice, pointing at your thighs. With a forced smile, he ruffles his curls once and then turns with a forced smile to go back to the party. To play the song for John and Mary. To leave you standing there. Without waiting for you.
Stunned, you stare after him, your mouth opening again and again, but you can’t find the words to stop him because you’re too surprised.
The only thing that is certain is that he will regret it.
this is one I requested myself lol…. I had the idea of a bit unexperienced Sherlock, and the reader leads him.. enjoy it!
warnings: Sherlock loves to take back control, and he loves to learn new things ;)
“Since when do we go out for dinner when you have a case?” you ask sceptically and put your cutlery aside as the waiter brings the plates. It’s unusual enough to sit here with him, but the fact that he orders food makes you even more sceptical. With a smile you thank the waiter, pick up your knife and fork and stop moving as you look down at Sherlock’s plate.
“Holy shit…” you laugh in a low voice, and are about to turn to your food when Sherlock takes the oyster from his plate and slowly opens it with the knife. You know exactly what those stupid things can look like and watch him closely. As he then places the opened shell in front of him, you can’t help giggling.
“What?” he asks with some hesitation, looking at you frowning. But you just shrug your shoulders and can’t stop staring at the shell.
The flesh of the oyster folds over the hard shell and reminds you very strongly of….
“You know what that looks like?” you ask, chuckling, whereupon he pauses and looks from you to the oyster.
“Like an oyster?” interrupts Sherlock, turning the shell thoughtfully in his hand. You snort and choke on your wine as he looks more closely at the oyster, apparently not quite grasping your point. But after another glance at you, his eyes widen as realisation hits him like a bolt of lightning and he shakes his head.
“Don’t be so childish… I am, of course, well aware that this oyster could be reminiscent of certain anatomical areas of the female body” he explains, slowly bringing his hand up to his face as he examines the oyster in every way.
You watch very closely as he brings the shell to his mouth and sips the contents with relish, causing your cheeks to blush.
The rest of the evening you could not concentrate on anything else, because all the time only the thought was loud in your head how it would feel when he would lick the juices with his tongue between your folds. And so you have long arrived home by now, sitting on your chairs, while you can’t stop thinking about it, so that a puddle has already formed in your pants. You two have had sex before, but not this kind of sex. You’re still at the very beginning, testing each other out, Sherlock being the braver of you here, always exploring new territory. But he hasn’t gone that far yet. Yet you are absolutely convinced that he would also apply the highest concentration here, and would do it as well as you have never had it done by anyone else.
You keep glancing at Sherlock, who is absorbed in a book, and shift uneasily back and forth on the armchair.
“You’re disturbing my focus,” he murmurs suddenly without lifting his eyes. If he had looked at you even for a second, he would have noticed what a horny mess you are.
“I want you to do to me what you did to the oyster” you whisper, whereupon he freezes in his movement. You can see that his mind is racing while his gaze is still fixed on the pages.
“What did you just say?” he finally asks, frowning and lifting his gaze for the first time. He scans you from head to toe, every inch of your body being closely observed. You can feel his gaze on your skin as he searches for signs, although the look in your eyes should have been enough. But his gaze wanders over your face, to your breasts, pauses there for a moment. Then he watches your breathing closely, you can see it clearly, and you try to mislead him on purpose by consciously breathing slowly. He has explained to you exactly how he can tell that you need it, and since then you have been trying again and again how you can trick him.
As he wanders to your lap, recognising your tense thighs that keep rubbing against each other without you wanting them to, a small smile creeps onto his lips that is barely noticeable. But enough to know that he knows exactly what’s going on with you.
“I think… I don’t understand…” he finally stutters as he puts the book aside and leans forward a little, his gaze fixed further on your crotch.
“I think it’s time to try something new… Eat me… eat me now” you whisper, slowly getting up from your chair. Again he watches your every move as you slowly undo the button of your trousers.
“But … but you’ll die” he explains frowning and swallowing hard, which makes you smirk. This reaction is so typical of him, but on the other hand it turns you on so much to know that you are the one teaching him. Showing him things that Irene didn’t show him during their night together.
“That’s not what I meant… Come here "you declare in a low voice and when you have pushed your pants down so that you only have to get out with your feet, you make a prompting gesture with your finger, which he surprisingly complies with straight away. Fixing his gaze on your exposed core, he grips the armrests of the chair and slowly stands up with a deep breath. As he walks towards you, you sit back in your chair and wait for him to stand in front of you.
"On your knees,” you urge him, and without a moment’s hesitation he complies with your request, waiting for further instruction. But before you give it to him, you gently grasp his chin and guide his gaze to yours. As you lose yourself in the baby-blue, you place your legs each on an armrest so that you are sitting spread apart in front of him.
