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j-eryewrites · 5 months ago

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The Great Game (III)

Part 21 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

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Word Count: ~10.8k

Author's Note: Tensions rise, and the threat of M continues to loom over their heads. When pulled too tight, things are bound to break.

It's almost the end. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I finished it around midnight, so forgive any typos and whatnot. Without further ado, I present the second-to-last chapter of Arbitrary Lives.

Warnings: Supreme angst, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (but in the worst way), mentions of death, character death, mentions of gore, firearms, language, yandere relation themes, drugging (Let me know if I missed anything)

Case after case was how it seemed to go when Sherlock, John, and Y/N were racing against the mysterious M. Every time Sherlock would solve a puzzle given to him, the pink phone would ring moments later, presenting a new one. With each chime of the telephone, Y/N found herself getting more and more anxious. M was bigger than anything they'd ever seen; worst of all, they had no clue who they were. M seemed to operate from afar, offering their advice on cases of the illegal type, allowing M the anonymity to be anyone and be anywhere. For all Y/N knew, M could be some sick person stuck in their parent's basement on the other side of the world. Even so, M seemed one step ahead and knew every step they had taken.

Sitting upon a plush, gray, white striped couch beneath her served more comfort than she'd like to admit. Sherlock had sent her and John on another goose chase after, yet again, another call from their tormentor. While Y/N was lost in thought, petting the hairless cat on her lap, John took the lead in questioning Kenny, the brother of Connie Prince.

The two had done as much research as they could, which turned out to be a few newspaper articles, the bizarre gossip and facts they had gathered from Mrs. Hudson, and, of course, the Wikipedia pages on Connie. Once they put all their research together, they discovered they found a plethora of ways to tell which colors suited oneself and which ones brought out the sick in one's skin tone, but not much about Connie and her brother.

A loud and content purr vibrated from the naked cat as Y/N's hands caressed its head and neck. Upon hearing the meow, John raised his brow, trying to hide his concern. The creature sitting on Y/N's lap was not a cat. John had seen Bjørn, and Bjørn was a cat. Y/N's pet had fur and a bush-brown tail. If anything, the Prince's cat was an abomination in his mind.

"We're devastated," Kenny Prince sighed as he carefully placed his arm on the mantle behind him, leaning ever so slightly. As John withdrew his eyes from the fur-less animal, he found his brows pinching together as Kenny Price posed. "Of course we are." Kenny waved his hand and dramatically looked to the side with a somber expression.

To say the least, John was confused. First, there was the cat. He didn't want to give that thing another thought. Secondly was Kenny's posing. Why was Kenny posing unless he was trying to...His finger brushed against something hard, and John scolded himself. The camera. They had brought a camera. Y/N had proposed they be reporters to gain an interview with Kenny. John would be the reporter and Y/N the photographer. Kenny was posing for candid photos for their article.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" a voice spoke from behind John. It was Raoul, Kenny's staff member.

He whirled around and replied, shaking his head. "Er, no. No, thanks."

"And what about you, miss?" Raoul asked Y/N, who absently shook her head. Her fingers were still petting the cat.

"Raoul is my rock," Kenny admitted, still holding his position. "I don't think I could have managed. We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

A light pressure pushed down on John's thighs. Glancing down, he noticed the cat was no longer on Y/N's lap but his. A wave of disgust trembled through his body. With stiff fingers, he picked it up and dropped it on the other side of the couch where Y/N sat. The cat meowed in discontent, stepping back over to John. John shivered at the cat's relentless attempts and held out his arm as a barrier.

"And–," John said, trying to continue Kenny's conversation and retain the purity of his own lap as it was reserved for Bjørn. "-and to the public, Mr. Prince."

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses," Kenny continued. Meanwhile, his cat pounced over John's barrier and clung onto his lap. With a wince, John placed a hand on the cat's back. It happily purred. "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears."

"Absolutely," John muttered, hiding his grimace. He flashed Y/N a look, but she found gazing at Kenny Prince's coffee table intriguing. He frowned as concern for his friend bubbled to the surface. He could only imagine how exhausted she was. Not just physically from all the running around they have been doing lately but also as exhaustion of the emotional sort. John was not blind to Sherlock's actions, and it didn't take a fool to see that Sherlock was cold. His mind was solely occupied with M and the puzzles that he was given, which meant he didn't have much concern for others. It was not that he usually did, but with Y/N, it was different. She meant something to Sherlock.

John opened his mouth to whisper something to Y/N when he noticed Kenny's voice was absent. Right, John corrected himself. He was here about the case. The sooner he was done with this, the faster he could help both of his friends.

"It's more common than people think," John began. "The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un...," Kenny Prince plopped down between Y/N and John. The sudden jolt of the couch awoke Y/N from her daze. Her shoulder was pressed tightly against Kenny's as he leaned into John, invading his space even more than hers. "...treated..." John finished, scooting as far away from Kenny as he could.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny confessed, leaning even closer to John.

"Right," John said, biting the inside of his cheek. He peered over Kenny's shoulder and saw Y/N. They shared a look that screamed discomfort, but they could do nothing as Kenny pushed them into the sides of the sofa. As Kenny continued speaking, John and Y/N's eyes held a secret conversation, mainly curses and discontent with the situation.

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely....," Kenny's voice trailed off as his eyes never left John. "...but it's not the same without her."

Before replying, John took a deep breath and stared down at his notes. "Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?"

"No," Kenny said.

"Right," John gulped.

"You fire away," Kenny uttered. His longing gaze not once left John. The longer the conversation continued, the more uncomfortable Y/N felt; she could only imagine how John felt. Here was Kenny Prince, after his sister's death, flirting with John. Y/N observed Kenny staring at John, making her feel like a forgotten third wheel to a nonconsensual flirting session. She had to come to his rescue. She'd done it before with lots of her friends back home. It would be easy, so long as she could get off the couch, which's cushions were sucking her in deeper.

Before John could ask any of his questions and Y/N could rescue him from unwanted attention, a buzzing echoed from her back pocket. Kenny turned over his shoulder to look at her as if she had interrupted a vital moment. She smiled awkwardly, shoved herself off the sofa, and answered her phone.

"Y/N," Sherlock's voice rang over the phone.

"You know, one usually starts a call with hello," Y/N muttered.

"Right, hello," Sherlock's voice oozed with sarcasm.

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. Y/N furrowed her brows. "Is there a reason you called Sherlock?"

On the other end, Sherlock struggled to find a response. He had practiced his excuse beforehand. Well, it wasn't much of an excuse, more of a warning. Even so, after hearing her voice, Sherlock had forgotten everything. He mentally reprimanded himself for falling back into his sentiment so quickly. Y/N needed to be safe, so he had to push her away. A task that only seemed to grow more impossible with each breath she took.

John's eyes widened upon hearing Sherlock's name, and his escape was revealed to him. Shooting out of his seat, he snatched the phone from Y/N, quickly apologized, and began speaking to Sherlock. "Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something," John breathed. Sherlock found himself missing Y/N's sweet voice. "You'll ne-" John was cut off by the loud footsteps barging into the room.

Confusion plastered onto his face, and he hung up the phone. After all, there was no need to speak through a phone when Sherlock stood in the same room as him.

"That'll be him," John said, pointing at Sherlock. Kenny Prince looked even more shaken than the consulting detective's friends were at his sudden appearance. However, the longer they pondered his arrival, the more John and Y/N realized this was normal for the great Sherlock Holmes.

"What?" Kenny asked, looking at the unwelcome guest in his home.

There was a calculated look on Sherlock's face before any trace of the consulting detective was washed away and replaced with a new persona. Y/N sighed as her legs lowered her body into an armchair nearby.

"Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock took out his hand for Kenny to shake.

"Yes," Kenny nodded, standing up to take Sherlock's hand.

"Very good to meet you," Sherlock smiled.

"Yes, thank you," Kenny said, still trying to figure out the situation.

"So sorry to hear about...," Sherlock continued, but Kenny cut him off.

Mr. Prince waved his hand, stopping Sherlock from offering false condolences about the situation. "Yes, yes, very kind."

"Shall we, er..." John cleared his throat, stepping over to Sherlock. He motioned for Sherlock to lean down before whispering in Sherlock's ear, "You were right. The bacteria got into her another way."

Sherlock couldn't help but notice the smirk that appeared on his face. "Oh yes?"

"Yes," John nodded.

"Right. We all set?" Kenny asked, bringing his hands together.

John, Sherlock, and Y/N frowned and watched as Kenny pointed to the camera on the sofa. Y/N grabbed it and removed the protective lens, turning it on. "Um, yes. Can you...?" she said, twirling her finger in the air, pretending to be a journalistic photographer.

"Not too close," Kenny warned as he returned to his original stance by the mantle. "I'm raw from crying." Then he lifted his head and posed for the camera, letting Y/N take a few pictures.

Beneath Sherlock's feet, Kenny's cat meowed. It butted its head against his dark trousers causing Sherlock to frown. He tilted his head as he peered at the cat. He wasn't sure if that's what he should call it.

"Oh, who's this?" Sherlock wondered as he motioned to the feline.

"Sekhmet," Kenny answered, finding a new pose for Y/N to capture. "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"How nice! Was she Connie's?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," Kenny nodded, taking pride in his response. Little present from yours truly." Then John smelled it as Kenny picked up Sekhmet, and the ominous smell of disinfectant seeped from the hairless cat. John smiled as the piece clicked into place.

"Actually," John turned to Kenny, tapping Y/N on the shoulder. "I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us."

"What?" Kenny gasped as saw Y/N place the camera strap over her shoulders and return the protective lens to its place.

"Sherlock," John sternly stated, raising his brows to say he'd solved it.

"What?" Sherlock frowned, trying to interpret John's signal.

"We've got deadlines," John said, pushing his two closest friends out of Kenny Prince's living room. This left behind a puddle of confusion for Mr. Prince and his sister's cat.

_____

Once Raoul had closed the door behind them, John erupted in cheers. Triumphantly, John raised his fist in the air and then brought it down, doing a little happy dance. Y/N smiled and giggled at the sight.

“Yes! Ooh, yes!” John laughed. He turned to Sherlock and froze.

One look from Sherlock swiftly ended John's parade. “You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat,” Sherlock corrected.

John shook his head in disbelief. “What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.” John whirled around to face Y/N, seeking backup, but found none.

“Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on,” Y/N admitted. “I just took pictures.”

A knowing smirk crept onto Sherlock’s face. “Lovely idea, John.”

“No,” John adamantly said. “He coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have...”

“I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm,” Sherlock announced, “but it's too random and too clever for the brother.”

“He murdered his sister for her money,” John said as his smile was wiped from his face.

“Did he?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“Didn't he?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. It was revenge.”

“Wait,” Y/N interjected. “Revenge? Who wanted revenge? I know his sister wasn’t the nicest to him, but even so, Kenny seemed…genuine?”

“Raoul, the houseboy,” Sherlock began explaining the case. He straightened his coat collar and stood taller, glancing down at his friends. “Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough and fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so...”

John shook his head, still in denial. “No, wait, wait. Wait a second. What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?”

“Raoul keeps a very clean house,” Sherlock noted. “You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's Internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here.”

Sherlock peered up and down the street. There wasn’t a cab in sight.

“Well, we could always walk back to the station or hop on a bus-“ Y/N suggested. Then, as if by divine intervention, a cab pulled onto the street. The trio hastily hailed the cab and jumped inside.

It did not take them long to arrive at the station. Traffic was horrible on the streets, but with a hefty bribe to the cab driver, they were bursting through the door of Lestrade’s office faster than Mrs. Hudson could flick on the latest episode of her favorite soap opera.

A wave of black trickled majestically after Sherlock as he entered the office. “Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince. It was botulinum toxin.”

Lestrade sat up in his seat and sifted through the numerous papers on his desk. Finding the second autopsy report, his eyes scanned the results. His eyes widened. Sherlock was right.

“We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself,” Sherlock said.

“So how'd he do it?” Lestrade asked.

“Botox injection,” Sherlock answered.

“Botox?” Lestrade questioned, raising his brows. After all, it was not every day that someone was murdered with Botox.

“Botox is a diluted form of botulinum,” Sherlock explained. “Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's Internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months.” Sitting across Lestrade, Sherlock swiftly crossed his legs and dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.”

“You sure about this?” Lestrade asked in confirmation.

Instead of Sherlock’s voice answering, Y/N spoke up. “He is,” Sherlock peered up at her and felt his cheeks heat up. “Connie was an avid Botox user. It was all on the blogs and magazines. No one would bat an eye at the injection sights or if Botox turned up in the autopsies.”

Lestrade nodded his head, “All right.”

“Sherlock,” John slowly said. “How long?”

“What?” Sherlock questioned as he snapped out of his daze.

“How long have you known?” There was hurt evident in John’s voice.

Y/N looked between the two of them. “Wait, you’re saying you sent John and I on a goose chase?”

Sherlock shrugged, letting John and Y/N’s confusion and hurt fly over his head. “Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.”

“No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman,” John uttered. “She's been there all this time.”

“I knew I could save her,” Sherlock replied as he began to type on the small pink phone.

. “I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!“ Sherlock cheered.

Like clockwork, the phone rang, and Sherlock answered. “Hello?”

“Help me,” the old woman whispered.

“Tell us where you are. Address,” Sherlock looked over to Lestrade, who had his team on standby.

“He was so... His voice...,” the woman began to describe.

Sherlock’s pale blue eyes widened, and he grew pale. “No, no, no, no,” Sherlock yelled. “Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.” There was a desperation in his voice that Y/N had only heard a few times.

Sherlock was rarely desperate unless something dangerous was happening. She recalled the terror that trembled from his chest during the night in the museum-the night Sulin died. It was the very voice he had when he clung to her after Hilton Cubitt was killed.

Panic coursed through Y/N’s body, constricting her lungs. Sherlock was scared, and so was she.

“He sounded so... soft-“ the caller was cut off and the horrifying sound of the dial tone screeched in Sherlock’s ear.

Lestrade furrowed his brow and approached the stunned consulting detective. “Sherlock?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“What's happened?” John questioned.

However, Sherlock couldn’t hear any of them. The pink phone was still glued to his ear, and his blue eyes began to fill with a salty ocean. Even in the blur, he found Y/N. She stood with her hands clutching her heart, her face in pain and shock. As he sought comfort in her presence, his fears were confirmed.

This was a game for monsters and freaks. M had made that clear. The woman over the phone was human. She cared enough to speak up. In turn, she died. She was a chess piece in a game ruled by freaks like him. M had made his move. The botulinum that killed Connie Prince wasn’t a mistake. It was a threat. M was going to take his queen. His most important player. It wasn’t a mistake that Carl Powers' shoes were found in her flat. It wasn’t a mistake. He was also killed by botulinum. Through his cloudy eyes, Sherlock saw clearly now.

Sherlock had to remove his queen from the chessboard before M could steal her from him forever.

______

Y/N should have found comfort in the worn leather of the sofa and the creaking of the floor beneath her feet. Steam rose from her cup as the cold air of Sherlock’s flat cooled her tea.

Mrs. Hudson had made it for her, John, and Sherlock. The brown liquid swirled in her cup, with small herbs dancing around. Mrs. Hudson always made tea for them with the secret ingredient of love. Love was precisely what Y/N needed as the television echoed the horrific news.

