#greg Lestrade imagine
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Lestrade x reader - a little confidence
Walking up the stairs, you kicked the door to the flat open and everybody inside turned to look at you as you leant against the doorway, crossing your arms over your chest.
âTook your time getting here.â
You said nothing and you stepped aside so Mrs Hudson could come in.
â(Y/N) how many times do I have to tell you, helmet off inside.â She scolded.
âIâll be quick, what you want?â You asked.
âYou got the text.â
You grumbled pulled one of your gloves off, reaching into your pocket your tossed the packet of cigarettes at Sherlock.
âDonât give him them!â John scolded.
âMeans he stops pestering me.â You shrugged.
You pulled your glove back on and looked around the room, walking over to Mycroft you leant forward and flicked his forehead making him roll his eyes.
Then you walked over and did the same thing to Sherlock.
âWhoâs this stiff?â You asked John.
âGreg Lestrade, works for Scotland Yard.â
You nodded your head a little bit and looked him up and down from under the visor of your helmet and turned back to Sherlock.
âStop texting me.â
âStop ignoring me.â
You stuck your middle finger up at him and you made your way back to the door.
âLater!â
You jogged back down the stairs and they heard you revving your bike outside before you sped away.
âWho the hell was that?â Lestrade asked.
âThat would be their sister, Sherlocks twin in fact.â Mrs Hudson smiled.
âDidnât know you had a sister.â
âThereâs a lot of things you donât know.â Mycroft said.
The moment you left the flat you could feel your phone buzzing in your pocket, letting you know Sherlock was demanding you do something else.
So you chose to ignore it, and you went back to what you were doing.
For the next week you carried on ignoring your brother up until the point he came by your flat just as you were about to leave.
âWhat Sherlock?â You snapped.
âYou know what this is.â
He held out a phone and you took it, turning around on your motorbike, you resting your back against the handles and a foot on the seat.
âYeah I know what this is why.â
âI know you know, I want you to take me there.â
You handed the photo back to your twin, and you sighed a little bit.
âWhy would I do that?â
âBecause youâre heading there now, and we canât get in without you. And whatever this is, itâs linked to our case and we can only find it there.â
âSherlock is trying to nicely ask if you would please take us to the scrapyard you go to so we can have a look for ourselves.â
You looked at John and you shrugged a little bit, picking your helmet off the floor.
âYeah okay. But you two owe me one, and Iâll be cashing it in at some point. Plus you canât get in Sherlock but John can, people just donât like you.â
You gestured for Sherlock to get on your friends bike and for John to get on yours and you gave him the spare helmet sitting nearby.
Heading to the scrapyard, you noticed Lestrade was waiting for you three, and you gestured for him to follow you around the corner where you stopped your bike.
You gestured to the large wall of junk.
âHave fun, donât talk to anyone and donât snoop.â You said.
âWait, wait, you canât just leave us here.â John protested.
âWhy not?â You asked.
âJohn youâre looking for empathy in the wrong person. She has a better understanding of human emotions, but anything other than anger and youâre not going to get far.â Sherlock said.
âI swear to god I will break your nose again Sherlock.â
He shrugged a little and went quiet as he inspected the wall with John and Lestrade awkwardly looked around the scrapyard.
You heard some bikes coming closer, and you reached out, grabbing his jacket you pulled him back without looking up from your phone and they went speeding past.
âBlood hell!â He yelled.
You let him go.
âDonât go standing in the middle of the track then.â
âIs this even legal?â He asked.
âPrivate land, so yeah.â
âWho owns then?â
You pulled something up on your phone and handed it over to him.
âI do.â
Lestrade inspected the documents and he handed the phone back to you.
âYou still have to abide by traffic laws.â
âNot on land owned by me I donât.â
You went back to scrolling through your phone and Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at you.
Clad in jeans, boots, leather jacket, gloves and helmet.
There was absolutely no way he could pick a single identifying point about you, you just hid yourself away from the world behind your helmet.
âWhoâs got access to the yard?â Sherlock asked.
âBunch of people, go to the office at the front if you want anything Iâm not your receptionist.â
With that you got on your bike and sped away, and that was the last they saw if you for the day.
Though Lestrade did start seeing more off you either at the flat or out and about.
And today was no different, you were sitting by a curb and he happened to be walking past so he stopped and looked at her.
âHello (Y/N).â He smiled.
You put your phone away and looked at him, still wearing your helmet.
âLestrade.â You greeted.
âI havenât seen you around the flat for a while, did you and Sherlock fall out or?â
âIâm just ignoring him to be honest.â You shrugged.
Lestrade laughed a little and stepped back as you got off your bike and took they keys out and stuffed them into your pocket.
âWhy you out this way?â You asked.
He held up a paper bag.
âBest coffee in the area. What about you? Thought you lived at the scrapyard.â
You hummed a little and shook your head.