“Do it…” you urge him as you stroke his black curls, gently clawing them. Your voice trembles with excitement and you can hardly wait to feel his lips against yours. As he glances again at your exposed vagina, his brow furrows for a moment before his fingers slowly make their way to your folds.
“Is this still childish?” you ask, taking a hissing breath as he gently strokes between your folds and “accidentally” hits your clit.
“Of course it is… An oyster is something to eat… not something you should associate with sex…” he explains and his eyes widen in shock as you clutch his hair tighter and pull his head towards you.
“Enough talking! Shut up and eat me now! No more discussion!” you tell him in a sharp tone at the same time you can see the lust growing in his eyes. He likes it when you challenge him, tell him clearly what to do. Until the moment when he reclaims the upper hand and you no longer have a chance to escape him.
But for the moment you are in the leading position, watching closely as he cautiosly move his plump lips closer and closer to the centre of your body. Your breath accelerates more and more and when he rushes forward without your prompting and his lips cup your clit, you can’t breathe for a moment. First he gently strokes it with his tongue while he slowly pushes two of his fingers into your already wet entrance, eliciting the sweetest whimper that confirms him to continue.
At first you are frustrated as the pressure eases, but then as his tongue slides into you in addition to his fingers, you know he is now at the point where he knows how to control you.
“Oh fuck… just like that…you’re doing so good…” Moaning, you lay your head back on your neck as your legs trap his head, trembling. Then, as he begins to twist his fingers inside you while demanding more and more wetness from you, you fear for a moment that you will slide off the chair. But he knows how to prevent that by pressing your hips firmly into the chair and pinning you down. Even though he’s never used his tongue on you before, he knows how to tickle the most intense orgasms out of you and so it doesn’t take long for his lips to find their place on your clit again, and while he starts to suck it hard, he pumps into you again and again, finding exactly the point that makes you will-less. And he knows this point well, he’s been looking for it from the first time, you would never have believed you even had that spot. But damn, ever since he found it, he’s been intent on giving it his attention in every position, whether it’s with his fingers, or his dick.
“Delicious…” he whispers, licking once around his fingers so as not to miss a drop of your juices either. Although he wouldn’t be Sherlock if he kept this up now, until you collapse exhausted in the chair. You snort in frustration, clutching his hair tighter to get him to stay in place. But even as he pushes away from you, he unzips his trousers, just far enough to get his cock out, and slides into the armchair with you. At the moment you feel his tip at your entrance, he grabs your hands and slowly slides them over your head. Only when he has a firm grip on your wrists behind your head does he push himself deeper into you, panting. Only when he’s balls-deep inside you, his lips seal yours so that you can taste yourself.
Every moan is then lost in his mouth as he begins to push into you with hard thrusts, while being careful to keep the angle that his tip keeps pushing over your spot too, forcing you to the edge at the speed of light.
“I’m close…” you breathe into his lips in a husky whisper as he pulls away from you a little. His hot breath hits your face as he holds your gaze, gently resting his forehead on yours so that only the tips of your noses touch.
“ Cum for me… Cum now” he gasps and the moment the explosion starts and spreads throughout your body, his lips land on yours again. One last time he thrusts into you so hard it intensifies your orgasm once more and leaves you trembling in his grip. You feel every twitch of his body, every fast heartbeat on your skin and are not able to move a bit, since you’re so overwhelmed.
“God that was so good…you’re a real Natural…” you praise him as his fingers gently graze over your skin afterwards, giving you goosebumps as he spreads soft kisses over your neck.
“Of course I am… I’m a little offended that you assumed otherwise,” he mumbles into your skin, and makes his way to your face.
“What kind of books do you think I read? I’ve prepared as best I can for all of this and I’m going to test you out one by one. Actually, I had planned to do other things first, but you somehow ruined that plan” he explains, pecking your lips gently. Frowning you return his kisses, you didn’t expect him to get so lost in the subject. His statement is both a threat and a promise that the next time will be the best of your life.
Summary: When Y/N reconnects with a former lover on a case, Sherlock is overwhelmed by jealousy. By doubting in their relationship, he might just be the one who destroys it…
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The air was dense with midday traffic as the consulting detective and his partner weaved through Trafalgar Square. Sherlock took care to grasp Y/N’s hand tightly, sparing glances her way, periodically. They were on their way to a crime scene where a collegue of Lestrade’s was waiting on Sherlock’s expertise, but the city’s pace was slowing them down.