“The explosion,” the reporter announced, “which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people. It is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company...”

“He certainly gets about,” John sighed, stirring the tiny spoon in his tea.

“Well,” Sherlock began. “Obviously, I lost that round.”

Y/N bit her tongue. Twelve people had died, and Sherlock was still playing the game. She fought back tears as anger boiled to the surface. Sherlock had a heart, but the more he spoke, the more she thought she’d been wrong.

“Although technically I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him,” Sherlock explained. “Just once, he put himself in the firing line.”

“What d'you mean?” John asked.

“Well, usually, he must stay above it all,” Sherlock said, thinking back to all the cases M had given him so far. “He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact.”

“What... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that?” John’s voice wavered. “So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?”

“Novel,” Sherlock muttered.

Y/N scoffed. “Sounds like a demented version of what you do.” Sherlock cocked his brow. “I mean, you’re a consulting detective. People come to you wanting their cases solved. Maybe he’s a consulting criminal?”

Sherlock nodded, feigning interest. “Taking his time this time,” Sherlock said as he checked the pink phone.

John cleared his throat. “Anything on the Carl Powers case?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock replied. “Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.”

“ Have you checked outside of his class?“ Y/N proposed. John and Sherlock looked at her with confusion.

“I doubt anyone outside of Carl Powers’ class would-“ Sherlock replied.

“But what if he was a bully? I know that victims of bullying will sometimes fight back and m-“ Y/N explained.

“Bully?” John repeated.

“Yeah, I just…,” Y/N said. “I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. There was a reason Carl died, and M brought it to our attention.”

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hummed before asking Lestrade to expand his search on Carl Powers' schoolmates.

“So why's he doing this, then –” John asked Sherlock. “Why is he playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?”

“I think he wants to be distracted,” Sherlock replied, shaking his head.

“I hope you'll be very happy together,” John murmured.

Sherlock frowned and stepped towards John. “Sorry, what?”

“What I think John is trying to say is that there are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives...” Y/N softly spoke. “What if that was John. What if it was me?”

Sherlock clenched his jaw and winced at her comment. He wasn’t going to let it be her. He didn’t care how many pawns he lost. So long as his queen was safe and away from the game, he’d be alright.

“Just so I know,” John asked. “Do you care about that at all?”

“Will caring about them help save them?” Sherlock spat.

“No, but…,” Y/N replied.

“Then I'll continue not to make that mistake,” his voice rose, startling Y/N, and his heart broke. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he had to. This was the first step: convincing her he had no heart.

“And you find that easy, do you?” John growled, stepping up to Sherlock. Their chests puffed as they glared at each other.

“John, Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded. “Let’s not fight, please-“

“Yes, very,” Sherlock scowled. “Is that news to you?”

“No. No,” John shook his head and stepped back, pinching his brow.”

“I've disappointed you,” Sherlock observed.

“That's good,” John mumbled, “that's a good deduction, yeah.”

“Don't make people into heroes, John,” Sherlock coldly stated. “Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.”

John sighed. All hope he had for Sherlock fled his mind. John scolded himself for thinking Sherlock had some semblance of empathy. He was sure his and Y/N’s presence had some sort of effect on the consulting detective. Sherlock had begun to care. He’d seen it with his eyes as he rescued them from the tunnel during the Blind Banker case. There was no mistaking it. Sherlock cared for them, but his game with M made John even more concerned. With each task M gave them, John drew more and more connections. Sherlock and M were too similar, and John feared losing his best friend to the monster.

“Excellent!” Sherlock exclaimed the moment the pink phone buzzed with their newest case.

Despite their flaming frustration with the detective, John and Y/N crowded around the phone, peering down at the photo.

“View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo,” Sherlock noted before turning to his friends. “You check the papers,” he instructed John. “I'll look online...”

“Oh, you're angry with me,” Sherlock paused, looking at John. “…so you won't help.”

John only sighed. Of course, he was going to help. People's lives were on the line, and he was a doctor. There was no way John wouldn’t do his best to save anyone he could. Sitting on the sofa, he picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Y/N before taking a newsletter.

“Archway suicide,” Y/N read.

Sherlock shrugged. “Ten a penny.”

Y/N bit her lip at Sherlock’s nonchalance.

“Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington,” John repeated as he scanned the pages. “Ah. Man found on the train line, Andrew West.”

Sherlock shook his head, then slammed his computer shut. “Nothing,” he grumbled.

Y/N and John jolted at the sound, and within an instant, Sherlock had retrieved his phone and dialed Greg’s number.

“Gary, It's me,” Sherlock announced. “Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?”

A smile crept onto Sherlock’s face upon hearing Lestrade’s words. John and Y/N needed no warning. They reluctantly got to their feet and reached for their coats.

_____

“D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?” Lestrade asked, staring down at the drenched body on the ground.

“Must be. Odd, though...” Sherlock pulled out the pink phone. “He hasn't been in touch.”

Lestrade frowned. “But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. He tried not to notice the way Y/N shivered under her coat. He was tempted to hand her his scarf.

“Any ideas?” Lestrade wondered.

Sherlock tilted his head and bit his lip, counting all the ideas. “Seven... so far.”

Lestrade’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Seven?!”

Standing up from his crouch on the ground by the body, John relayed the information he had gathered. “He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?” He asked Lestrade.

Greg shrugged. “Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.”

John nodded at Lestrade’s answer. “Yes, I'd agree.” Then, stepping over to Sherlock and Y/N, John continued. “There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.”

Sherlock’s eyes followed where John had pointed out the injuries. Leaning down towards the body, he began to make his observations. “Fingertips,” Sherlock muttered quietly. Then Sherlock stood up and pulled out his phone. His feet swiftly began to trek away from the body. Greg, John, and Y/N followed along in confusion.

“In his late thirties, I'd say, not in the best condition. He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data. But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake,” Sherlock stated.

“What?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock turned towards Lestrade, with instructions readied. “We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates...”

Lestrade shook his hands and head at the same time. Quickly, he jumped in front of Sherlock, interrupting his path to the cab awaiting them. “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?”

Blue eyes rolled in annoyance, and Sherlock pocketed his phone. “It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.”

“Okay,” Lestrade calmly said. His hands returned to his side. “So what has that got to do with the stiff?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as a grin flashed across his face. “Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?” He asked his companions.

“Golem?” Y/N repeated. “You mean the magical creature that-“

“No,” Sherlock said, shutting down her idea.

“It's a horror story, isn't it?” John guessed. Sherlock nodded.

“A horror story?” Y/N wondered. “What are you saying?”

“Jewish folk story,” Sherlock explained. “A gigantic man made of clay.”

“So I was right. Sort of…” Y/N interjected.

“It's also the name of an assassin,” Sherlock continued. “Real name: Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.”

“So this is a hit?” Lestrade questioned.

“Definitely,” Sherlock confidently said. “The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.”

Lestrade grimaced. “But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see...”

“You do see,” Sherlock hissed. “You just don't observe.”

“All right, all right, girls, calm down,” John began, but Y/N shot him a look. “Sorry, Sherlock calm down,” John corrected. “Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?”

Y/N placed her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and peered up at him. With a soft smile, she reassured him. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock began. “What do we know about this corpse?” He raised a brow and looked at the three of them. “The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal; maybe he was going out for the night. The trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. They're both too big for him. So, some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt... for a walkie-talkie.”

“Tube driver?” Lestrade guessed.

“Construction worker?” Y/N wondered.

“Security guard?” John said, throwing his guess into the air.

“More likely,” Sherlock agreed. “That'll be borne out by his backside.”

“Backside?!” Lestrade’s mouth gaped open.

“Flabby,” Sherlock noted. “You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.”

“Why regular?” Lestrade questioned. “Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died?”

“No, no, no,” Sherlock shook his head. “The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted; otherwise, he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution.”

Sticking his hand into the man’s pant pocket, Sherlock pulled out a wad of small papers. “Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognizably...” Sherlock’s voice trailed off, awaiting a response from anyone.

“Tickets?” Y/N said after glancing at the papers.

“Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.” Sherlock pointed to the dead man on the ground. “Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake.”

“Fantastic,” John complimented.

“Meretricious,” Sherlock mused.

“And a Happy New Year!” Greg blurted.

Y/N raised a brow as she looked between the three men, uncertain of what inside joke was going on between them.

“Poor sod,” John muttered, looking down at the deceased.

“I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character,” Greg said as the group picked up their pace back to where the cab awaited.

“Pointless,” Sherlock warned Greg. “You'll never find him. But I know a man who can.”

“Who?” Greg asked.

Sherlock whirled around and extended his arms out. “Me,” he proudly said before gracefully disappearing into the back of the cab. “Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?” He muttered to himself. Once John and Y/N were safely seated, Sherlock instructed the cab driver on their next destination. “Waterloo Bridge.”

“Where now? The Gallery?” John wondered.

“In a bit,” Sherlock replied.

“The Hickman's contemporary art,” Y/N questioned. “Why have they got hold of an old master?”

“Dunno,” Sherlock admitted. “Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data...” Sherlock’s eyes gazed out the window. The car had slowed underneath a bridge. Beside the car sat a homeless woman collecting change. “Stop!” Sherlock hollered. He leaned close to the driver's ear. “You wait here. I won't be a moment.”

“Sherlock?” John called after his friend, who walked up to the woman. They exchanged words, and Sherlock deposited a hefty sum into her cup.

“What are you doing?” John asked Sherlock once he got back into the cab.

“Investing,” Sherlock mysteriously replied. “Now we go to the Gallery.”

As luck would have it, the gallery was only a few minutes drive away from their detour. “Have you got any cash?” Sherlock asked John.

John sighed and paid the driver before stepping out after Sherlock. However, Sherlock pushed John back into the car, toppling into Y/N’s lap.

“No. I need you two to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address,” Sherlock said before closing the door in John’s face.

“Okay,” John grumbled. He quickly apologized to Y/N and then the two of them departed to Alex Woodbridge’s flat.

______

It was surprisingly easy to get into Alex Woodbridge’s apartment compared to Kenny Prince’s home. There was no need for a camera and fake personas.

Woodbridge’s apartment was a simplistic sight. The living space gave hardly any room for John, Y/N, and Julie, Alex’s roommate, to comfortably stand without brushing shoulders with one another.

Julie appeared to be a sweet woman with her gentle expression. She wrapped her black and white flannel around her body and led them deeper into the flat.

“We'd been sharing about a year,” Julie explained. She turned around to look back at John and Y/N. Her frizzy, short, brown hair stuck out oddly. “Just sharing.”

“Mmm,” John hummed to reassure Julie he didn’t assume otherwise.

Stepping into Alex’s room, Y/N peered around, John close behind. In the left corner sat the bed, still unmade. Besides, a small table held a lamp, a few empty wrappers, and books. A cloaked object sat underneath a skylight on the far right side of the room. Y/N stepped closer, her brows knitting together as she guessed what it could be.

“Is this a telescope?” Y/N asked, looking back at Julie, who nodded.

John raised his brows, a bit impressed. It was not every day you came across someone who owned their own telescope. Gently pulling off the sheet, John felt a soft smile growing on his lips. His mind began to recall a time when he was a boy. He had learned about the solar system and was fascinated by it, so much so that he wrote to Santa to bring him a telescope for Christmas. It never happened, but still, it was a wish from childhood, and John couldn’t help but be fond.

“May I?” He asked, motioning to the cloth covering the telescope.

“Yeah,” Julie nodded with a sadness in her voice.

“Sorry,” John and Y/N consoled.

“Stargazer, was he?” John questioned, and Julie’s face lit up with a caring light.

“God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time,” she chuckled. “He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him. He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.” Then Julie quickly looked away to conceal the tears that bubbled up to the surface.

Y/N wanted to hug the woman but chose not to. Instead, she opted for her words: “Sorry for your loss.” Julie nodded in thanks.

“What about art? Did he know anything about that?” John asked.

“It was just a job,” Julie shrugged, “you know?”

“Hmm. Has anyone else been around asking about Alex?” John pursed his lips in thought, bringing his hands behind his back to fiddle with his fingers. It was a habit that helped him think.

Julie shook her head. “No…” Her voice trailed off as she realized something. “We had a break-in, though.”

“Hmm? When was that?” Y/N wondered as she peeked at the books on Alex’s bedside table. They were astronomy books of all sorts.

“Last night. There was nothing taken,” Julie assured them. “Oh, there was a message left for Alex on the landline,” she said, trying to note anything of importance to the two of them.

John raised his brows and strolled over to the phone beside Julie. “Who was it from?”

“Well, I can play it for you if you like,” Julie said before turning around to enter the message box. She typed a few buttons and the phone began to whirr to life.

Y/N and John stepped closer to hear.

“Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when…,” the message repeated.

“Professor Cairns?” John mumbled, glancing up at Julie.

Shaking her head, Julie replied. “No, no idea, sorry.”

“Mmm,” Y/N bit her lip. “Can we try and ring back?”

“Well, that's no good,” Julie replied. “I mean, I've had other calls since—sympathy ones, you know.”

John and Y/N nodded, remembering Julie’s roommate’s death. Turning to each other, they nodded.

“Thanks again, Julie, for helping us,” Y/N thanked as the woman led John and her out of the flat.

Julie sniffled before replying. “Anything I can do to help you catch Alex’s murderer.”

The two friends waved goodbye as the door shut. Once the click and lock of the door were heard, Y/N turned to John.

“So,” she began. “Shall we go find Sherlock?”

For some odd reason, John felt a slight twinge in the back of his head appear. His frustration with Sherlock was still fresh, and John was not looking to reopen the wound any time soon. Sighing, he responded, “I’m sure Sherlock will find us when he needs us.”

Y/N chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. Should we go to the gallery then? Do some snooping of our own?” She wiggled her brows, which made John snicker.

Before he could answer, the phone in his back pocket buzzed. Pulling it out, John frowned upon seeing the name, and his headache worsened. He bit back another sigh as the case Sherlock put on the back burner began to burn too hot. Mycroft was growing impatient and started to bother John about it.

“Actually,” John said. “We’ve got another job we can work on.”

Y/N’s face contorted with confusion. “What other-” she cut herself short. “Mycroft.” She linked her arm with John’s. “If Sherlock can have his little side-quests and detours, so can we.”

______

“He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.” The woman on the couch was inconsolable. It was not in the sense that her tears and sobs made questioning her difficult. In fact, she wasn’t crying at all. She solemnly sat on her sofa with her hands clenching tightly together. The tiny shard of sunlight peeked through her closed curtains, dimly lighting the room. While John and Y/N tried their best to sympathize and speak with her, Lucy refused to believe her boyfriend had anything to do with their case despite all the evidence against him.

“Well, stranger things have happened,” John tried to say.

“Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!” She glared at John as her hands turned white.

“I'm sorry, but you must understand that's…”

“That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?” Lucy questioned. If someone else had watched the scene, they would have thought Lucy was interrogating John and Y/N.

“He was a young man about to get married. He had debts…,” John softly listed off possible reasons, but Lucy was not having them.

She defended, “Everyone's got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country.”