âI donât, but Iâm only here cause damn bike broke down, waiting for someone to bring some stuff to fix it.â
âWell I can wait with you if youâd like, this isnât really a great place to be broken down in.â
âDonât you have places to be?â
He shook his head.
âDay odd actually, so I donât.â
You shrugged a little and gestured to the coffee shop he just came out off and you both walked inside and you ordered a drink then sat down.
Lestrade sat down opposite you, and you pulled your gloves off, setting them aside then you pulled you helmet off and set that aside too.
Glancing at your bike, you picked up a menu and read through debating on something to eat.
âKeep staring, maybe itâll make it less creepy.â You said.
He quickly looked away.
âSorry..â
You smirked a little bit and set the menu down, leaning back as you folded your arms over your chest.
âExpect me to look like some monster?â You asked.
âN..no..â he mumbled.
You smirked a little more.
âAre you embarrassed detective?â
âNoâŚâ
He looked at you but quickly looked away once more.
You thanked the man that brought your coffee over, and you glanced at you bike to check on it.
âSo, Lestrade, if itâs your day off, why come all this way for coffee?â
âI was avoiding your brother too and he knows where I live.â
âFirst mistake, never let Sherlock Holmes know where you live.â
âHe knows where you live.â
âHe knows where I keep bike and my tools and all, not where I live, Mycroft keeps that hidden for me.â
Lestrade looked at you.
âSo you have two flats?
âYup, pretty handy actually.â
âAnd you just happen to have two flats?â
âMycroft went into government work, Sherlock solves cases to pass time, I own a series of houses and business across the city.â
âHow did you manage that?â
âWe come from a wealthy family and I wanted to expand my money and spend life actually having fun unlike my stuck up brothers.â
Lestrade smiled and chucked a little bit, nodding his head.
âDoesnât it keep you busy?â
âNah, just hire a few people to handle everything, I only come in when thereâs real big issues.â
Lestrade nodded again.
âDidnât think you would be a landlord and business person.â
âYou think I got my money from crime?â
âNo.â
You hummed a little, nodding your head as you sipped at your coffee.
âGo on, tell me what you found when you searched my name in your system.â
âHow did you..?â
âMycroft.â
âOf course. I didnât find much, a few DUIs, and something about vandalism?â
âOh yeah I smashed up one of my bars because I wanted to redo it. The person that rents it didnât like and it tried to have me done for forgetting I own the place.â
Lestrade nodded his head a little and you leant back in your seat again.
You and Lestrade continued to talk until your friends arrived and you left.
And you began to see him more often, usually by accident, but sometimes he would come just to talk to you.
And since you enjoyed making him embarrassed, you had no issue with this.
It had become a game to you at this point, see how embarrassed you could make Lestrade before the pair of you parted ways.
It was like clockwork for you now, but you had been busy for a few weeks now and hadnât seen him.
You were working on your bike and you were sitting on the floor when you heard someone approaching.
âThought you were avoiding me.â
You looked up and pushed yourself from the ground, wiping your hands on your jeans.
âIâve been busy, whatâs up?â
Lestrade sighed a little bit and you gestured for him to sit on the step while you leant against the wall next to him.
âDivorce finally went through a few weeks ago.â
You nodded your head.
âAt least you can put yourself out there again you know? Find someone better and all that.â
âI donât know if I want to.â
âYou donât have to, completely your choice what you do, but the way I see it is make the most of this.â
Lestrade looked at you before looking away.
âLook Greg, at the end of the day you can sit and mope around about it, or you can start meeting people, getting a feel for things. No one says you got to date them, but youâve basically been single for like a year now, just get back into the swing of things. Get a feel for what kinda person youâd date and crap like that.â
Lestrade nodded a little.
âI understand what youâre saying, I guess⌠I wouldnât know where to start.â
You grinned a little and clasped your hand on his shoulder.
âShove some drinks down you and youâll be right as rain.â
He laughed and shook his head as he looked up at you.
âThatâs your solution for everything.â
âI have issues.â
He smiled a little bit and you looked at him.
âWhat is it?â
âWhat if there is a women Iâd like to be involved with but not sure how she would take the news?â
You hummed a little and took a small breath.
âYeah that ainât my thing, ask him.â
You whistled to get the attention of the biker that just pulled up and you waved him over.
âRy is this Greg, he needs relationship advice and I suck at that so like help him.â
With that you walked away back to your bike, to carry on fixing it.
When you were done, you put everything back in the tool box and you poured some water some the bottle and wiped them on your shirt to clean them.
Pushing your bike next to the other, you walked back over and grabbed your tool box, setting it by the stairs and both men went quiet and looked at you.
âWhat?â
âNothing, Iâll take this up I need to grab something anyway.â Ry said.
You shrugged and tossed him the flat key and you leant against the wall as you took your phone out your pocket.
You stood there quietly for a few minutes and Lestrade stood up, so you put your phone in your pocket and looked at him.
âLeaving?â
âSomething else actually.â
You looked at him, and he just looked away with a small huff.