Summary: Sherlock and Y/N have known each other for years, but the promise of love threatens to jeopardize their friendship. Perhaps a dinner date will ease their worries…
Did someone say friends to lovers?
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The rich scent of rosemary and cooking sherry wafted past Y/N’s nose as she and Sherlock settled into a restaurant booth. Warm candlelight cast soft shadows against the tapered walls.
It was their first date as a couple, so despite having been friends for years, there was a new expanse of unexplored emotion between them. Everything had changed, and they both could feel the effects of their delicate shift from companions to lovers. Tonight held tight reins upon their future.
Yes! Yesss!!!! Soft Sherlock content is here!!! You are feeding us well with all this fluff, my friend. I love seeing this part of Sherlock. He’s a big softie :3
Sherlock Holmes had never thought of himself as an ordinary man.
A man who would yearn for having one specific person in his life, in his bed, in his mind and maybe… His heart even.
Yet right now, he was lying next to a woman, watching her chest heave and a quiet snore escape her lips as she breathed, looking calmer than she did half an hour ago. Her cheeks crimson red, wearing his grey t-shirt with her hand on his chest and leg over his. Not that he minded.
The detective’s body was still trembling, not physically but as if it had a mind that tried to comprehend what he had just done. While it was grateful for the great experience, tiredness was trying to shut it down as the detective’s eyes laid on every single detail on the woman’s face. “Shut up,” he murmured as his mind criticised why he would find her beautiful, reminding him of the truth about one’s mind’s beauty standarts. He did not care.
This feeling, however, was not ignorable. Was it regret? No, certainly not. It made his heart ache. Not pain, not excitement… What then?
Truth is, the detective knew what it was. He just pretended not to. It had been ages since he last felt like this, and now, he wanted to keep it there, buried in his heart and ignored by his mind. Its presence felt, but unknown; even to the great Sherlock Holmes. He admired the idea of it. He loved not knowing, for the first time in his life.
The woman stirred a little, dragging him out of the storm of his thoughts. Sherlock directed his attention to her, feeling his cheeks burn as he realized he’d been staring at her the whole time. The woman whom he kissed half an hour ago.
“God, I’m freezing!” The young woman said as she hugged herself, walking into the lounge. Sherlock was in his mind palace, wandering around the halls of his great mind. He did not have a case that night, and he did this very often: visiting his mind palace every once in a while, going through solved cases and files, and sometimes trying to solve old, unsolved cases for fun. Unexpected from him, he opened his eyes and looked up at his upset flatmate who was wearing one of his t-shirts… Again. She sat down in front of the lit fireplace, closing her eyes and sighing in relief. “What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, he could see that she was cold and annoyed, but he didn’t bother to try and make a deduction. Besides, she asked him not so long ago to actually communicate with her, therefore it was a win-win.
She let out a frustrated sigh, “The heater doesn’t work.”
The detective raised an eyebrow, the situation somehow amusing him. “I thought you got it fixed last week.”
“I did.” The woman didn’t take her eyes off the flames as the smell and sound of the burning wood calmed her down a bit. She could feel the warmth creep up her body and it made her shiver a little, making her feel embarrassed.
“Well, you can sleep in my bed.” Sherlock spoke calmly, watching her turn to him in surprise. “Oh, thank you,” she felt her face getting too hot, but didn’t know whether it was because of the fire or what he had just said. “But I’ll be fine on the couch.”
“You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Sherlock stood up and offered her his hand, which she took immediately. Once she stood up as well, she looked up at him, almost able to see her reflection in his dilated pupils. “It’s your bed, so I’ll sleep here. But thank you for the offer.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned her around gently, then pushed her towards his bedroom. “Night night.”
“Sherlock, seriously, you can’t sleep on the couch…” She frowned a little as she turned back to him, “I think your bed is big enough for both of us, isn’t it?”
The detective did not expect that. “Um… I guess so.”
“You can sleep with me, then. I mean… In bed. Like sleep. Not…”
Sherlock interrupted her with a sigh, “Fine, I will, but don’t complain if I crush you in your sleep.”
Blushing even more, the young woman nodded and bit her lip from the inside, hoping that he wouldn’t notice it. “Okay… ” The detective nodded too, then gestured for her to lead the way. She turned around and walked towards his room, feeling a little excited.
Sherlock’s flatmate wasn’t unfamiliar with his bedroom, she would randomly knock on the door and walk in to borrow one of his t-shirts or remind him go get some milk. However, he could see how differently she acted now. She wasn’t calm, a little anxious maybe; probably due to the fact that they were going to sleep together. And Sherlock couldn’t help but feel… Odd -in his words- as well.