“John, can you, erm...?” Y/N sent him a look to let her give it a go. He raised his hands and let Y/N take the reins. “Lucy, we're not here to accuse Westie. We’re here for answers, and you have them. Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?”

Lucy nodded. Her shoulders relaxed, and the color returned to her hands. “We were having a night in. Just... watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.”

“Do you know who?” Y/N asked. Lucy just shook her head and began to sob. Y/N peered over at John and whispered that it was time for them to leave. Any more questions and Y/N was afraid they’d leave Lucy in an even bigger puddle of tears and sorrow than she had been in before.

“I think it’s time we should go,” Y/N began to stand up. Lucy stood up and led John and Y/N back to the entrance. The cool light of the day momentarily blinded them, but their eyes quickly adjusted.

“Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?” A man rolling in a bike asked. He stared at John and Y/N as they stepped out of his way.

“Yeah,” Lucy nodded.

“Who's this?” the biker asked.

“John Watson. Hi,” John greeted.

“Y/N L/N,” Y/N replied, taking the man’s hand.

“This is my brother, Joe.” Lucy explained, “John and Y/N are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.”

Joe raised his brows. “You two with the police?”

“Uh…” John trailed off, looking over at Y/N, who hesitantly nodded. “...sort of, yeah.”

“Well,” Joe began, “tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous.”

John nodded. “I'll do my best. Well, er, thanks very much for your help. Again, I'm very, very sorry.”

“He didn't steal those things, Mr. Watson,” Lucy called out once John and Y/N stepped onto the street. “I knew Westie. He was a good man. He was my good man.”

Y/N waved goodbye before turning her back to Lucy. She shivered and whispered to John. “It’d be nice if she was right.”

“Yeah…” John absently agreed. “It would be.”

______

Sherlock’s scowl grew the longer he stood outside 221 B Baker Street. Soon, his left foot was tapping on the stone steps. He was growing impatient. John and Y/N sure seemed to be taking their time to arrive.

Suddenly, a black cab rolled up to the street. It didn’t take a genius to spot the two figures inside. Sherlock jumped down the front steps and greeted the cab’s passengers.

John stepped out first and then helped Y/N out afterward. “Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art,” John told Sherlock.

“And?” Sherlock questioned. John furrowed his brow in response.”Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?”

“Sherlock, breathe. Give us a second,” Y/N blurted. Sherlock’s wide blue eyes locked onto Y/N and he felt his heart stutter, giving John ample time to appropriately respond.

“He was an amateur astronomer.”

A light went off in Sherlock’s mind. “Hold that cab,” he instructed them before running off to a homeless woman leaning against an iron fence.

“Spare change, sir?” She asked Sherlock.

“Don't mind if I do,” Sherlock stuck out his hand and retrieved the small slip of paper from the woman’s hands.

Y/N watched the interaction with curiosity. Her eyes trailed after Sherlock as he hopped into the cab. Soon, the three of them were tucked in the back seat once again.

It wasn’t long before they walked alongside industrial buildings and inside dark alleyways. Y/N found herself stepping closer to Sherlock as they passed from the light of the street lamps into the dark. Her hand brushed against his ever so softly. For a moment, her hand was all Sherlock could think about.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Sherlock whispered. His eyes trailing up to the twinkling stars above.

Y/N’s eyes followed Sherlock’s. She paused before speaking. “I thought you didn’t care about stuff like that? Useless bits of information.”

Sherlock smirked, but his eyes moved down to hers, and his smile became a loving smile. “Doesn't mean I can't appreciate their beauty.” Time seemed to stand still as he gazed at Y/N under the starlight. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes trickled to her lips.

John spoke, breaking Sherlock’s trance. “Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns?”

“This way,” Sherlock said, leading John and Y/N deeper into the dark tunnels.

“Nice! Nice part of town,” John sarcastically noted. “Er, any time you wanna explain.”

“Homeless network – really is indispensable,” Sherlock replied.

“Homeless network?” John questioned.

“My eyes and ears all over the city,” Sherlock elaborated.

“Ah, that's... clever. So you scratch their backs and...?”

“Yes, then I disinfect myself,” Sherlock finished before taking out three lights for them and handing them out.

“Flashlights?” Y/N wondered, turning hers on.

John and Sherlock shared an odd expression. “What did you just call it?” John asked.

“A flashlight.”

John shook his head. “It’s a torch.”

Y/N fought back a sigh. “Yeah, torch, whatever. You know, sometimes I think you two forget I’m from America.”

Sherlock chuckled at the interaction. “Let’s go,” he said, flicking on his torch.

The three of them entered the tunnel together. Small fires scattered between erected tents and cardboard boxes were the only light besides their own. As they whirled their lights around, Y/N stuck close to Sherlock. She felt as if she were more than three steps away from him; her lungs would constrict.

“Sherlock! Y/N!” John’s voice hissed. The three of them spotted the tall shadow casting onto a nearby wall.

Sherlock’s leather-gloved hand grasped Y/N’s arm. “Come on!” Sherlock whispered as he quickly pulled her by his side, pushed her against the brick wall, and placed his hands beside her head. Sherlock leaned in close, using his body as a shield. Y/N’s nose was filled with his scent. She closed her eyes and bit her lip at the sudden intrusion in her personal space.

“What's he doing sleeping rough?” John questioned.

Y/N shuddered as Sherlock’s warm breath brushed against her cheeks. “Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much.” Sherlock removed one of his hands from beside Y/N and reached into his pocket.

“Oh shi…” John muttered to himself as he felt up his coat. “I wish I'd…”

Sherlock revealed John’s gun and handed it to him. John gratefully took the weapon and readied it.

“Don't mention it,” Sherlock said, pushing off the wall to chase after the Golem. The three of them darted down the hallway after the giant man’s figure. By the time they reached the end, they caught sight of their killer entering a small black car. The door shut, and the car revved. Then Golem was gone.

“ No! No! No! No!” Sherlock cried, waving his fist in the air. “It'll take us weeks to find him again.”

Beside him, Y/N and John panted, looking at the exhaust the car had left behind.

“Actually…” Y/N interjected. “I think I know where he’s going—or at least who he’s going after.”

John’s eyes lit up with the same thought that occupied Y/N’s. “The Professor,” he muttered.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message,” John recalled. “There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.”

______

A bright light crept out from underneath two large metal doors. Beyond the doors, Y/N could hear the voiceover of a film. She furrowed her brows and peered at her friends as they quietly and stealthily approached the doors.

“Is that a–” Y/N began to ask when Sherlock cut her off.

“Y/N, you’re staying out here.”

Shock washed over Y/N’s face. “No, I am not staying behind.”

“No!” Sherlock hissed. “John and I will handle it. We’ll handle Golem, just stay here and-”

“And what? Look pretty? It’s just as dangerous staying out here in the dark than it is in the planetarium,” Y/N argued. She looked to John for assistance but was met with concerned eyes. “John?”

In an instant, Y/N was yanked away from the door. Sherlock’s firm hands grasped her shoulder and pulled her in close. “The Golem is dangerous and-”

“Oh my God!” A shrill cry echoed from inside the planetarium.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he removed his hands from Y/N. Motioning to John, he pushed open the door. “Stay here,” he commanded Y/N before the door slammed in her face.

Muttering an array of curses under her breath, Y/N charged in after them. Immediately, her eyes burned from the flashing lights. In the flickers of light, Y/N saw John and Sherlock dance around for any sight of Golem. The longer Y/N looked, the dizzier she felt. Her feet stumbled, and she toppled off the stage.

“Golem!”She heard Sherlock cry.

Y/N groaned and came to a crouch position. In the distance, she spotted a woman lying on the ground. The lights continued to flash as she crawled over to who she believed to be Professor Cairns. Behind her, John and Sherlock struggled to spot Golem.

“..many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas,” the film's narrator announced before the tape began to whir.

“I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!” John yelled.

Finger dug into the carpet as Y/N pulled herself closer to the professor. Her body was trembling, and her stomach began to churn. The light blared at her, and the volume of the film increased with each second. Y/N was sure that by the end, she’d come out blind and deaf.

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” She heard Sherlock taunt the assassin.

Finally, Y/N reached Professor Cairns. Suddenly, Y/N felt very cold. Sick climbed up her throat, and sweat clung to her forehead. Images of those dead, Hilton, the woman over the phone, and Soo Lin sparked in her mind. Feeling a sudden wave of determination, Y/N sat up and placed her hands on the professor’s chest. She wasn’t about to let someone else die, not if she could help it. Then she pushed down. Her shoulders pumped up and down, holding a steady pace. Up and down. Up and down.

“Golem!” John hollered, followed by the sound of a gun cocking. “Let him go... or I will kill you.”

Then, muffled grunts and cries reached Y/N’s ears. Her pace halted. Frightened eyes whirled around in a desperate search for John and Sherlock. The lights flickered on, and there they were. Under the spotlight, Sherlock swiftly twirled around Golem. The horror of a man towered over Sherlock, making him appear as miniscule as an ant. Nearby lay John, who struggled to get off the ground.

“Sherlock!” Y/N screamed as Golem’s giant hand swung at Sherlock. The force of the blow dragged Sherlock to the floor. Instantly, Golem jumped on him, placing his hands over Sherlock’s nose and mouth.

Jumping to her feet, Y/N ran as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. With each step, her mind went blank. She had to save Sherlock, but how? If Sherlock seemed tiny compared to the Golem, she was microscopic. Launching herself onto the stage, she slammed her body into the Golem. The sheer force momentarily knocked the Golem to the ground. However, he soon found himself back on his feet. A sickening grin inched onto Golem’s face as he stepped to Sherlock and Y/N. Y/N felt herself freeze over, unable to move, breathe, or blink. Golem stalked closer. Y/N shuddered before laying herself over Sherlock. She knew she didn’t stand a chance against a trained killer, but at the very least, she could give Sherlock time.

Sherlock’s eyes blew wide as Y/N placed herself in front of him. “No, run away,” he wanted to croak but found his voice gone. It had been choked from him, instantly stunning him. With a breathless gaze, he gazed up at her. The stars and planets zoomed overhead in a taunting manner.

Clenching her eyes shut, Y/N braced herself for Golem’s hand, but it never came. John had pounced on him, locking the assassin in a chokehold. Golem struggled to pull John off, but when he did, he disappeared–jumping off the stage and running out the door.

Y/N didn’t open her eyes until she felt Sherlock’s gentle touch on her cheek. It took her a moment to realize they were now sitting up. The film was playing overhead. With tears, she looked at him, and her voice was stolen. She wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find the words. Sherlock’s free arm wrapped around her body, pulling her close. Carefully, Y/N tucked her head into Sherlock’s neck. She breathed him in, feeling his heartbeat on her cheek. He was alive. She was alive.

While Y/N clung to Sherlock, he found his mind in torment. He’d almost lost her. Sherlock tried so hard to keep her safe and close because, to him, Sherlock was the safest place around. However, it was a lie. Sherlock was dangerous, and being close to him was unsafe for her.

He knew that now. If he hadn’t dragged her from case to case, she’d be safe in her flat with her cat. If he hadn’t brought her on, she wouldn’t have seen so much death. She would be safe. She would be free to live an everyday life away from Sherlock. But Sherlock was selfish. Her presence was more potent than any drug he’d ever taken. Her lips were sweeter than any victory had been. Sherlock was greedy and wanted her to stay, to be close, and never leave. Most of all, he wanted to love her. He did love her. Sherlock loved Y/N more than anything.

A single tear fell from the pool in Sherlock’s eyes. He loved Y/N, so he had to keep safe, even if it meant he’d never see her again. She would be safe away from him, and so she had to go. Sherlock took one last moment to be selfish as they sat holding each other. His trembling lips met the crown of her head. His nose inhaled her scent one last time. His hands enveloped her body before tearing himself away.

_____

Moriarty. The name was whispered in Sherlock’s mind as he and John opened the door to 221B Baker Street. A bittersweet triumph latched onto their shoulders, dragging them up the stairs. They had solved the case and saved that little boy, but now they had more questions.

Warm light wrapped around Sherlock and John as they stepped into their flat. Their eyes fell onto Y/N’s sleeping figure. Sherlock had sent her home after their fight with Golem. Despite her protests, Sherlock and John’s insistence won. Both men’s eyes softened at the sight of Y/N.Her hair cascaded over her features, vaguely concealing the red skin around her eyes.

Sherlock took a step further into the room. The floorboard creaked beneath his feet, alerting the woman from her sleep. She shot up but then relaxed at the sight.

“You’re back,” she whispered. “What happened? Did you-”

“We solved the case,” Sherlock coldly said. He removed his coat and scarf and tossed them onto John’s armchair.

“Sherlock,” Y/N gently muttered. “Are you alright?”

“Just stop!” Sherlock hissed. Y/N froze, and her eyes widened with shock as Sherlock appeared in front of her. “Don’t you see nothing you do helps? You’re a liability, Y/N. I’ve known it from the moment I laid eyes on you. From the moment I found you in that cab with a gun to your head, you’ve been a liability to me.”

A new set of tears began to pour from Y/N’s eyes, too stunned to fight back.

“If it weren’t for your emotions getting in the way—your caring…oh, your caring. You care too much. Just as I said before, what good does caring do when people are going to die anyway? Soo Lin, Hilton Cubitt: They all died despite your cares. Sentiment is a weakness found on the losing side. You, Y/N, are on the losing side. The only reason you haven’t realized it was because I was there. My mind free from the poison of it all,” Sherlock took in a shaky breath. His voice grew quiet. “...or so I thought.”

Stifling a sob, Y/N pleaded with Sherlock. “So why bother keeping me around?

“I had to,” he uttered. “You are my liability! Your sentiment is contagious, and its effects are leaking onto me. You make me weak. You make me lose my mind when I am not near you. And when I am, all concepts of cunning and intelligence evade me. I become human. I fear. I feel things I have never felt before. You…you have ruined me!”

Silence filled the air. John stood against the wall and clenched his fist in fury. He had never wanted to hit Sherlock more than he did now. However, Y/N’s saddened scoff drew his attention. It was her turn to say her piece.

“I…” Y/N took in a quick breath to steady herself. “…I think I finally understand what’s going on in that mind. You say sentiment is on the losing side, that it’s weak, that I’m weak. Well, Sherlock, you’re wrong.”

Y/N stepped closer to Sherlock—a determined gleam reflected in her eyes. “Yes, I care about others, maybe too much, but that makes me stronger. I have people to love and who love me back. Can you say the same?”

Sherlock stared back at her, all thoughts and words fled in her presence.

“I doubt you can,” Y/N continued. Her words commanded the room and Sherlock’s attention. He could not ignore her. “You push everyone away and blame it all on your intellectual mind. Your brother has to pay others to ensure you’re okay because he cares about you, and you couldn't care less. John buys you milk even when he knows it’ll disappear within a day due to your insane experiments, yet you never say thank you or offer to buy it yourself. Auntie M makes you tea and occasionally helps tidy up even though she’s just your landlady, and you shoot holes into her walls. Greg brings you cases and lets you get away with many things, yet you can never get his name right. Molly lets you take body parts from Bart’s, something that could cost her her job. However, you shred her apart every chance you get. I stand up for you when others try to break you down, and here you are, breaking me. All because I care too much. Because I care too much for you. I get it. I’m just your neighbor and assistant. That’s all I’ll ever be, even though you kissed me that night. Even though I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long.”