Smirking a little, you grabbed him by his tie and pulled him down to be eye level with you.
âW..what are you doing..?â
âWhat youâre apparently to chicken shit to do.â
You leant forward and connected your lips with his before you pulled away and left him go, putting your hand on his chest to pushing him back a step.
âSeriously Greg, you need to just be confident for once.â
âI.. how..?â
âRy texted me when he went upstairs.â
Lestrade nodded a little and he took a step back over, taking your face between his hands he kissed you again.
Then he pulled away.
âIs that confident enough?â
âTry again.â You smirked.
He smiled a little and leant down again to kiss you, and you placed your hand on the back of his head to hold him there before a little longer before you let him move away.
âSo⌠do you want to get something to eat..?â He asked nervously.
âAnd there goes all that confidence.â
He huffed a little and looked away and you smirked at him.
âGo on, lead the way.â
He grinned and began to walk and you picking up your jacket, tossing it on as you walked along side of him with a little smirk on your face
#bbc Sherlock#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock x you#bbc Sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock lestrade#greg lestrade#greg lestrade x reader#Greg Lestrade x you#Greg Lestrade imagine#Lestrade#Lestrade x reader#lestrade x you#Lestrade imagine
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imagine: meeting Sherlock for the first time and him not being able to 'read' you
*y\f\c= your favorite country
You were one of Lestrade's close friends. you worked as a detective inspector in another country but you had recently moved here and since you were a highly intelligent person he thought you and Sherlock should meet.
And today he decided to go to 221b and bring you with him so here you are, standing at a strangers door.
"this is absurd, why should i come again?" you asked
"for god's sake y\n can you stop nagging for a minuet and do what you're told to do?" he says tired of you constantly asking the same question.
"if you are asking me, no" you teased
"oh shut it" he says and you smirk.
The door opens.
"DI Lestrade!" the man says and Greg nod's walking in and guiding you in too.
"so, this is my friend y\n y\l\n. she moved here from y\f\c" Lestrade explained.
"oh! John Watson. pleasure to meet you." he introduced and you smiled shaking his hand.
As you entered the flat and sat down you saw a man with curly brown hair and a black coat sitting on an armchair, his eyes closed.
Lestrade pointed at the man.
"he is Sherlock Holmes. the man i was telling you about." he says and you nod obviously bored. with that the man opens his eyes and looks at Greg but then quickly glances at you.
"who is that?" he asks
"Sherlock, this is my friend, y\n y\l\n."
Sherlock remains silence, looking you up and down. after a while he raises an eyebrow.
he quickly looks at John.
new coat is sleepy just talked to an old friend has a date is nervous
He turns and looks at Lestrade.
annoyed same coat stressed has 2 mission reports to read has 6 missed calls
The words and random facts kept coming to his mind, he hadn't lost his observation skills.
He turns his look at you.
????
Was all he could see.
He rose an eyebrow and looked you up and down again.
"interesting" he muttered to himself
"what was that?" you ask
"nothing.....so, y\n, right? what do you do? as a job i mean." he asks making John and Greg smirk.
#bbc sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes#john watson x reader#bbc sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes imagine#bbc sherlock x you#bbc sherlock imagine#sherlock x reader imagine#bbc sherlock x reader imagine#greg lestrade#greg lestrade x reader
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to me one of the funniest things in asip is definitely when sherlock brought the man previously from his flat to the crime scene without even introducing him except for emphasizing "he's with me" and gavin lestrade was trying to decide whether a) if sherlock has really gone round the bend and decided to take a hostage to keep as a pet and he should save this man from sherlock or b) if this man is even more of a dangerous sociopathic nutter than sherlock and he should lock him up and save london from this man
#no I can't stop thinking about this THIS IS HILARIOUS#just imagine how utterly confused and concerned and uneasy giles was#because gerald would never imagine sherlock was capable of having a âfriendâ that's not a psychopath or sherlock's hostage#and I was wondering if geoffery even knew john's full name until after john called nsy to reach him??#bbc sherlock#sherlock bbc#sherlock holmes#john watson#johnlock#sherlock#sherlock headcanon#greg lestrade#incorrect names for lestrade#sherlock s1#a study in pink#asip#my bs#buckingham-ashtray
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A reminder that everyone in Sherlock and John's social circle (Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson) are people who were Sherlock's friends that also became John's friends.