It wasn’t that he had never had a woman in his bed before. The Woman and Janine were the two lucky women, but this time it was different. This woman was someone he admired, respected and actually liked. There wasn’t anything special about her; she wasn’t a genius like him, not a very important person like Mycroft, not a doctor like John… She was a baker who was extremely good at her job. And he admired her.
Sherlock watched her get into the bed, trying not to take up too much space so he would be comfortable. Taking off his dressing gown, Sherlock got into the bed too after turning off the lights; only the pale moonlight enlightening the room. They could barely see each other’s face. There was a reasonable space between them but she was stiff, he could sense that. “Relax… I am comfortable.” Sherlock said.
She nodded and took a deep breath, then lay on her side, turning to him. Sherlock looked into her eyes as the young woman whispered, “Thank you.”
Her pupils dilated. Though he knew it could be because of the darkness, it wasn’t the first time he noticed that. He knew she had liked him, as a friend because no normal human being like her would like him romantically, he reminded himself. He did not need any funny ideas distracting him.
When he found himself caught up in his own thoughts, he genuinely smiled at her, though it was a small one. “It’s alright.”
The young woman looked at his lips, not caring about what he would think for once, then she moved her hand hesitantly up to his cheek. Sherlock started getting confused, his heart beating faster as if it could prevent him from doing something wrong -despite his impeccably working mind-, he closed his eyes and let his flatmate put her hand on his cheek. She let out a brief breath as if it accidentally left her lungs, and then shifted closer to the detective. Closing her eyes as well, she pressed her lips against his.
They both were holding their breaths, and Sherlock opened his mouth just a little to let her kiss him. The young woman moved her lips very slowly, the tip of her tongue tasting his lips briefly before she pulled back. Her hand remained on his cheek for a little while longer as she started panicking, but he didn’t do or say anything. The detective didn’t get upset, he didn’t even frown, he did not protest.
The young woman withdrew her hand but Sherlock took it gently without opening his eyes, then he placed it on his chest while still holding it. She let out a relieved sigh, keeping her eyes closed as she smiled and whispered, “Good night, Sherlock.”
The detective gave her hand a small squeeze as a respond, before letting it go. She kept it there the whole night.
Once he was sure that she had fallen asleep, he opened his eyes to look at the young woman lying next to him, in his bed. Whom he shared a kiss with that could never be taken back.
—
A/N: I don’t usually write for Sherlock, as he is very special to me. I needed to feel some kind of… warmth, I can say, so I wrote this little… I really don’t know what to call this one. One-shot? No clue. Anyway, I thought it could help people feel better so I decided to post it here. Besides I knew that @drdaddystrange would have enjoyed this, so… (((: I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you think!!! ❤️
Summary: When Y/N reconnects with a former lover on a case, Sherlock is overwhelmed by jealousy. By doubting in their relationship, he might just be the one who destroys it…
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The air was dense with midday traffic as the consulting detective and his partner weaved through Trafalgar Square. Sherlock took care to grasp Y/N’s hand tightly, sparing glances her way, periodically. They were on their way to a crime scene where a collegue of Lestrade’s was waiting on Sherlock’s expertise, but the city’s pace was slowing them down.
Summary: Sherlock and Y/N have known each other for years, but the promise of love threatens to jeopardize their friendship. Perhaps a dinner date will ease their worries…
Did someone say friends to lovers?
▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️
The rich scent of rosemary and cooking sherry wafted past Y/N’s nose as she and Sherlock settled into a restaurant booth. Warm candlelight cast soft shadows against the tapered walls.
It was their first date as a couple, so despite having been friends for years, there was a new expanse of unexplored emotion between them. Everything had changed, and they both could feel the effects of their delicate shift from companions to lovers. Tonight held tight reins upon their future.
“It has a deeper meaning, right?” John asks again, causing a grin to creep onto your face. Carefully, you lean towards Sherlock so that only he can hear you. “Deep is pretty good, isn’t it?” you whisper, and your eyes meet at your words. At first he seems confused, but when he sees your lustful gaze, his eyes widen and you know he understands exactly what you’re getting at.
John, on the other hand, clears his throat quickly and, shaking his head, turns back to the living room wall on which all sorts of information is stuck. He has learned by now to ignore both of you in some discussions. By now even without getting red ears.
Grinning, you walk past Sherlock with slow steps, “accidentally” grazing his thigh, and sit down at the desk so that you can look at the two of them. John is standing with his back to you, but Sherlock has his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t follow the discussion about the case any further, because the only thing on your mind is to claim this man for yourself, here and now. And you know the moves you can make to rattle Sherlock. Subtle little ways to show him that you want him. That you need him right now.