“But your intelligence? That’s not the real reason you push everyone away.” Y/N’s grew low. “You treat the people around you like shit because you’re afraid they’ll leave just like everyone else and it’ll be easier to unattach yourself from them if they were never really there in the first place. So I quit. I quit being your assistant. I quit being your neighbor. You win Sherlock. You want me gone? I’ll leave. I’ll find the first flight out of London. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again because I understand now…”

A sob broke out from Y/N. John gasped, staring between his two friends. Wiping her tears away, Y/N raised her chin up high. Her feet trekked to the open door of John and Sherlock’s flat and paused before leaving. “Goodbye, John,” she said to her friend with melancholy eyes. “Goodbye…Sherlock.” It was barely a whisper, and by the time Sherlock realized what Y/N had said, she was gone.

____

The sound of the lock on her front door was the consolation Y/N found once she entered her apartment. Tears poured from her eyes as she collapsed against the door. She couldn’t see anything and couldn’t hear anything past her sobs, so when a warm hand pressed against her shoulder, she jumped out of her skin.

Following the hand to its owner, she saw Jim standing above her. His eyes were soft and gentle as he lifted her to her feet and hugged her.

Mumbling into her boyfriend’s shoulder, she asked, “How’d you get here?”

“Your aunt let me in,” he replied. “But that’s not important. What’s wrong, love?”

Y/N was too caught up in her emotions to recall her aunt was out with a friend for the evening. Instead, she caved into her boyfriend's touch and sweet words.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she admitted, leaning deeper into his comfort.

Jim nodded and raised his hand to rub circles on her back. “How ‘bout after tea? I find that tea always helps soothe the mind.” He pulled back and smiled at her.

Y/N quickly agreed, and before she knew it, she’d drunk two cups of the steaming hot liquid. Upon noticing her cup was empty again, Jim poured her another cup and urged her to drink up. Y/N swallowed it down, finding the herbs to numb her senses. After a moment's silence, Y/N found her strength returning.

Taking a deep breath, she peered over at her boyfriend, ready to speak. “It was Sherlock. He…” Tears bubbled back up to the surface. “He…he” Y/N furrowed her brow. Her tongue seemed to stop working, and her mind was growing blank. “Sherlock,” she whispered with much difficulty.

Jim groaned. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Each time he said the detective's name, a chilling animosity grew.

“Huh?” Y/N said through the fog of her mind. She knocked her hand against something hard. The teacup fell to the floor and shattered. The deafening sound provided Y/N with some momentary clarity. When Y/N tried to stand from her seat, she discovered her legs had failed her. Instead of standing upright, she was on the floor beside the shattered cup. A groan escaped her mouth.

“I was wondering when it’d take effect,” Jim said. Y/N dragged her head to look up at him. Confusion covered her features as she saw the grin on her boyfriend’s face. As if he sensed her gaze, Jim’s eyes turned empty. “ Oh! I love that look on your face. Utter confusion. It’s adorable. I could just…muaw!” He placed a wet kiss on her lips. The force pushed her to the ground, and the hard surface welcomed her. She felt herself growing weaker. Her breath slowed, and her eyes grew heavy.

“You made my job a whole lot easier, and I’m very grateful for that, my dear. But I’ll have to reward you later when you wake up. I’m going to take you far away from here—away from Sherlock, John…I’m taking you away from it all.”

With the last of her strength, her mind screamed at her. Terror filled her veins as the walls caved in on her. She whimpered.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Jim said, crouching down. His fingers brushed through her hair, luring her to sleep. “Just rest. Everything will be alright. I promise.”

_____

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@neroarrow83

@khaleesihavilliard

@agentxx92

@yourleastfavoriteguyinthechair

@myszur-blog

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@lizlil

@ponsiee

@vampsarereal

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@enchantedreader

@gojosatorubedframe

_____

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softestqueeen · 6 months ago

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✧*̥˚ bbc sherlock masterlist *̥˚✧

✧*̥˚ key *̥˚✧

❤️‍🔥 smut 🌸fluff ⛓️ hurt/comfort 🖤 dark ✍🏻 request

-> back to my main masterlist

sherlock holmes x reader

i can't do this anymore! ⛓️🌸 When Sherlock overhears you talking on the phone, he thinks you're going to leave him.

let the light in 🌸 After a particularly frustrating case, all the consulting detective needs, is closeness.

misty mornings 🌸 When Sherlock Holmes awakes on his birthday, he doesn’t expect anyone to remember it. But of course, you do.

don't you forget about me, sherlock part 1 ⛓️ When Janine forces Sherlock to choose between being in a relationship with her and living with you, he has to make a tough decision. How will your feelings for each other be affected by it?

don't you forget about me, sherlock part 2 coming soon...

sherlock requests open! also for other characters within the universe like john or greg (also queer ships or queer x reader)

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shuichiakainx · 9 months ago

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they put Sherlock BBC on Netflix and guess who's watching it again 🙋🏻‍♀️🙋🏻‍♀️

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inspirationfandream · 9 months ago

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Andrew Scott x Ana De Armas crossover

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minoment · 2 years ago

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Episode fuck knows what of: "I can't find it so I'll fucking write it myself.."

WHATS EVERYONES OPINION ON ME WRITING FORTHE SHERLOCK CHARACTERS??

Me fr..

Sherlock needs snuggles and loving overstimulation

John needs to be fucked until he forgets his trauma

And little bitch Jimmy needs to be fucked stupid and brat tamed (he should call me daddy instead..)

YES OR NO??

#dom reader #sub character #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #john watson #johnlock #jim moriarty #james moriarty #sherlock x reader #john watson x reader #jim moriarty x reader #sub sherlock #sub john watson #sub jim moriarty #mino chats //

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darkdevasofdestruction · 18 days ago

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Chapter 5 - I AM KATLOCKED

"It seems to me, Miss Black, that in spite of all our best efforts, the plan to reclaim those precious photographs has pitifully failed." Mycroft seemed to be as disturbed as it goes, in spite of his calm and stone-cold exterior. Much to his surprise, however, the woman opposite of him was painfully calm, even smiling, as she was sipping from the pretty porcelain cup, the very expensive and aromatic Gesha coffee.

"This time it feel a little floral, almost like lilac. I quite love being so pleasantly surprised." she hummed playfully, almost as though she was giving his worries no apparent regard.

"Miss Black, I don't think now it's the time to be making jokes." he watched as the lady looked at him with a confident, vixen-like smile, her hand angling gracefully as if to dismiss his worries.

"I can assure you, those photographs have never been safer." for some reason, hearing Katrina say those words made Mycroft feel more assured, than when his semi-genius younger brother did. He couldn't explain what kind of influence this woman had over men, but a wave of relief washed over him instantaneously, yet with no rational reason.

"And how, may I ask, can you be so sure of that?" he found himself asking.

"Because Miss Irene Adler is a woman." came her surprisingly blunt answer. "Women understand women the best, you see?" she hummed softly. "And Miss Irene Adler has just committed the gravest crime one such as herself could ever commit." she placed the tea cup gently on the saucer plate. "Do you know what she did, Mycroft?"

"No, I cannot say that I do, Miss Black." he admitted - Of course, how could he know, through the secrecy of their own encounter? He might be All-Knowing, but not even he can guess what others speak.

"She exposed her greatest weakness." Kat leaned forward, whispering mysteriously to the elder Holmes brother. "She fell in love with Sherlock."

Mycroft had not anticipated such an outcome - He had genuinely thought Sherlock lost because he got intimidated by a woman's aggressive and forward sex-appeal ; In no way had he expected that the Dominatrix herself could have possibly - So swiftly, so easily, in fact --- "That affirmation is quite absurd, Miss Black, how could you possibly rationalise a person's irrational feelings? Miss Adler is a highly intelligent and manipulative woman - She wouldn't allow herself such an easily exploitable weakness to show, especially in front of her enemies --"

"That is something you and Sherlock will never understand." she smiled, proud of herself as she straightened her back and returned to sipping her coffee. "If you don't trust my feminine intuition... Then trust my emotional intelligence and empathy, at least." she continued in the same mellow voice. "Women get charmed by the weirdest things - In this case, it was not just Sherlock's pretty face, but wit and somewhat cold demeanour. She wasn't getting what she wanted - Thus, she wants to take it. She wants to claim her newest obsession, to win the game she set for herself. She wants to win." her giggle was so dark that it almost creeped the man out. "And that, Mycroft, shall be the grave she dug herself."

Christmas came by alarmingly fast, and with it, the lovely decoration hung around the apartments of 221b Baker street; Outside was snowing, inside the fireplace was crackling warm, the fairy lights were twinkling festively, and the whole place smelled like cinnamon and oranges. Sherlock, dressed in a suit, was playing a carol on the violin, Mrs. Hudson's eyes were sparkling as she joyfully listened to the beautiful melody, sitting on the armchair next to him. John was snuggled up in the mandatory ugly Christmas sweater; Katrina was worse a red form-fitting sweater-dress and antlers, drinking wine together with Lestrade and slow-dancing to the gentle tune.

The song ended, and the audience whistled, applauded and praised the detective for his remarkable song. "Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!" Mrs. Hudson clapped lovingly.

"Marvellous!" Watson raised his beer glass to him, as Sherlock did a playful bow of appreciation.

The old lady giggled sweetly, looking up at the detective with a slightly impish grin. She was up to no good, as always. "I wish you could have worn the antlers!"

"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson." the man smiled playfully.

"Wish granted, Mrs. Hudson!" Katrina chirped cutely, prancing up to Sherlock and putting a pair of antlers on his fluffy head. "Lovely, right?"

"Brilliant idea, Kat, darling - Oh, Sherlock, you look simply adorable!" she clearly was just a little bit tipsy - It was a delight to see her so gleeful and cute. Kat and Sherlock shared a look - He might not have been the greatest fan of her decision, but at least Mrs. Hudson was happy. He didn't protest too much.

John handed the elderly woman a cup of tea, taking away the alcohol. His new girlfriend came over with a tray of cookies and cakes, offering it to the two. "Thank you, Jeanette!" said Katrina, whilst Sherlock muttered "No thank you, Sarah." the woman's face fell, clearly displeased. John ran over immediately, putting his arm around her and trying to alleviate the situation - Sherlock wasn't good with names, he said, but of course, he is also not good with... People in general. And feelings. And diplomacy.

"No, no, no, I can get this." Jeanette placed down the tray, folding her arms to her chest and looking up at the detective with a murderous look. "Sarah was the doctor, and then there was the one with the spots, and then the one with the nose, and then ... Who was after the boring teacher?" oh Sherlock...

"Nobody." the woman deadpanned.

"Jeanette!" he exclaimed, proud of his sound deduction. "Process of elimination." John awkwardly took his girlfriend away from there, trying to pacify her.

At once, the door opened, and Sherlock groaned, looking away. "Oh, dear Lord." he grunted, surprising the red head as she looked at him with confusion; With a subtle tilt of his head, he motioned for her to look towards the new-comer. It was Molly Hooper, smiling timidly, wrapped in a large coat and carrying some large gift bags. Katrina looked again at Sherlock, not understanding why he was so upset to see Molly there; She gently placed her hand on his shoulder, angling her gaze to meet his. He didn't say nothing, and the eye-contact lasted for a mere few seconds, yet his hand picked her own and held it - Her hand was so small compared to his, he realised - Her fingers so slender and feminine, and her nails were long and slightly sharp - And painted a delicate shade of glittery rouge. The ring finger also had a cute reindeer painted on it, how quaint.

Kat could see how annoyed the detective was, hearing everyone saying those mandatory and highly boring 'Hello's to each other, so she pulled him further from them, to sit down. Bored, he went on John's blog, making a big fuss about the fixed counter of 1895 views; Then, he complained about the picture posted of hi with the deerstalker hat. How silly. "But you do look pretty with it." Sherlock shot her a look, before he huffed and closed the laptop lid. He was safe nowhere, damn it!

"How’s the hip?" Molly asked the old woman.

"Ooh, it’s atrocious, but thanks for asking." Kat could feel that pain very well.

"I’ve seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems." an awkward silence fell over the apartment, making Molly embarrassed. Sherlock rolled his eyes - Not even he was so awful at socialising. "Oh, God. Sorry."

"Don’t make jokes, Molly." Holmes warned her harshly.

Greg hands her a glass of red wine. "Thank you. I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas." that's a good light-conversation! Good job, Molls!

"That’s first thing in the morning, me and my wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted." Lestrade spoke proudly. "No, she’s sleeping with a P.E. teacher." Kat had to harshly tug on Sherlock's sleeve to make him shut up.

Molly turned next to John who was sitting on the arm of his armchair, with Jeanette is sitting on the chair. "And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?" he affirmed. "Sherlock was complaining." the man in cause raised a warning, indignant eyebrow at her, making the woman correct herself. "... Saying." "First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze." Sherlock negated that proposition. "Shut up, Sherlock!"

"I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you’re serious about him." finally, the detective was simply done with this pleasantry facade. He simply couldn't stand the disturbance of the otherwise jolly Christmas party. Why did she have to come and ruin everything? Things were just fine without her and her stupid jokes, and her god-awful attempts at making small talk. Why couldn't she just sit quietly in a corner and shut up? Or better - Not come at all? He hated how awkward she was, how it was always about boyfriends and love and stupid things - Doesn't she know other things exist in life also?

"Sorry, what?" the room became quiet, and Molly found herself gasping, feeling attacked, viewed under a microscope like a specimen under a bird's view eye.

"In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift." Sherlock got up from the chair so rapidly that he mistakenly pulled Katrina up with him also, as she tried to tug on his sleeve to make him shut up and not ruin the festive mood for everyone.

Exasperated, John groaned at his friend. "Take a day off, Sherlock."

Lestrade, also, strode across the room and slammed a drink on the table in front of him. "Shut up and have a drink."

"Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag – Perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best." everyone was looking at the red head to do something fast, before things escalate - And with Sherlock, they always go down VERY fast.

At once, Katrina sprung towards the gifts and took out the scarf she got for Sherlock, then ran in front of him, throwing it around his neck and covering his mouth tightly. "I hope you like my gift for you, Sher. It's 100% cashmere. Very soft and comfortable, isn't it? Perfectly warm for this type of weather." she smiled innocently, almost hearing the sighs of relief from the others. "Speaking of comfortable - Mrs. Hudson, John and I had a surprise prepared for you! Come on, follow me!" and with surprising force, the red head dragged the man far away from the living-room, leaving behind a confused and awkward Molly, and a very exhausted crew.

"What, exactly, are you planning?" Sherlock asked as he finally grabbed the scarf off his face.

"Sparing everyone a very uncomfortable evening." she smiled thinly. "What were you thinking, attacking Molly like that? It's Christmas - Take a break - Keep that for the hospital when she's boring you to death."