#i imagine mike remains on good terms with them and he was friends with both of them#but in asip sherlock actually seems closer to mike than john#bbcsherlock#bbc sherlock#sherlock holmes#john watson#greg lestrade#molly hooper#mrs hudson#john met sherlock and gained a whole circle of friends
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Would love to write a Mystrade longfic about a post-climate crisis world where people are encouraged by the government to leave cities and build self-sufficient farms
and you have Mycroft, a relatively wealthy landowner who is rich enough to afford chickens, a cow or two, and a horse
and Greg, recently arrived from the city, trying to figure out how to rotate crops with no Internet and a lifetime of living in London at his back
and Sherlock, now a beekeper, who keeps a few practical crops but also weird stuff (he says it's for experiments; people in the village think he's just odd like that)
and John, because (Greg and Mycroft agree) the town needs an in-residence doctor so elder people don't have to go all the way to the nearest city to receive general care, and wouldn't it be easy to collectively pay for a doctor, NHS style, just as they already do with Ms Henson, the primary school teacher
and John and Sherlock meet at a gathering at Mycroft's house, who happens to be the unoficial mayor of the whole thing,
and eventually Greg ends up as the (unofficial) mayor's wife
but unfortunately I know nothing of crop rotation, farming, keeping animals, beekeeping, house renovating, managing politics in a small society, or post-climate crisis worlds.
#oh well#some other time perhaps#mystrade#johnlock#mycroft holmes#greg lestrade#if anyone wants to give it a go I'll be your first reader#the worst part of wanting to read a fanfic is having to write it yourself#just imagine john offering to help with the harvest and sherlock ogling at his tanned arms#you could also throw in a flabbergasted mycroft finding shirtless greg doing house renovations#oh the possibilities
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Sherlock BBC next generation: Johnlock version
Athena Jessica Watson Holmes
Faceclaim: Emily Rudd
Athena is the biological daughter of Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes and older twin of her brother Hamish Scott Watson Holmes
Is the oldest twin by 10 minutes and 32 seconds
She takes after Sherlock but has a bit of Irene in her
Both Athena and Hamish were left on Sherlock's doorstep shortly after they were born
Similar to Sherlock, her deduction skills are flawless (in her words)
Considers John to be her parental figure and compatible with her father than Irene
She doesn't call Irene her mother, only by her first name
Unlike Sherlock, she actually likes learning astronomy
She has a love for art, fencing, and playing violin
She secretly pickpockets the entire London police, including Greg (it's her source of entertainment every now and then)
She hates socializing and finds "normal people" very, very.......boring (her sister, John, Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Greg are the exception)
She is fiercely protective of her siblings
Mastered the art of shutting off her emotions (in her opinion)
Loves experimenting with body parts or dead bodies with Sherlock
Loves to accompany both her dads to crime scenes
She has no filter
She is an extremely quick learner
Has her own mind palace
Is very skilled in martial arts
She takes ballet and art classes (mostly to avoid boredom)
Goes to the library..........a lot
Is a chemistry and science genius
Makes fun of her uncle Mycroft (Sherlock's idea)
Secretly keeps in contact with her aunt Eurus
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hamish Scott Watson Holmes
Faceclaim: Asa Butterfield
Younger twin of Athena and youngest son of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler
Unlike his twin, he's more sensitive than her and a little more empathetic to people.
Sherlock and John got an Irish setter for their kids and named him Redbeard
He takes after Sherlock in personality but looks like Irene with a hint of Sherlock
He is also very intelligent, like his father
He plays violin, piano and cello
He prefers to observe the crime scene from a distance
When he is in thinking mode, he becomes exactly like his sister and Sherlock
He is Molly's favorite
He knows how to shoot from a crossbow and a long bow
Hamish and Athena destroy their father at clue
He is a little slow on deductions, but he is still good.
Math genius
Extremely adventurous
He shoots arrows and darts at the wall when bored or frustrated
Hamish and his sister's visit their grandparents when they can
Both Hamish and Athena get Lestrade's name wrong every time
Both the Holmes twins correct their teachers if they something wrong in their lesson (which to them, is all the time)
Both John and Sherlock made the twins promise not to say their deductions out loud to their teachers or anyone involved in their educational journey (to avoid suspension or expulsion)
Prefer to be called high functioning sociopaths
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Rosamund "Rose/Rosie" Mary Watson Holmes
Faceclaim: Meg Donnelly
Rose is the youngest Holmes in her family and considers herself and her father the only normal and sane ones in the family
She is John and Mary's daughter and Sherlock's stepdaughter
Despite not being related by blood, Rose loves her older siblings very much
Both John and Sherlock taught all their children self defense
She inherited her dad's love for creative writing
Rose has her own blog and even makes posts on her social media about her family and their adventures
Loves reading John's stories
She is sometimes jealous of Sherlock and her older siblings and their intellect
Every time she meets a boy, Athena and Hamish make a deduction about him or chase him away
Has a love for the medical field
Hates when bullies or most people make rude comments or remarks about her family
She and John cook
Rose has a picture of her mom
â¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤ââ¤
+ Mrs. Hudson's grand daughter
Allison "Ally" Martha Hudson
Faceclaim: Virginia Gardner
Allison is the granddaughter of the late Mrs. Martha Hudson
After Mrs. Hudson passed away (R.i.p to the legend Una Stubbs đ you will be remembered). Ally's mom inherited the famous 221b Baker Street building, and now both Ally and her mom moved to London permanently and kept the building running
Allison was originally born and raised in America, but both Ally and her mom would visit Mrs. Hudson to spend some time with her
Allison loved her grandmother very much and held her close to her heart
Loved hearing her grandmother's crazy stories
She knows the Holmes family and has babysat the twins and Rosamund whenever she came to visit over the holidays
Sherlock and John see Allison and her mom as part of their family since Mrs. Hudson was family to them and their kids
Ally feels like she's the Holmes kids' mother and big sister most of the time
Hates it when the twins shoot her wall and keep crazy stuff in the fridge
Knows how to handle a gun
She is a divorce child
Weeks after her parents divorced, she never saw her dad again, and Ally spent a month over with Mrs. Hudson
She loves getting involved with the Holmes kids and their adventures
Reminds them constantly that she is NOT THEIR HOUSEKEEPER
#sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock#sherlock fandom#sherlock bbc#sherlock holmes#sherlock & co#sherlock and co#sherlock and john#sherlock au#johnlock#john watson#irene adler#mrs hudson#johnlock child#johnlock children#sherlock next generation#sherlock bbc next gen#sherlock next gen#sherlock bbc next generation#sherlock holmes x john watson#john watson x sherlock holmes#mary watson#greg lestrade#mycroft holmes#sherlock x john#221b baker street#i am sherlocked#john hamish watson#sherlock series#parentlock
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đ¸đđđđ'đ đđđđđđđ
Pairing: Sherlock x reader
Series: Sherlock BBC
MASTERLIST
I II
Synopsis: You discover that you are in love, unfortunately with the same man your friend loves. How will you survive that.
Note: English is not my native language, so some words may not make sense, apologies in advance.
đđđđđđđ đđ
âââââĄ
The name Thomas Beckett made my heart skip a beat.
âThomas Beckett? Whatâs going on with him?â I asked, trying to keep calm as I sat on the sofa. The gears in my mind began to spin rapidly, trying to understand why they were mentioning my bossâs partner.
Sherlockâs eyes narrowed slightly, as if my words had bothered him, though he didnât show it openly. His rigid posture and the way he clenched his jaw revealed that something else was going on. Mycroft, on the other hand, seemed impassive, as if he enjoyed my confusion.
âMiss, itâs quite simple. We know for certain that, despite holding a position not so prominent within the company hierarchy, you have certain connections with high-ranking officials,â Mycroft commented with a tone that carried a hint of disdain. I glared at him.
A position not so important? Really? My role as a senior developer was more than relevant. It wasnât for nothing that I had spent so much time studying, sacrificing sleep and proper meals, taking various part-time jobs with low wages to pay for my studies, and enduring the distance from my family while living in a noisy shared flat. I was proud of what I had achieved and all I had done to get there, so his words only made me boil with anger.
âYou know, Iâm starting to think I might not want to collaborate with you,â I replied, crossing my arms firmly. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond, Sherlock intervened, surprising even his brother.
âListen, I know you got your position thanks to that intern program, and also that...â Sherlock paused, his blue eyes locking with mine as if he were unsure about what he was about to say, âthat you have a history with Beckett.â
The mere mention of my past with Thomas made me feel as though the ground was slipping away from under my feet. It was true that Thomas and I had been more than friends in college. We were inseparable, and eventually, we became a couple. Thomas had always been the brilliant and attractive one, so his success with women didnât surprise me. There was something about his charisma that drew people to him like a magnet.
However, everything ended. We went our separate ways, each with our own dreams. There was no sense in holding back. I would never forget the surprise I felt when, years later, I encountered him in one of the hallways of the place, with his immaculate dark suit and polished shoes. A smile from ear to ear that I hadnât seen in a long time. The Thomas Beckett I knew as a student was now a man who had built his own cybersecurity company.
âWhat does that have to do with the case?â I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
Sherlock let out a sigh, as if finding it difficult to explain the obvious.
âEverything,â he replied with a coldness that left me stunned. âBeckett is under suspicion, and we need to know how involved he is in certain activities. Your proximity to him, both personal and professional, could be key to uncovering whatâs really going on.â
âSuspicion of what?â I pressed, starting to feel that what I was about to hear would not be pleasant.
Sherlock looked at me with a mix of seriousness and something I couldnât quite identify.
âBeckett is being investigated for alleged involvement in an industrial espionage network. There are suspicions that he has been selling confidential information from several tech companies, including yours, to foreign competitors. And itâs not just about his disloyal behavior. There are indications that this data is being used for purposes that compromise national security. There have been leaks pointing to connections between Beckett and an organization called Argus, known in the underworld for handling military contracts and cyber warfare technology.â
My heart raced as I processed his words. Thomas involved in something so murky. It was hard to believe, but I knew Sherlock didnât say these things lightly.
âAnd what does this have to do with me?â I asked, though a part of me already suspected the answer.