The childish detective clearly wasn't appreciating the scolding, as he frowned and pouted at her, shocked that she wasn't enabling his behaviour. "Oh, come on, don't be taking her side now!" he groaned in annoyance. "You saw it yourself - That gift is for someone special, why else would she doll herself up so ridiculously on a cozy Christmas party at home?" he huffed, gesticulating rapidly. "The shade of red from that bow echoes her lipstick – Either an unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage." Katrina had to point out that she herself is also wearing red lipstick, as not only it is a feminine colour, but a highly classic and elegant one - Irene Adler would know best. "Yes, you're wearing red because it suits you, and because it's Christmas - But red lipstick only makes her already thin lips look even weirder." he dismissed her previous claim swiftly with more hand flipping in the air. "You, as well as I, know very well that she only ever has looooove on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all - Though quite peculiar she hasn't taken him with her to the party - Or perhaps she's going over at his afterwards?" his speculation only made the girl sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. "She has long-term hopes, however forlorn - She’s seeing him tonight, that's evident from her make-up and what she’s wearing - Such dolling-up but with clear lack of style simply shows how she's trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts---"

"She did it for you." Sherlock's insulting rant faded off into a shocking void once he heard the girl's deadpan words. "She dressed up for you. She did her make-up for you. She wrapped the prettiest and most meaningful gift - For you." she explained, as if he was a mindless child. "No matter how many boyfriends she has - Molly Hooper's heart will always be yours, Sherlock? Why can't you understand that much?" like a guilty child, he licked his lips and looked down at his feet. "Can you please stop mocking and degrading her for having feelings for you? Least of all, on Christmas night, and in front of everyone?" he remained silent still. "What you were doing was not only atrocious, but cruel - And what did she do wrong? Being in love? Trying to impress you? Or, Heaven's forbid - Being human and having feelings?" the girl sighed pitifully, shaking her head. "Honestly..." she bit her lip. "If you don't have anything nice to say - At least try to filter out your words - Or say nothing at all. There aren't many people who care for you, as those at this party do... So don't alienate the already incredibly few people who love you unconditionally... In spite of the way you treat them."

After everything she told him, after all the scolding, Sherlock's priority was still in the wrong place - Albeit, it still made Kat smile her sweet, tender smile at him. "Do I... Treat you... Badly?" it was clear he was having difficulty voicing such words.

"No." the woman's clear answer made him feel relieved. "But if you were to treat me the way you treat Molly, I would suffer a lot." his brief second of relief dissipated. "I would not be so forgiving. I would cut all connections with you and resent you forever. I am not as nice as you think I am - Nor am I a pushover." his heart sunk, and the air was punched out of his lungs. "This is not only advice, but a warning also - Be very careful how you treat people."

"I... I am sorry. Forgive me." he gulped, admitting truthfully to his faults.

"There is nothing for me to forgive, Sherlock." she spoke softly, before handing him a small gift. "Go to Molly and apologise to her. Give her this."

"But I didn't --" he read on the tag 'For Molly, from Sherlock' . "Did you---?"

"Yes. Now go apologise and let's have a good time, okay? We don't want to upset Mrs. Hudson, right?" her smile returned on her face.

"Right." Sherlock stepped in front of her, and leaning down, he planted a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. "Thank you." he said, walking by to the living room.

Everyone remained quiet once they saw Sherlock again - But when he presented Molly her gift and wished her Merry Christmas, the jolly atmosphere returned once more - Unfortunately, not for long.

Sherlock's phone moaned - It was the first time Katrina's heard it, but John mentioned hearing 57 such texts - Only what he witnessed, at least. That was Irene texting him, she was sure of that. With great alarm, Sherlock rushed to the mantelpiece, grabbing a small, red gift, then rushed to his room. She smiled, and made herself unseen, going to her home. She didn't need to see the contents of the gift to know Irene was playing with the man again, no doubt, sending him her precious phone. Her game, for him to guess the code - Also, her safety. She was going to fake her death, no doubt; Go into hiding, lose her pursuers as fast as possible.

She made herself comfortable, picking up a book to read in bed, but she couldn't concentrate - She was still highly amused by Irene's childish playfulness. She took her phone and texted Mycroft - 'She's alive' - Was all she wrote.

Later that evening, the Holmes brothers went to the morgue, accompanied by an unfortunate Molly, having changed from her party dress into a pair of comfortable trousers and a Christmas jumper; She looked much more natural and cozy that way, but even so, Sherlock wasn't paying attention to her - He had eyes only for the female cadaver laying down on the table. Her face was all bashed up, but her body was enough for the detective to recognise her.

"That's her, isn't it?" Mycroft asked his brother.

"That's her." his voice was empty, monotone. He turned around to leave the room, as Mycroft thanked Molly for her assistance.

"Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from... Not her face?" silly dumb girl, asking so many questions. The elder Holmes brother simply smiled politely, before following the younger into the corridor.

Mycroft offered his brother a cigarette - Low tar, he shouldn't mourn someone he knew for so little. "Merry Christmas." he joked.

Sherlock takes the cigarette and Mycroft digs into his coat pocket to find a lighter. "Smoking indoors – Isn’t there one of those... One of those law things?" regardless, Mycroft lights the cigarette for him.

"We’re in a morgue. There’s only so much damage you can do." he watched his brother inhaling deeply, before blowing the smoke out, grieving. "How did you know she was dead?" Katrina and Sherlock came to different conclusions, when they only had the phone as a clue; Could it be that his brother was in the wrong, for once? Was he being played by a powerful woman? Still, the body spoke to him. Sherlock knew Irene Adler was dead. He saw her dead body with his own eyes.

"She had an item in her possession, one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up." she gave up the photographs, then?

"Where is this item now?" but his brother didn't answer. Instead, Sherlock looked round at the sound of sobbing. A family of three people was sobbing loudly, cuddled together, grieving the death of someone. Mycroft followed his suit to look at them.

"Look at them. They all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?" Sherlock found himself asking such a silly question - Did it stem from Katrina's words earlier? Or from feeling so alienated from everyone else?

"All lives end. All hearts are broken." he turned his gaze towards his younger brother. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

"Tell that to Kat." he huffed, grimacing at the cigarette taste. Weak and disgusting.

"Miss Black has something that neither of us will ever be able to comprehend." the man nodded his head. "But don't assume she knows no heart ache or grief."

Almost indignant, Sherlock looked at his brother before striding down the corridor, flicking the ash onto the ground. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft." "And a Happy New Year." he answered, before calling John on his phone to alert him of a potentially danger night for the drug-addict.

For a few days onwards, Katrina could hear the violin lamentation coming from Sherlock's apartment - He was clearly mourning Irene Adler's death. How silly of him. Still, it made for a lovely recital, and she loved to read, listening to music. He became paranoid - First, using the faulty view-count on John's blog as the phone code, which was evidently wrong, then even X-raying the phone, and thinking his own address of 221B was the code. He failed again. Two more attempts left.

Then came that evening when she returned home to see the police surrounding her block, Sherlock and Lestrade chatting idly. Apparently, the guys who almost killed them at Irene's home found their way into Mrs. Hudson's apartment and tormented her. Thankfully enough, Sherlock defenestrated the leader many times, right onto her bins. That was a good revenge.

Months passed and nothing dangerous happened - Thank goodness for that. Katrina didn't want any more death encounters like before with Moriarty. She was perfectly content hanging around, doing her job and doing her hobbies as much as possible... Yet one thing she hadn't expected was to wake up with someone cuddled into her side, hugging her tightly, and two men staring down at them in shock.

Katrina woke up with Irene, wearing one of her silk nightgowns, her hair let down, cuddling her to sleep, as Sherlock and John looked at them with surprise. "I did not expect this." for once who prided herself with every step of Irene's games... She surely didn't think she would wake up to her hugging her like that.

With a vixen smirk, Irene woke up, and the four went into the living room to discuss what the hell was going on. "So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of the pursuers." Sherlock's voice was neutral and cold.

"It worked for a while." she replied playfully.

"Except you let John know that you were alive, and therefore me." Sherlock spoke.

"I knew you’d keep my secret."

"You couldn’t."

"But you did, didn’t you?" she smiled alluringly. "Where’s my camera phone?"

"It’s not here. We’re not stupid." oh, poor John, so gullible.

"Then what have you done with it? If they’ve guessed you’ve got it, they’ll be watching you." and Irene was none the wiser, it seemed.

"If they’ve been watching me, they’ll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago." of course, Irene insisted that she needed that phone immediately.

"Well, we can’t just go and get it, can we?" but John had his eureka moment. "Molly Hooper. She could collect it, take it to Bart’s; then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back."

Sherlock smiled sarcastically at his friend, nodding at him. "Very good, John. Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions."

"Thank you." John took his phone out, ready to call Molly.

"Except - The phone is right here." Irene's eyes went wide at Kat's words.

"Oh, for goodness' sake." John groaned in exasperation. He humiliated himself once again. "How did you know?!"

"I just guessed." that smile told him otherwise.

"So what do you keep on here – In general, I mean?"

"Pictures, information, anything I might find useful." Adler explained briefly.

"What, for blackmail?"

"For protection. I make my way in the world; I misbehave. I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be." she smiled defiantly.

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock peered more, only to hear her talk about misbehaving. "You’ve acquired something that’s more danger than protection. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes, but I don’t understand it." she admitted, looking away. Sherlock urged her to show him all about it. Irene holds out her hand for the phone. Sherlock holds it up out of her reach. "The passcode." she kept her hand out, and eventually Sherlock handed her the phone. Activating it and holding it so he can’t see the code, she types in four digits. The phone beeped warningly.

Kat couldn't help but giggle seeing Irene's face - She was fooling around, there's no way she'd input the correct password so easily. Still, the detective snatched the phone from her hands smugly. "No, because it’s a duplicate that I had made, into which you’ve just entered the numbers 1058." he took the real phone from under the cushion, inserting the password. It was then that Katrina actually saw the lockscreen for the first time - I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED - How fascinating, she thought to herself.

WRONG PASSCODE. 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING

He stared at the screen in disbelief. He failed three times. He'd been had. "I told you that camera phone was my life. I know when it’s in my hand." the man couldn't help but praise her. "You’re not so bad."

Irene snatched the phone away from him; Katrina looked simply unbothered, serene, whilst John was frowning at the pair holding intense eye-contact. "Hamish." he broke the captivating reverie between the two. "John Hamish Watson – Just if you were looking for baby names." Sherlock was thoroughly confused.

"There was a man – An MOD official. I knew what he liked." this time, she wrote the real code into the phone, then opened up a photograph. "One of the things he liked was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world. He didn’t know it, but I photographed it." she handed the detective the phone. "He was a bit tied up at the time. It’s a bit small on that screen – Can you read it?" Sherlock sat down and narrowed his eyes at the picture.

007 Confirmed allocation 4C12C45F13E13G60A60B61F34G34J60D12H33K34K

"A code, obviously. I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it – Though he was mostly upside down, as I recall. Couldn’t figure it out." she leaned her hands on his shoulders, leaning forward over him. "What can you do, Mr Holmes?" she whispered seductively into his ear. "Go on. Impress a girl."

"There’s a margin for error but I’m pretty sure there’s a 747 leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it’s going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I’ve only been on the case for eight seconds." he looked at John, then went back to speaking with an obvious huff. "Oh, come on. It’s not code. These are seat allocations on a passenger jet." he showed the screen. "There’s no letter ‘I’ because it can be mistaken for a ‘1’; no letters past ‘K’ – The width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – Families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter ‘K’ or rows past fifty-five, which is why there’s always an upstairs. There’s a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there’s the style of the flight number – 007 – That eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport." he looked at Irene, who was already having mental intercourse with him. "Please don’t feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing. John’s expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice." the look of lust and fascination on her face seemed to be almost intimidating the detective, as he tried to divert the conversation towards John, to check those flight schedules. "I’ve never begged for mercy in my life."

"Twice." she emphasised, more aggressively.

John confirmed he was right, as always, and something about a 007 flight; That notion got Sherlock's mind into disarray, and he didn't notice Irene typing - Texting.

747 TOMORROW 6:30PM HEATHROW

The person who received Irene's text message grinned in triumph - He, in turn, sent two messages; One to Mycroft Holmes, reading 'Jumbo Jet. Dear me Mr Holmes, dear me.' and the other, to his unfortunate friend of old, 'Now the world is gone, I'm just one'. As Mycroft received the message from the comfort of his luxurious office, Katrina's phone beeped during the chaos at 221B baker street. It didn't take her long to understand who sent her such a cryptic message - Quickly, she made herself invisible and rushed out of the residence, calling Mycroft and having him send a driver ASAP so they can meet privately. During the time it took for Katrina to reach his residence, the Holmes brother was sunk on the chair, running his hand exasperated over his face, clearly shocked at the unexpected turn of events that washed over him. He trusted his brother, he trusted his plan - How could everything crumble before his very eyes, so rapidly, so aggressively? He removed his jacket, downing a glass of rum; His hands were folded in front of his mouth, as he kept rotating the gears of his mind, yet coming to no conclusion nor salvation. Evening came rapidly, and Mycroft's face was pained and anguish, his eyes wide with horror and terror; The very security and safety of the nation were in his hands. He failed the country. He failed everything.

Slowly, he closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands, succumbing to despair. The only thing left to do was to negotiate with the Devil and pray for a miracle.

"Forgive the tardiness - Terrible traffic." ah, there she was. He did wonder what coincidence made it that she called him just a second after he received that dreaded message. "I won't beat around the bush. Irene Adler is working with Moriarty." that was one piece of information that piqued his interest - Far better than his own foolish little brother managed to gather up in almost a whole year. "Forgive me for taking so long - I didn't know Moriarty was involved, nor that it wasn't, truly, just about the compromising photographs. I should have known you wouldn't ask for help just for that. Forgive me for not realising sooner." Mycroft's jaw hung slightly agape at the apologising girl - What else could he say? How could she blame her, a normal person, when his own brother, a detective - His own kin, no less - Couldn't figure out the evident pattern he sent him over the months?

"It is not for you to apologise for something you were not told. I asked you to take care of my brother, and of the photographs - You did what I asked of you, and for that, I thank you. I cannot fault you for failing national security, when the failure was on my part." he sighed, leaning back on the chair, pouring more rum. "Forgive the unsightliness - And forgive me for being nosy, but how did you know?"

"Because Moriarty texted me." Holmes immediately sobered up, straightening his back and looking fixed at the girl as she showed him the message. "This lyric is from a Metallica song about war - Adding that to the conversation about flights and planes from home, and I realised Irene must have texted the code to Moriarty that instant, otherwise, why'd he text me something so weird, at that exact time?"

"That is rather dangerous of him - Alas, he can afford it - Both him, and Miss Adler. They got what they wanted. They have the right to extort the nation." he sounded miserable - Katrina hated seeing the otherwise proud man so down in the dumps and self-deprecating.

"Mycroft - I know it is not for me to ask - But can you tell me what this flight is all about?" the man raised a quizzical eyebrow. "I think I have a plan to corner Irene Adler -- And I also think I know her phone's password."

"Well, Miss Black, if that is true, then Sherlock should learn from you." he smiled, though still doubtful. There wasn't much to lose though, telling her all about Coventry, how allegedly, in the Second World War, the Allies knew that Coventry was going to get bombed because they’d broken the German code, but they didn’t want the Germans to know that they’d broken the code, so they let it happen anyway. Likewise, this time, they also had a bomb threat, and Mycroft filled the whole plane with dead bodies - The plane shall fly, but there would be no deaths. Mission accomplished for the terrorists - Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies. "The flight of the dead."

"So when Sherlock told Irene that the code is actually about a plane, he revealed that you already knew about the bomb." the woman hummed. "And with your plan destroyed, the plane cannot fly. The terrorists know already, and they can't be fooled. You must have been planning this thoroughly for months - No, years maybe - Correct?"

"That’s all it takes: one lonely naive man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special." Mycroft smiled sarcastically. "Sherlock and Miss Adler are going to arrive at the plane. Sherlock will wallow in self-pity at his own foolishness, whilst watching the woman who defeated him so shamelessly takes three quarters of our country."

"Not if I can stop it." she took a little piece of paper and a crayon, writing down the lockscreen. "The woman made him feel special - He wanted to show off his wits to her - But the same is also the other way around."

I AM _ _ _ _ LOCKED

"Do you trust me, Mycroft?" the girl asked, writing in the code for him. "I know it is a lot to ask of you, especially after what happened -- But can you trust my intuition that I have guessed the code correctly?"

Mycroft stared perplex at the piece of paper, before averting his gaze towards Katrina's sparkling aquamarine eyes; Shrewdness, intelligence, wit, kindness and so much more. He was right to trust her once, and he will do so again. Only a woman could understand the complexity of another woman's mind and emotions, especially when it came to someone of the caliber of Irene Adler. At once, the elder Holmes crumpled up the paper and threw it in the fireplace, putting on his blazer and getting ready to leave. "Wait for us in the meeting room. I will make an opening for you."

Night time fell by quickly as Mycroft scolded his younger brother harshly - Though he hadn't enough hours in the day to scold him, for the villainess prowled through the plane isle, looking as sexy and dangerous as always - The Woman - Femme Fatale. Sherlock still couldn't understand - How could he fail so badly? How could he let himself be played like a fiddle? This wasn't true - It was a farce, a game, a mistake - There was no way Irene Adler had the upper hand! There was no way he failed Mycroft's expectations of such a mundane and terribly easy pattern riddle! No way--

Mycroft looked at his brother with intense disappointment. "I drove you into her path... I’m sorry." he lowered his eyes, clearly blaming himself for both trusting Sherlock, and for challenging him with the dangerous prospect of a powerful woman. "I didn’t know." this wasn't right - None of it was. Mycroft Holmes... Apologised? To him, of all people alive? He only ever apologised to their mother -- Did he really screw up that badly?!

"Mr. Holmes, I think we need to talk." the demoness spoke alluringly.

"So do I. There are a number of aspects I’m still not quite clear on." oh, poor boy, he still thought he was important.

But Irene pushed past him, not even sparing him a glance. "Not you, Junior. You’re done now." now in front of Mycroft, Sherlock turned to watch Adler turn on her phone and showing it to the elder brother. "There’s more... Loads more. On this phone I’ve got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – Unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Mycroft could no longer look into Irene's predatory blue eyes. He lowered his head and gestured for them to follow him into his office to negotiate. They sit down at the table, opposite to each other, whilst Sherlock sits away from them, on an armchair by the fireplace.

"We have people who can get into this." Mycroft tried to negotiate, but Irene was confident in herself, thanks to his own brother's foolishness.

"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months." Irene smiled wickedly.

"Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone." she ordered him casually.

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive." Mycroft lowered his head into his hand, succumbing more and more to his despair. "Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

"Explosive. It’s more me."

Mycroft tried once again. "Some data is always recoverable."

She challenged him once more. "Take that risk?"

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you." the elder Holmes spoke, but his brother was forced to speak up against that idea once again.

"There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can’t know which one she’s given you and there will be no point in a second attempt." he explained.

"He’s good, isn’t he? I should have him on a leash – In fact, I might." she gazed intensely at Sherlock, though he didn't dare look at her - Only at the crackling fire.

"We destroy this, then. No-one has the information." came Mycroft's middle-ground idea.

"Fine. Good idea... Unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you’re about to burn." she played a dangerous game.

"Are there?" of course she wasn't going to play fair.

She reached into her handbag and took out an envelope which she pushed across the table to him. "A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they’re granted." Mycroft took the sheet of paper from the envelope and started unfolding it slowly. "I’d say it wouldn’t blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation – But then I’d be lying." he rose his eyebrows in amazement as he read through the demands she listed. Miss Black better be right with her plan, otherwise, they were royally screwed. "I imagine you’d like to sleep on it."

"Thank you, yes." but Irene didn't allow him any second to think his decision.

"Off you pop and talk to people." sighing, Mycroft sunk back in his chair.

"You’ve been very ... Thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you." he praised her - She was deserving of it.

"I can’t take all the credit. Had a bit of help." she smiled ruely. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."

"Yes, he’s been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention... Which I’m sure he received from exactly the person he wanted." he huffed, remembering only he and Katrina received any bit of attention from the criminal.

"I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D’you know what he calls you?" she hummed playfully. "The Ice Man..." she then looked mockingly at the younger Holmes. "...and the Virgin." she smiled with triumph. "Didn’t even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now that’s my kind of man."

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees." Mycroft stood up, along with Irene, appearing as though he was ready to bow to her in salute and admiration for her deeds in outwitting them both. "Nicely played."

No, this couldn't be right, Sherlock thought to himself in alarm. Mycroft couldn't possibly accept defeat - Not in front of Irene Adler; Not in front of James Moriarty. No way - His own older brother, Mycroft Holmes -- Admit defeat?!

"Except Moriarty played you too, Miss Adler." Sherlock only jumped in his seat, hearing Mycroft's cunning words. "I was confident when I told you I have someone who can get into this." he snatched the phone casually, smiling confidently and he handed out the phone.

"What could you possibly mean by that, Mr. Holmes?" Irene frowned, bewildered by the game the older man was playing with her. "Didn't we just assert that there is no one who could possibly guess the password safely?"

"But there is, Irene." Sherlock's eyes widened as he heard the familiar sound of heels clicking, and behind Mycroft appeared none other than Katrina Black, wearing an impish grin. "Moriarty sends his regards." she seemed delighted, amused; She was laughing even, not so lady-like, as she grabbed the phone in her delicately manicured hands. "James only told you how to play 'The Ice Man' and "The Virgin' -- But has he ever told you anything about yours truly?" she giggled, prowling theatrically around Irene. "I thought you understood me, Irene. I thought you saw me for who I was - The Princess - I expected you, of all people, to count me in -- Yet you completely disregarded me. Was it because I was truthful with you? Did you thought me weak for that?" she made a full circle around the Dominatrix, intimidating her like a starving wolf circling her prey. "James still send me flowers every week, you know? You are not that special - You are just another chess piece for him to entertain himself."

"And how, exactly, are your silk gloves and kind words going to save the day, Princess? Go on, charm me, see if that works." Irene shot right back immediately, standing her ground steadfast. "I am into innocent little bunnies like you - You would look fantastic with silk ribbons tying your wrists together, and a velvet blindfold over those pretty eyes of yours."

"Oh, Irene, your confidence is so... Intoxicating. But let’s not pretend you don’t feel it — The tremor of doubt. The question creeping at the edges of your mind - What have I missed?" Katrina was now standing right in front of her - Once again, not tall enough because of her heels, but no less terrifying with that poison smile of hers.

Irene turned her head slightly, her smirk sharpening. "Enlighten me. What have I missed, Miss Kitty-Kat? I’ve already made a fool out of the Holmes brothers — What could you possibly bring to the table?"

Katrina's voice dropped into a mocking whisper. "Your mistake, Irene, was believing that love makes someone weak. You thought by wearing your heart on your sleeve, you could control him—" she gestured to Sherlock, who was not even breathing, watching the dramatic scene before his very eyes. "I told you, didn't I? My love is my strength - Yours is your worst undoing."

Irene's smirk faltered for a split second, before it returned back once more. "Oh, darling, don't tell me you deluded yourself into thinking I actually fell in love with Sherlock Holmes." she found herself mock laughing.

Her smile widened, tilting her head as though Irene’s words were pathetically adorable. "Is that so? Then let’s test that theory, shall we?" she flashed a brilliant smile as she theatrically pressed the letters to the password, then displayed it to the three participants of the play. Irene's face fell, and her bottom lip was wavering. "You think you’re invincible because you’ve built a fortress of secrets - But fortresses have gates, and the key is always the thing you value most. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You had to prove you were smarter than him. You had to prove to yourself, and to the whole world, that you could dominate even the great detective Sherlock Holmes."

I AMS H E R LOCKED

"You challenged Sherlock, provoked him, teased him, tempted him, made him feel special. And in doing so, you exposed yourself. Because he matters to you. Too much. He became your greatest weakness." the lockscreen light flashed briefly before the phone opened, revealing its secret content. Silence descended like a thunderclap as Kat handed Mycroft the phone, just as promised.

Irene's face froze in disbelief and terror, the blood draining from her cheeks pale cheeks. "...How?"

"Mycroft promised me a cool umbrella and more Gesha coffee if I get the phone open." her silly joke, spoken in a dead-pan voice, made the elder Holmes let out an amused huff. Not a promise, but definitely an earned reward. "You dwelved into unknown territory. You could have used any random number, and you'd have won the game - Instead, you chose to play the love game - And you got burnt." she hummed, mockingly caressing her smooth cheek, removing the single crystal tear streaming down. "I understand love, Irene. I didn’t manipulate it. I embraced it. I wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable —To be myself. That’s what makes me stronger than you. While you were busy trying to control him, you gave away the one thing you never wanted anyone to see - Not even yourself."

"And what would that be?" the woman whispered, completely defeated.

Kat thus leaned in, her voice soft and cutting) "Your heart." she said. "You fell for him, Irene. And that’s why you lost." that wicked smile filled with venom was the last thing Irene saw. "You deserve better than him - Remember?" she turned that pitiful advice right back on her.

As Irene was taken away, Kat looked up at the elder Holmes, and smiled - This time, genuine and sweet. "Did I earn that coffee?"

"And the umbrella." he pocketed the phone carefully, leaning on the table. "Pearl pink and with white lace?"

"You know me so well, Mycroft!" unexpectedly, she hugged the elder brother, who awkwardly chuckled and patted her back.

"Well then, with this unexpected happy end, I suppose we can return back to our normal schedules." the man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I will have a car escort you and Sherlock back home." he assured the girl. "Do send my regards and thanks to Doctor Watson."

"Of course." she nodded, happy and reassured with the outcome. "I am glad everything ended up okay." she continued. "Looking forward to our next coffee date, Mycroft! Let's have a nice book also, yeah?"

Mycroft simply chuckled, nodding his head, watching the girl leave -- Then, he looked down at the flabbergast, speechless brother of his, still slumped in that armchair, as though he was a decoration. "It is late, Sherlock. You should go home." he took his cane. "Reflect on what happened and learn from your mistakes." he was too light on him.

It was late at night after the latest adventure was finally over; Fun indeed, and Katrina was privileged enough to see another side of Sherlock - Vulnerable and clueless, all because of a woman who got his flawless mind all tangled up with confusion. Mycroft's anger and defeat at having the person he trusted most, his own little brother, fall prey to the savage claws of a predator; The single tear that fell down Irene's delicate cheek as she watched Katrina's smile, typing the password to her precious phone; The look on Sherlock's face once he realised he'd missed a most evident clue, and that he had possessed the password, but he was far too blind to see it.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

After such a satisfying case, Katrina texted her criminal best friend with one single phrase - "I am Katlocked -- Are you Jameslocked?" she typed, and laughed heartily, pleased at her performance. She single-handedly flabbergast the four most intelligent people in the world, and earned their respect far more than she'd ever imagine. What a wonderful feeling, love is!

Euphoric, she opened the rosé bottle and poured the sparkly pink drink in one crystal champagne glass; She grabbed her mannequin skeleton and waltzed around the large living-room to whatever song was playing; She was having so much fun, she even sent a picture of herself and her macabre dancing partner, inviting James Moriarty to dance - Alas, he was far, far away and missing his best dancing shoes.

How long she enjoyed her ballroom activity, she did not know; Her reverie was broken by a knock on the door - Loud, speedy and repeated. Sighing, she dropped the skeleton to the ground, sipped half of her alcohol, then dragged herself to open the door. As expected, it was Sherlock - Hair disheveled, white shirt an unbuttoned mess, and looking quite exhausted... Or, perhaps... Troubled?

Sherlock looked up and now, scanning her looks - Similar to that night with the killer cabbie, she was wearing a dark green negligee and a loose coat over her shoulders, but based on the way they were hanging loosely off her gracious body, he couldn't help but deduce she had been moving a lot. Seeing her like that... Not styled up with fashionable clothes fully accessorised and jewelled up, hair and make up done and all that - Yet still such a naturally, genetically successful specimen... He must be experiencing a most painful chemical and hormonal imbalance. Was it something he was missing in his diet, or the lack of nicotine? "You shouldn't, as a lone and defenseless woman, open your door to strangers, especially at this hour of the night." he was discourteous about going up to her past midnight, yes, but he needed it. He couldn't wait any longer.

"It's fine. I knew it was you." the girl chuckled lightly, seeing his furrowed brows. "Hard to think many people would be knocking that obnoxiously fast in Morse code." he was so adorable, all messed up and confused.

"You know Morse Code?" he blinked, looking down at the girl.

"Nope. But you do." she popped her tongue. "Just a wild guess, based on the rhythmic pattern." she shrugged, kicking the door open and signaling him to get inside. "Forgive my friend - He's wasted." she gestured to her skeleton friend, sprawled on the ground.

"What's the matter with him?" he mutter, going to pick him up and rattle him back on the stand.

"He stepped on my toes. Not a gallant move when waltzing." Sherlock nodded, still confounded by her actions. "Tea?" the girl asked, leaning on the arm rest of the couch. "Or should I open the wine bottle?"

"Forget the wine, that's not why I'm here and you know it!" he exclaimed, his tone up - Once he realised he shouted, he cleared his throat and apologise. "Forgive me. I did not mean to yell."

"If it makes for anything, I actually have no idea why you're here." she casually sipped from her rose.

"What do you mean - You don't know? Surely, you have to have some inkling, some -- Some idea... Something, anything!" she still shook her head. "Nothing at all?!"

"Don't get me wrong, I imagine you're here because your mind is still warped around what happened today with the password - But there are a million things that could be going on in your head, and I couldn't possibly guess them all. You, of all people, should know I could never come even close to guessing what you're thinking - You're too smart for me." the man groaned, shaking his head before burying his face in his hands.

"How can you say that after you've just solved the case -- If it weren't for you, Mycroft's case would have been compromised, the country would have suffered significant losses, Irene Adler would have won the game, Moriarty would have gained the upper hand... And I would have lost myself in self-doubt." the girl titled her head to the side, looking like a confused puppy. "I... I don't understand... When did I fall off my rational train of thoughts? When did I fall into her web of lies?" he continued, clearly with deep self-hatred. "Love isn't a mystery to me - I understand it, from a strictly physiological stand point - And I know I've not fallen in love with Irene Adler." he was still a rambling mess. "Has my fascination with solving difficult cases gotten the best of me? Have I forgotten this was more than a game? Did my pride make me underestimate a woman's cleverness, just because I thought I was unbeatable?"