âAs a developer, you have access to sensitive information, and your past relationship with Beckett could have facilitated his access to what he needed,â Sherlock replied, his words sharp but laden with a concern he was trying to hide. âWe need to know if you have any knowledge of something that could incriminate him or if youâve been used, even unknowingly, to access that information.â
âLook, I understand this is a shock to you, but weâre not here to accuse you,â John interjected for the first time, his usual calm tone. âWe want your help because we know youâre not involved, but also because you could be the key to stopping this before it spirals out of control. If Beckett is innocent, weâll prove it. But if heâs not, you need to know he could be using his relationship with you for his own ends.â
âExactly,â Mycroft added with a slight nod toward John. âWe need someone on the inside, someone who can verify if our suspicions are correct. And who better than someone who has Beckettâs trust.â
My mind was in full turmoil. I knew that working with Sherlock and Mycroft could lead to unimaginable situations, but I never thought Iâd find myself in something so serious, and even less that Thomas could be involved in something like this. What would this mean for my career, for my life? The consequences of collaborating with them could be devastating. I could lose my job, and my reputation would be in ruins. But if what they were saying was true, if Thomas was really involved in an espionage network, ignoring it wasnât an option.
âIf I agree to help, what guarantees do I have that this wonât affect my professional life?â I asked finally, looking directly into Sherlockâs eyes, hoping for some sign that he understood the risks I was facing.
Sherlock held my gaze for a moment that seemed eternal before responding, this time in a much softer tone, almost a whisper:
âYou have my word that we will do everything possible to protect you. But we need you.â
I knew that getting involved in something like this could have severe consequences. Not only for me but for my career as well. What would happen if the company discovered that I was helping Mycroft and Sherlock in an investigation that could involve one of its major partners? The collateral damage could be devastating. However, there was something in Sherlockâs gaze, an indication that this case was not just another for him, that made me reconsider.
And although part of me knew I should stay away, that getting involved could destroy everything I had worked for, another part, perhaps the one that still cared for Thomas or the one that didnât want to leave Sherlock to face this alone, decided to take the risk.
âAlright,â I said finally, feeling a knot in my stomach. âIâll help.â
John nodded with an expression of gratitude, while Mycroft simply gave a calculating smile. Sherlock, however, did not show any immediate reaction. Only a slight glimmer in his eyes indicated that he had been expecting this response. I wondered if there was something more behind that look, something more personal. But there was no time for reflection. I was about to enter a dangerous game, and there was no turning back.
As they prepared to leave, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen to see a message from Molly.
ââââââ˘â
â˘Â°â˘â â˘Â°â˘â
â˘âââââ
âHey! Fancy a girls' night out? We havenât had one in ages. Let me know!â ââ
ââââââ˘â
â˘Â°â˘â â˘Â°â˘â
â˘âââââ
âââââĄ
NOTE II:
I'm so sorry for missing out. I've been a little unmotivated and university doesn't help. But I hope you liked the chapter. You will hear from me soon, I promise.
#sherlock x y/n#sherlock x you#sherlock imagine#sherlockbbc#sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock#sherlock fandom#mycroft holmes#john watson#greg lestrade
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Imagine attending Greg and Molly's wedding.
#bbc sherlock#sherlock bbc#i am sherlocked#sherlock fandom#sherlock imagine#sherlockbbc#sherlock fanfic#sherlock holmes#sherlock#molly hooper#greg lestrade#lestrolly#mollstrade#i love these two
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The Dancing Men (II)
Part 16 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street
Previous | Next
SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST
Word Count: (9.1k)
Authorâs Note: Is this a filler chapter...? yes. Is this chapter over 9 thousand words...? yes. (This was also a chance to explore other characters besides Sherlock, John, and Y/N)Â
Also, I did not realize the dancing men code did not insert the last chapter, so I went back an added that. (Thought it might be fun for yall to figure out the code alongside Sherlock.)
Warnings: Drug usage, mentions of drugs, murder, descriptions of blood and injuries, Sherlock is Sherlock (let me know if I have missed anything)
Everything was in place: buttery popcorn, fluffy blanket, lights dimmed down low, and the chosen movie on the television screen. Bjørn sat cozied up on Y/Nâs lap. His brown fur was a stark contrast to the white light blue blanket on her lap. Across from the two of them was John. His back was relaxed as he sank into the soft cushion of Y/Nâs couch. All worries of the workday were forgotten as they dived into the latest choice for their movie night.Â
Bjørn quite enjoyed these evenings. One, John was present and Bjørn liked John very much. Second, Y/N was holding him close and petting his fur; an action the cat loved. Third, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Bjørn remembers the first movie night they held and, unfortunately, Sherlock had been invited to that, until he predicted how the entire movie would play out, so then John had heroically banned the man from movie nights.Â
Mrs. Hudson, one of Bjørnâs favourite people, would occasionally be invited to the movie nights, but those were only the rom-com nights. The cat could easily recall the womanâs fondness of the romance genre from all the soap operas and romance films she watched while watching over Bjørn for the night. Bjørn didnât mind the sappiness of the movies at all because he was well rewarded by Mrs. Hudson with treats and baked goods that were only meant for pets.Â
Bjørn purred as Y/N reached over to grab the remote to play the movie. His owner had heard of the movie from word of mouth. It was something called âThe Eyes of My Mother.â Apparently, it was scary good or at least thatâs what Y/N had mentioned when telling John.Â
Tonight was horror movie night. It was one of two genres both Y/N and John enjoyed watching together. Bjørn preferred horror movie nights. It meant that the people in the room would be fighting to find comfort from the cat as the jump scares and loud scary noises crept up in the scenes on the screen. Bjørn liked to provide comfort. He loved to protect those he loved. Which was why the cat was glad Sherlock was not here. There was something about that man that Bjørn didnât like. Maybe it was the way his black hair bounced atop his head. No one should have that dark of curls. It could have been the piercing blue eyes that reminded Bjørn of a predator or the manâs peculiar aura. Bjørn could see auras and there was something strange about Sherlock's.