"Are you here in hopes that I would be able to untangle the mess in your head?" she asked, pouring more rose into her glass.

"No, I-- Yes, sort of." he shook his head before abruptly standing up. "Love is a weakness, Kat! I can't... It's a disadvantage in every way. It is impossible for me to feel anything like that. I was not created to feel that." his teeth were painfully gritted, voicing his existential crisis. "So why is it that Irene Adler's love brought her to ruin, while your love made you solve the case?! I don't get it!" his voice was getting agitated and louder. "Mycroft told me I was a fool, John said I was clueless, yet both of them told me to just ask you - You're the biggest mystery I've ever encountered, and I can't seem to figure you out!"

"It's quite simple, really - I think it's so difficult for you because of the word, but change it with another common fear - Ghosts, for example." he rolled his eyes impatiently. "Irene Adler feared ghosts, but I didn't believe in them - So if both of us were thrown in a Haunted Mansion, I would easily find my way out of the house, while she would stumble around in the dark, terrified and foggy-minded."

"What the hell does that have to do with anything from the case?" he was quickly losing his patience.

"Everything." the girl smiled kindly. "Irene was over-confident; She was certain she made you fall madly in love with her - So she decided to be smug about it. She was certain she would beat you - Her love for you had nothing to do with her ruination - It was her pride that was her downfall." his eyes widened a little. "It was the same for you." she said. "Your overconfidence was your downfall."

"Okay, fine, so?" he urged her to keep going.

"So - Mycroft called me in his office that time to make sure I take care of you, and have the case solved. And I did." she spoke simply, with a shrug. "It wasn't difficult to see how much both of you were enjoying your little game of cat and mouse. I already had an inkling she'd changed the password to something that would be related to you - But once I heard she contacted Moriarty for help, I knew immediately what she did."

"I don't understand." he let out a big exhale. "I don't bloody understand!" he grunted under his breath. "That... That jerk... He knew that I... And I proved him right to doubt me..."

"Take it easy. We all learn from our mistakes. It's just important not to let pride get the better of us." she hummed, sipping again. She didn't really think she was getting through to Sherlock.

"Katrina..." he sounded... Weak. Vulnerable. He placed his hands over her cheeks, looking down into her gorgeous blue-green eyes. They were so sincere, so beautiful, so precious. "Tell me - What do you feel. Explain it to me. Make me understand." he gulped, blinking a few times. "Please." he didn't sound very comfortable saying a genuine 'please'. Emotions scared him.

"What I feel? Well... I'm not sure if words can explain it. It's something that is intuitively felt and understood, rather than rationally explained." she began, trying to figure out the right words. "When I hear your name being spoken by someone, I smile without realising." he nodded. "When I see you, I feel my heart fluttering with joy." he nodded again. "When I'm in your presence, I feel safe and reassured, as if nothing bad can exist in the world." it took a while, but he nodded again.

"How did you... When... Why...?" he sounded incoherent.

"I don't know." she shrugged. "Maybe it began when I first met you. You're physically attractive and fascinatingly intelligent - There's hardly anything not to love about you." her smile widened a little. "You can be a lot of negative things, yes - Arrogant, condescending, a liar, a manipulator, a nuisance and what not -- But you never displayed any of that with me. You made me feel special - Appreciated, even. And I've never felt that before from anyone else."

"But... I never..." he stammered again. "I specifically remember being around you when I told John I was married to my work and completely uninterested by anything else." he mumbled, seeing her nod in affirmation. "I must have hurt you."

"No - You hurt Molly, but not me." he seemed even more confused than before. "For me it doesn't matter whether it is romantic or purely platonic, as long as I continue being your friend. You are very dear to me, Sherlock. I appreciate you for who you are. Everything else is just a bonus - But nothing can take away from the special thing we share - You and I - Don't you think?"

He remained silent for a few seconds, gazing tenderly into her eyes, and then the corners of his mouth twitched a little, forming a mellow smile. "Yes - You are right. As always." as before, he placed a kiss on her forehead, then leaned in. "You are very special to me, Kat." with a subtle move, he took the glass from her hand, placing it back on the table. "More than anyone else." in spite of all common sense dictating him to return to his own flat and leave her alone - He couldn't. Sherlock felt, for the first time in his life, the soft lips of a beautiful woman, and the sweet taste of cherry lip balm she was using. Slow and unsure at first, but gradually growing bolder and more passionate, the detective couldn't get enough of her - His special friend, his darling Kat.

If love was a weakness for everyone else, it was the strength surging through Katrina's veins; And if she could be empowered by such a bold emotion, something so terrifying, so unpredictable... If she could be strong, so can he. Katrina’s lips were still tingling from the kiss, a soft hum of warmth spreading through her as she gently touched her lips, just where she'd been kissed... The air between them seemed to grow still, as if the moment itself was something too fragile to disrupt. Sherlock’s forehead rested against hers, his usually restless eyes now calm and searching, a quiet vulnerability in them that he didn’t often allow anyone to see.

“I didn’t plan this...” Sherlock whispered, his voice rough, the words spilling out as if they carried more weight than he'd intended. "Forgive me -- I don't know what came over me, I just--"

“I know.” Katrina replied, her tone light but filled with understanding. “You don’t have to explain.” she continued, her hand placed gingerly over his chiseled face. "I am happy that you did that."

He pulled back, breaking the delicate connection they’d shared. His hands, so accustomed to control and precision, now seemed to falter, unsure of where to place themselves. He stepped away, pacing the room, the space between them growing as he struggled with the storm inside his mind. His fingers absently tugged at his shirt cuffs, trying to smooth away the disarray that felt so foreign to him.

“What you feel for me...” he started again, but his voice trailed off, as if the words were too difficult to form. “It doesn’t make sense. You said it yourself - I can be selfish, calculating… Cold and even cruel. I’ve never been the type to search for love from people. I've only ever lamented over my work.” he stopped pacing and turned to face her, a mixture of frustration and confusion in his gaze. “Why would you…?”

"But Sherlock, you are wrong." she smiled sweetly. "Has anyone ever told you how sad you look when you think no one is watching you?" Katrina watched him with a quiet intensity, her heart sensing the weight of his struggle. She took a slow step forward, her presence steady and warm as she closed the distance between them. “Do you think love is something that can be reasoned with, Sherlock? Something we can control or dissect, just like we do with science?” she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “It’s not something we choose. It just happens. Like breathing, like gravity. You don’t stop to calculate each breath, you just… Breathe.”

His lips curled into a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “And you breathe for me?”

Her smile softened, filled with affection and a trace of amusement. “I’ve been breathing for you longer than you think.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly, his mind turning over her words, trying to analyze them in the way he did with everything else. But this… This was different. “You don’t make sense, Katrina. You…” he paused, his voice quieter now. “It’s maddening,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Everything about you — Your kindness, your unpredictability, your ability to see through me — It defies everything I thought I understood. It’s like trying to solve a case where the answer keeps shifting.”

“And yet, here you are.” Katrina teased, gesturing to the room around them. “You came to me.”

“I couldn’t stop myself.” he admitted, his voice low. “The noise in my head… It was unbearable. Every misstep, every mistake — I could hear it over and over again. Failing the nation, disappointing Mycroft, losing to Irene and Moriarty..." he gulped, hanging his head. "But then I thought of you, and it… Quieted.” Sherlock’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if the world outside had faded, leaving only the two of them in the quiet of the room. He exhaled deeply, the tension easing from his shoulders as he let her words settle in.

Her heart swelled at his confession, though she kept her expression steady. “That’s what love does, Sherlock. It’s not a weakness. It’s not a flaw. It’s—” she paused, searching for the right words. “— A kind of strength. The kind that makes us better, even when we don’t understand it.” he looked at her then, as though seeing her clearly for the first time.

“You make it sound so… Simple. I never understood that about you. I took you for a fool, a human with human emotions - And yet, every time, you had these... These revelations that I just... I couldn't come up with. Out of nowhere, even! You are simply impossible to understand, Katrina!”

“Sherlock - Love is simple. Feeling, also, is simple. You just need to stop being afraid of it, and accept it. Once you do, things will happen naturally.” they stood in silence for a moment, the city’s distant hum the only sound. Then, almost hesitantly, Sherlock reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. Katrina didn’t pull away; instead, she laced her fingers with his, grounding him.

“But… What if I fail you too?” His voice was softer now, vulnerable in a way that caught her off guard. “What if I disappoint you, like I’ve disappointed everyone else?”

Katrina shook her head gently, her hand sliding up to cup his jaw. “As long as you remain the Sherlock that I know... Then you cannot fail me." she smiled, a touch of sadness in her eyes. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you. The 'you' that I fell in love with. Brilliant, dramatic, cocky, arrogant, funny, witty, confident, silly, childish, playful... And I could go on the whole day.”

Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat as he processed her words. His mind, so used to ration and logic, was lost in this moment. He took a step closer to her, the space between them now nothing but a memory. His hand reached up, tentative at first, before resting gently against her cheek. “I don’t know if I can love you the way you want me to... No - The way you deserve to be loved.” he confessed, his voice trembling slightly.

Katrina’s thumb traced the outline of his jaw, her touch grounding him. “Just do what you've always done, and we are good." she encouraged him. "No need for big changes - That's always scary - Just be yourself and act naturally with me. You'll figure things out soon enough."

For a long moment, he stood still, as if considering the weight of her words. Then, almost imperceptibly, he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. “You make it sound so simple. How annoying." Sherlock’s gaze softened, and he leaned in slowly, as if testing the waters. His lips brushed against hers, a delicate touch, hesitant but sincere - This time, he kissed her willingly, not out of impulse. It felt different... It felt... Somehow special. When he pulled back, he let out a stressed exhale, as though the weight of the world had shifted just a little bit.

“I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Katrina smiled, her hand resting over his heart. “That’s not for you to decide.” she slowly wrapped her arms around his torso, engulfing him into a loving embrace.

In the quiet of the room, Sherlock felt something he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge — Peace. For once, the noise in his mind faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but for now, with Katrina in his arms, he didn’t need to have all the answers.

And for Sherlock Holmes, that was temporarily enough.

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#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock x katrina black #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x katrina black #mycroft holmes #irene adler #james moriarty #john watson #mrs hudson

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star-girl-05 · 4 months ago

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Eventful

Jim Moriarty x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

You run your hands over his suit jacket smoothing out non-existing wrinkles. He watches your movements focusing on the way your fingers barely graze his tie before straightening it. You eye him up and down, a smile forming on your face seemingly satisfied with your work. “There you go darling now you’ll be perfect for your little date” He places a sweet kiss to your lips, saying a quick thank you before heading to the car waiting for him. “That Sherlock stands no chance with you in that suit” he chuckles at the comment but doesn’t disagree.

When Jim comes back from his ‘Date’ with Sherlock he’s buzzing. A joyous smile on his face as he practically skips over to you. “Helloooo, Love” he calls out, placing a kiss on your cheek. You chuckle, a smile forming of your own.

“I take it went well”

“It was splendid you should have seen his face he was like,” he immediately started mimicking Sherlock's face albeit dramatically. This is just one of the many things you love about Jim. He’s so animated when he talks. You have never met anyone like Jim Moriaty and you doubt you ever will. “Not only did I get to mess with Sherlock, I got a call about a potential business deal, overall it’s been quite the evening”

“You know an eventful evening should end with an eventful night” Jim’s smile seems to get larger (If that's possible).

“My, My it must be my lucky day” You grab his face planting a deep kiss on his lips.

“Won’t you join me in the bedroom, Moriaty” His skin prickles at the way you say his name. How could he ever decline such a lovely offer? You grab his hand hastily leading him to the bedroom.

You're shoving the bedroom door open while grabbing Jim's face. Kissing him with so much fever. He returns the passion, slipping off his jacket. By the time you make it to the bed his top is completely unbuttoned and yours is discarded on the floor.

The two of you fell to the bed, not wanting any space between the two of you. That's how you spent the rest of the night eliciting moans and groans from each other and thoroughly marking every inch of skin on the other.

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ariwritessometimes · 1 year ago

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Sherlock Masterlist (BBC)

James Moriarty

Every Little Weakness one shot

Summary: A high ranking operative in the Network is arrested and brought in for questioning. What is so special about her?

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fic #bbc sherlock imagine #james moriarty imagine #moriarty x reader #jim moriarty x reader #james moriarty x reader

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supernaturalthoughtsworld · 11 months ago

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Becoming a Psychopath

Description: Part 6

Reader comes to a disturbing realization

Warnings: Talk about death

Note: Hello everyone!!! I know it may feel a littler jarring to see a post from me since it's been a few years. I become a mother about 3 years ago and I'm starting to fit a lot of my old hobbies back into my new life. I really want to finish this series because it means so much too me and maybe to some of you guys. I still want to make this into an actual published book but I'll obviously have to change the names as to not infringe on copyright. But, anyway I hope you guys like this!

Word count:

It was almost midnight when Moriarty came to pick you up. He, as usual, was working to establish some strong criminal connections. Whilst simultaneously ruining Sherlock’s life, yes, there was no doubt, James Moriarty was an overachiever. However, as of lately, he had been daring you more and more to put yourself on the line. By giving you jobs that could expose Sherlock and John just what you were doing. You knew it was all a part of his game. He hated the thought of you working on the side of the angels. “You look gorgeous tonight (y/n)”, Moriarty told you as you climbed into the back seat. “Well my boss makes me wear uncomfortable dresses and heels for work, so, it’s not a choice”, you snap back. “Fiesty tonight aren’t we”, he replied. He seemed unphased by the irony in your voice. Most likely due to the fact that earlier you were almost caught with him. Moriarty had called to schedule a lunch date with you. “Half pleasure, half work-related”, he explained on the phone. John was waiting by the door for you when you had to decline his offer to have lunch together. “Oh, well that’s alright maybe next time”, John had said. Your heart crumbled at the idea of John feeling unwanted but Moriarty had control over you. Whatever he said you obeyed and although you had a strong will he was slowly eating away at that part of you. He was a cannibal ruthless and always hungry. As you were eating John appeared at the entrance of the restaurant waiting to be seated. Your eyes grew wide and your heartbeat quickened. Covering yourself with the menu to avoid his eye line, Moriarty simply chuckled at your flushness. “You enjoy this, don’t you”? You scoff. “Of course, I have expressed annoyance in all this sneaking around. Although I do enjoy the thrill, I’d rather Sherlock recoil in disgust at the fact that you essential work for me.” He smirked. “You’ve given me virtually no choice”, you remind him. He puts down his menu and leans over the table. “Everyone has a choice. Everyone chooses their own path. It’s people like me that guide you either to your full potential or doom”. He mimics the fall of a plane making the exploding sound. You roll your eyes at his notation. Moriarty’s eyes burned with wrath at this action but held himself back, presenting you with a yellow envelope. “What’s this”? You ask. “What does it look like? Your next assignment”, Jim replied. His tone is much harsher with a sting of anger on the tip of it. You open it up with such carefulness as if everyone around you knew exactly what you were up to. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach as you read what was in the envelope.