The movie had begun. The two humans in the room jumped at certain jump scares. Bjørn was almost knocked off Y/Nâs lap at one point. The cat began to wonder if it would be safer to sit on Johnâs lap, so eventually he crawled out of his seat on his owner's lap and settled onto Johnâs. John welcomed the warmth and comfort that Bjørn presented. In trade for the cat, Y/N got the popcorn bowl. The woman was forced to, instead, find comfort in the plastic bowl that carried the buttery goodness.Â
Bjørn had just settled into his seat on Johnâs lap (well, of course, the man had an excellent lap) when he felt a petulant buzzing from underneath him. The movie was quickly paused and Bjørn cracked open his eyes to watch Y/N and John search for the noise. Bjørn contemplated helping them search and putting an end to the noise, but the source was soon found under the mound of blankets.Â
Once uncovered, a horrendous ringtone began to play from Johnâs phone. A ringtone that he had set years prior, that he meant to change but just never got around to it. John retrieved his phone and Bjørn caught sight of a pellicular look on the manâs face.Â
âHello?â John answered.Â
Bjørn, with his excellent hearing, could make out the sound of a womanâs voice. Now, the cat hadnât gotten used to the British accent. While the cat could understand Mrs Hudson, John, and reluctantly Sherlock, everyone else was a mystery. He blamed his understanding of the human language and the voice of those who found a home in 221B to be a matter of proximity. He willingly got used to John and Mrs. Hudonâs voices. He loved Y/Nâs. Sherlockâs? Well, Sherlockâs was like screeching. Bjørn hated it. He hated everything about the man. Hate wasnât a strong enough word. Bjørn loathed Sherlock entirely.Â
âHello, is this John Watson?â The voice asked over the phone.Â
Johnâs face turned to shock. He was surprised to hear a voice he hadnât heard in years. It belonged to one Kate Whitney. An old friend of his sisterâs (and the girl he dated in his Secondary Educational years, but John prefers to use âa friend of his sisterâ.)
âKate?â John asked.
âJohn? Oh, thank heavens! I donât know what to do John!â Kate cried to him over the phone.Â
John waited for Kate to finish talking.Â
âItâs about Isa. He hasnât been home for about two days and Iâm getting worried. I heard from your sister that you were working with that detective nowâŚâ She sobbed.Â
Isa Whitney. Right. Kateâs husband. Also an old friend from Secondary School. Bjørn looked up at John. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as Kate cried over the phone. Bjørnâs ears began to hurt from the whining.Â
In the back of Johnâs mind, he knew what Kate was going to ask next the second Sherlock had been mentioned. So John took the preemptive step to ask if she knew where her husband would be.Â
Kate answered immediately. âThe opium den on the east side of the city. At a place called Bar of Gold on Upper Swandam lane.â
Bjørn could feel Johnâs actions before they came and the cat regretted choosing to find a seat on Johnâs lap. The cat quickly hopped off and back onto Y/Nâs lap just as Johnâs body groaned. Johnâs muscles expanded and contracted shooting into motion as he stood up to fetch his things by the door.Â
Kate was overjoyed. âOh, John. Thank you! I would go myself but that place is not safe for a woman like me.âÂ
Of course, Kate continued to ramble on as John grabbed his keys and stumbled down the stairs and out of 221B.Â
âYesâŚKateâŚâ John tried to conclude the conversation. âIâll have toâŚKateâŚâ
Now, John liked to think that he was a kind man. If one compared John to his friend Sherlock, he would most definitely be the âkinderâ out of the two of them. John made sure to thank Mrs. Hudson whenever she brought up tea for him and Sherlock and apologize to others (clients, police officers, Greg, Y/N, Bjørn) whenever he could. Since John made the active choice to be kind, he found himself having a hard time saying no. Well, unless it was Sherlock. Sherlock was easy to say no to.Â
Even with this kindness that has seeped deep into Johnâs bones, he knew he had to end the call soon. While Kate was talking, John cleared his throat and spoke up. âKate. Iâll go out to find Isa. Iâll bring him home. Got to go.â Without another word, the phone call was over.Â
As John tugged on his jacket and shoes by the door. Once he was all set, he turned around to Y/N to apologize. He mentioned she could continue the movie, but the woman refused and insisted on waiting for him to return to finish it. Bjørn could sense the man began to feel guilty about the whole scenario and seemingly so could Y/N.