Subject: Male

Age: 19

Status: Alive

Must be dealt with imminently due to clients impatience. The job must be quick and easy. No witnesses, no survivors, and the subject must be terminated on sight.

There was a picture of a young man looking away from the camera. As if he was not aware of his photo being taken. You look up at Jim with narrowed eyes and confusion. What’s this? You ask. Moriarty cheerfully sips his tea, he looks relaxed almost zen-like. “That’s your next assignment, I thought we already established that”, he replies. “I know that but I’m not helping you kill a teenager”, you say. Your voice is a little louder than you intended. This brings Moriarty back to his psychopathic demeanor. “You’re not killing anyone, you idiot. You’re simply going to be hacking into his security system whilst my men go in and get the job done”, he explains. You sit back in your seat breathing a sigh of relief but that is short lived when you remember there’s still a kid that is going to be murdered. You want to ask Jim more details about the job but he already seems on edge and making him more upset will only put the ones you love at greater risk. So, you sip your tea and order your food. Trying to enjoy what’s left of your lunch hour. You know what will happen next. Moriarty will leave first then you’ll go back to work until about 6 o’clock. At 8 o’clock a car will be waiting for you outside your flat. It will take you to the location where the job will take place. A man in an all black suit will give you a similar envelope to the one Moriarty showed you beforehand. It contains your payment plus a second location where you will meet up with Jim.

The neighborhood was normal, houses were all lined up, perfectly bricked with yards decorated like those you see in movies. White fence, flower beds, and decorative gnomes. It was quiet with lights inside that verified the people living there. How strange that no one knew, no one was remotely aware that someone in that exact neighborhood would no longer exist. They will be terminated as Moriarty likes to put it. How strange to know the exact hour that someone will die. "Why"? you ask as you set up your system. Moriarty was humming The Bee Gees and he was stroking his head. "I suppose you want to know why this as you call it a child is being terminated", he replied. You stare at him before going any further with this game. He stares back and a delicious grin appears on his face, "How I love it when you make me explain things like you just want all the gory little details. He slides close to you and you don't immediately distance yourself. He plays childishly with your hair and neck and a small part of you shivers with excitement. "If you must know, although young, he is the inventor of a power bioweapon and well in dealing in arms you may lose yours along the way". "Bullshit", you respond. "(y/n) why would I lie", he seems almost hurt by the idea of you thinking he's a liar. "He's a kid, and you're telling me he's a genius weapons manufacturer", your voice sounds irradiate. "Fine you're right, we're just offing him because he pissed me off and do you know who's pissing me off now", Moriarty had a look that I'm sure only men about to die have ever seen. But at this point, death seemed the only way to end the reign of Moriarty over your life. Until you thought about John and your mom so innocently going about their days. Thinking you're some kind of saint, maybe Moriarty's right, maybe we do have a choice and you just can't escape your eventual fate. Closing you're eyes and taking a deep breath without saying a word, you begin dismantling the security system in the boy's house. To the delight of Moriarty, he is able to get the job done but the boy's life is not the only life he claimed that night. As the men in black attire made their way back to the all-black vehicles, you knew it was over and there was no going back. The person you were before died the moment you pressed your fingers to your keyboard. Moriarty kissed your neck and asked, “Am I the psychopath or are you”?

Tagged people: ancientbeing10 @unknownwonder im-the-bone-man ratherconfusedpotato

littledumpass

#morairty #moriarty x reader #sherlock bbc #psychopthseries #sherlock fanfic #sherlock smut #moriarty smut #james moriarty #moriarty fanfiction

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mysteriouslover1516 · 2 years ago

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Sherlock Holmes (Part 2)

The next day you wake up to gunshots, coming from the room next to you. “Gosh!” you shriek and quickly get dressed. “Please be okay, please be okay,” you keep whispering as you carefully open your door and creep out into the hallway.

Your mouth drops open as you see what was causing all the commotion. “What the heck are you doing?!”

Sherlock doesn’t bother looking at you, instead his focus remains on the shot-ridden wall in front of him. “Bored!” He says and then shoots the pistol some more. He quickly switches the gun to his left hand and then pulls the trigger continually.

You cover your ears and shout, “STOP IT!”

John rushes up the stairs and quickly opens the door to the flat, “Not again, Sherlock!” He grabs the pistol out of Sherlock’s hand and scowls at him. “What the heck are you thinking?!”

“Bored, bored, BORED!” Sherlocks lets himself slide off the couch.

“You mean this is a regular occurrence?!” You gape and look at the wall that was victim to Sherlock’s boredom.

John gives you a face that expresses, “Don’t even ask.”

“What is Mrs. Hudson going to do?!” You freak out.

“Something about, ‘oh Sherlock, you’re going to pay for that. Oh Sherlock, why can't you control yourself.’ Something stupid like that.” Sherlock offers.

“Sherlock, I can’t believe you! I left my sister here thinking she’d be fine, and instead you wake her up to gunshots!”

Sherlock shows no emotion whatsoever and pushes past John to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and then slams the door shut. “There’s no milk, Silena. Go to the store on the corner and get some.” He then returns to his chair and closes his eyes.

“My name is Syrena,” you say, annoyed.

“And while you’re at it, some crumpets would suit me well. Thank you.” Sherlock replies, shortly, paying no attention to what you just said.

You cross your arms in annoyance and frown.

John shares a look with you and both of you head out of the apartment and into the breezy, London air, after you get some shoes and your jacket on of course.

“He’s impossible!” You screech. “How on earth do you deal with him for so long?!”

John sighs, “I ask myself that very same question regularly on a daily occurrence. I really don’t know.”

“I thought he had a good side, but for only my two days of knowing him, he’s insufferable!” You kick the sidewalk irritably.

John smiles out of amusement, you were usually quite calm-headed, meaning Sherlock must have made a big impact on you.

“It’s not funny, John.” You grimace at him.

John laughs, "It kinda is if you think about it."

"Well let's not think about it, then." You shake your head, smiling.

"Well, we better get the milk and Sherlock's precious crumpets, or else he'll freak out." John sighs.

"I thought shooting the wall was him freaking out," you giggle.

"No, that is him being bored. You do not want to see him when he freaks out, trust me."

"What does he do?" You ask curiously.

John says in a serious voice, "You'll see at some point."

You cringe, "It sounds bad."

"It is," John says, making you feel hopeless.

You two walk to the store and purchase the milk and crumpets, and you also stop at the coffee shop on the way home.

When John finally opens the door to the flat you had been gone for over an hour.

John sets the bags on the counter and Sherlock is in the living room staring intently at a newspaper in his hands.

“I asked for a pen,” Sherlock says coolly.

“When?” John crosses his arms. “Did you not realize we were gone?” Sherlock gives him no response, his eyes remain glued to the newspaper and his arm is outstretched as he waits for the writing instrument.

“There’s one on the table right in front of you,” John sighs.

Sherlock finally looks up expectantly and John rolls his eyes, walks over to him, picks up the pen, and places it in Sherlock’s hand.

“Thank you,” Sherlock says and then starts scribbling on the newspaper.

You walk over to the fridge to put the milk away, but as you open the door you shriek.

“What the heck is that?!” You scream.

Sherlock says nonchalantly, “It’s a human head.”

John races over and then covers his eyes frustratedly, “Sherlock!”

“It’s for my experiment.” Sherlock says calmly. “I hope she didn’t touch it.”

“Why would I touch it?!” You yell angrily. “What normal person has a human head in their fridge?!”

John gives you a look that says, Sherlock is clearly not a normal person.

Sherlock gets up and walks over casually while taking a sip of his tea, “Did you bring my crumpets?”

You pick up the bag you had got and rip it open, “You don’t mind if I have one, do you?” You say just to annoy him, then you quickly pop one into your mouth.

Sherlock gapes, “Now there are only nineteen to be precise in that bag! You messed it up! If you take one out, take two so you always leave an even number in the bag!”

You roll your eyes and pop another one in your mouth, but you make the mistake of looking back into the fridge where the decapitated head is. You gag and make a run to the toilet.

“Please don’t-” Sherlock is cut off at the wretched sound of heaving.

“She better have not stained my carpet,” he tells John and then puts a clothespin on his nose and walks off.

“Why are you so insensitive all the time?!” John demands and rushes to the bathroom where you are hanging over the edge of the toilet. “Oh, Syrena, I’m so, so sorry.”

You nod pathetically and slowly get up and wash your face, “Almost forgot how much it hurt to, well, you know what.”

John sighs, “I need to find my laptop.”

“For what?” You ask and dry your face off.

“To look for a new flat for us,” John decides, then walks out of the bathroom with you following. “Sherlock, where’s my laptop?”

“I sold it,” Sherlock says without any emotion at all.

John stops and opens and closes his mouth, multiple times, apparently at a loss for words. “You did what?” He finally choked out.

“Sold it, needed a few pounds to pay the rent.” Sherlock says.

John scowls and says in a surprisingly low voice, “Who exactly did you sell it to?”

“Some beggar guy off the street."

“Great!” John throws his hands in the air and sighs.

"A beggar paid you money for a laptop?" You ask.

"He was disguised as a beggar, he was actually a very rich man and just wanted some pounds for no effort or work costs." Sherlock states.

"So you sold him my laptop," John sighs.

Sherlock starts to violently play his violin and you cover your ears because it sounded awful, “I thought you said he was a good violinist!”

John yelled, “He is, he’s just trying to get us to leave him alone now.” You roll your eyes and head off to your room, John behind you.

John slams the bedroom door shut and you pull at your hair, “Why is he such a jerk?!”

“I’m sorry, Syrena. I’ll find us another place to live, just a little bit longer and then we’ll be on our own.” He says as he hugs you.

You sigh into his shoulder and can’t help but hope it’ll be soon.

“On the bright side,” John starts, “you get to go shopping with Molly.”

"Almost forgot about that," you say and drop onto your bed. "Can you hand me my ukulele?"

John grins and gives the instrument to you and you immediately start fingerpicking a tune.

"Since when did you start learning such melancholy songs?" John suddenly asks.

"I don't know," you sit up and shrug. "It's called Tourist. Sometimes I learn songs just for the tune, not the words exactly."

John sits down on the bed beside you, "So what's the song Tourist about?"

"A tourist," you smile then laugh as he rolls his eyes. "It's about this guy who's in Paris alone. He's singing a song about this girl back home, and basically it's just him saying they thought they were in love, but weren't really. He sings that tourists, or the people in Paris would think they were in love, but that their thoughts didn't matter because the couple would know the truth."

"Um, that's sad," John rubs his chin.

"What time is it?" You change the subject.

"One," John says as he glances at his wrist watch.

"And I'm supposed to meet Molly at two, right?" You ask.

"Yep," John nods and smirks. "Are you going to rush to do your hair and makeup now?"

"You must really think I look awful," you sigh and stare at your folded hands.

John puts his hand on top of yours, "No, Syrena. You're lovely, I just sometimes forget you're not like most girls. Clothes and your appearance aren't a main priority to you, you're not obsessed with yourself, and that's an admirable trait."

You smile at his words, “Thank you, John.”

Forty minutes later you are rushing around the flat like a crazy person. “I can’t find it!” You say frantically.

“Find what?” John asks, eager to help you in your search.

“My phone, it was on the coffee table charging this morning, but it’s gone now!”

“Wait, where’s Sherlock?” John suddenly says.

“You think he sold my phone now?!” You ask, astonished.

“Or he’s using it for his own benefit,” John sighs and walks towards Sherlock’s room.

He knocks on the door, “Sherlock, you in there?” He timidly opens the door and Sherlock slams the door behind him as soon as John gets inside.

You are still in the living room waiting, but you can hear slightly muffled yelling from both sides and you wonder what they could possibly be arguing about now. Not like you had to think that hard, knowing Sherlock as you already did, he was probably being the insensitive, annoying jerk he was 24/7.

There's a knock at the door and you open it up to greet Molly’s smiling face. “Hello!” You smile but Molly can tell you’re kinda distracted.

“What’s up?” She asks, and slightly winces as she hears the yelling.

“Yep, that’s what's up.” You shake your head and head over to Sherlock’s door.

“Are you saying that you-” John’s voice is cut off when you knock on the door.

“John?” You call, “Molly’s here and I could really use my phone now if he has it…..” Your voice trails off.

“Oh, um.” The door opens a crack and you see your brother’s face,

“Is everything alright?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Mhmm,” John nods and hands you your phone. “See ya,” he plants a kiss on your forehead then closes the door again.

“Suspicious,” You mumble and walk back over to Molly.

Molly smiles and says, “We’ll have to take a cab, it’s funny that none of us own a car.” She laughs.

You shrug and grin, “Doesn’t matter to me, you’ll just have to carry all the bags.” You joke.

“John said I’d probably have to force you to buy enough clothes,” Molly laughs as you both step outside into the London air.

“Did he now?” You smile to yourself and make sure you have your wallet in your coat pocket.

Molly puts a finger to her lips, "Shhh, it was supposed to be a secret."

"You mind if we make a stop before the clothing store?" Molly asks.

"Not at all," you smile, "so where to first?"

"The book store," Molly grins.

Your mouth opens in excitement, "I love books too!"

Molly nods, "I think John told me that before, that you were a bookworm or something."

You laugh, "Yep, everytime mom and dad left us alone when we were little I would force him to read to me."

"He sounds like he was a good brother," Molly smiles.

"He is." You smile back.

Once you arrive at the mall, your new friend leads you to a small book store.

"What kind of book are you looking for?" You ask as you scan the shelves.

Molly chuckles, “Don’t laugh, but I love romance.”

“I knew it!” You roll your eyes good naturedly.

“And what about you?”

“Mystery, fantasy, thriller. Anything that hooks me on the first page.” You grin.

“You’re going to like living with Sherlock,” Molly comments with a knowing smile.

You look at her unconvinced, “I doubt it.”

After buying a couple of books each, she leads you to a massive clothing store. "So what's your style?" She asks.

"Casual, comfy, but it doesn't look like I'm a sloth," you smirk.

"Got it," Molly laughs and makes her way to a part of the store that she thinks you'll like.

Two hours later both of you arrive back at 221b Baker Street with three bags in each hand.

"I'm home," you call out as you manage to open the door.

Sherlock is pacing back and forth in the living room and doesn't pay any attention to you.

"Hello, Sherlock." Molly greets with a smile.

Sherlock sighs, looks up, and nods a hello. Then he departs for his room.

"Where's John?" You ask before he can slam his bedroom door shut.

"Out on a call," Sherlock answers shortly, then disappears into his room.

"Almost forgot he was a doctor," you smirk as you remember your brother's profession.

Molly laughs and follows you into your bedroom to drop the clothes off. "Well," she smiles, "I should probably get going. It was nice getting to know you more, Syrena."

You grin back, "Thanks for taking me! I think we'll be good friends."

Molly nods and you lead her out to the door and say goodbye.

You head back to your room and shut the door, there wasn't really anything else to do with John being gone and Sherlock locking himself inside his bedroom. You think you can hear the floor creak outside your bedroom, but you ignore it and think it's probably just the flat, and not someone.

Hey lovelies ;) I started this story a few years ago, I hope some of you can appreciate it still, lol. Depending on how many reviews and likes I get, I might post more in this series. Thank you for giving me a chance!