âJohn, go. Help your friend. Iâll be fine,â Y/N reassured.Â
Thatâs all it took for John to bid goodbye and leave 221B in search of Isa Whitney. Bjørn hopped up from Y/Nâs lap once more and settled on the section of the couch John once sat on. The cat was not content with the idea of being thrown off another lap. As if on cue, Y/N stood up from the couch and moved to the kitchen to make herself some tea. Once the water was boiled and the tea poured, Bjørn watched his owner pick up her phone.Â
Y/N scrolled through her phone looking for a worthy distraction. Of course, she could just find something else to watch, but it felt wrong. Instinctively her finger found itself drifting to the messages. There were two messages from Jim asking about their date later that week. She hovered over the messages reading them over and over again, before sending a short reply confirming the time.Â
Part of her felt bad. Jim was her boyfriend after all. However, there was something deep within her that wanted someone else. It was a secret she could never admit to herself for fear of the emotions coming up front and centre displaying for all to see. Those very emotions the man in question would sense in an instant. That very man she found herself calling. The phone rang. It rang. Then it stopped. Sherlockâs voice box message played over the speakers and then Y/N hung up.Â
She groaned and dropped her head into her hands. She needed to stop. Sherlock was out for a business trip, whatever that was. She and John didnât press, but Y/N began to think she should have. She missed him. Her finger tightened around the roots of her hair. This was bad. She missed Sherlock. Missing someone was the step just before you had to come clean with yourself; because you could only miss someone if you cared for them.Â
_______
It wasnât the first time John had been called to help Kate. He was well aware of her and her husbandâs troubles. At first, Kate had gone to Harriet, Johnâs sister, until she realized that Harriet and Isa shared similar afflictions. As one does with comfort, Kate found someone who was in a similar boat as her; that someone had to be John Watson.
At the beginning of Johnâs journey, he hadn't had much of an issue finding a cab that would take him to Upper Swandam Lane. Although he got a few judgemental looks from his cab driver on the way to the location. When John did arrive at the street, that was when things started to take a turn.Â
Upper Swandam Lane was a vile place to be. It was an alleyway that lurked behind the high wharves on the north side of the river just to the east of the London Bridge. The alleyway itself was between a slop shop and a gin shop. There was a set of stairs that John had to climb up to reach the alley. There was litter, burnt-up cigarette butts, and mysteriously gooey substances that adhered to the ground. Overall a place that screamed germs, something that just so happened to be a doctorâs worst nightmare.Â
As John trekked up the stairs, he was glad that he had chosen to wear his thick boots. Heâd prefer it if he didnât end up with a contaminated needle stuck in his foot. The further John walked through the alley the more addicts he had to step over. People who had come for the high were now suffering the after-effects as they lay on the ground. Johnâs eyes carefully scoured the area looking for the familiar face of Isa Whitney.Â
Eventually, John reached a wooden door. Above the door was a flickering lamp that only added to the alleyâs chilling ambience. John could hear the sounds of muffled voices, laughter, and cheers from the other side of the door. He thought it over and assumed that itâd be best to try his luck inside the building. As John reached for the door handle, he prayed that Isa Whitney would be in there.Â
The door creaked open to reveal a long, low room. The air was thick and heavy with the smoke of opium and other drugs. The lights were gloomy as they tried to shine through the dark smog. Through the gloom, John could make out figures of all sizes and shapes. They were all lying in strange poses as they all turned their heads to glance at the newcomer. Scattered amongst the haze were little red circles of light at the end of metal pipes. Occasionally a figure would reach out for the pipes and lift it to their lips before inhaling.Â
There was a hushed conversation in the building as John made his way around the room in search of Isa. As luck would have it, John found the man. Isa was in the back of the room. He sat on a three-legged stool with his back hunched over a pipe. His fists were clenched tightly around the object as he raised his arms up to shakingly bring the pipe to his mouth.Â
John tried to make quick work of reaching Isa but was stopped numerous times along the way. Attendants and other addicts would offer him a smoke or try to lead him in another direction in their delirium.Â
âNo thank you,â John would reply before returning to his chosen path. Eventually, the crowd and temptation grew too much, so John called out to Isa. âIsa Whitney!â The room fell silent and the people around John drew back from the man. Like the parting of a sea, the crowd moved and John eased his way over to Isa.Â
Now that John was closer to Isa and without the presence of the smog, Johnâs eyes could see clearly the state of the man. Isa was in a haggard state. His eyes narrowed so that they were tiny slits. His clothes were wrinkled and dishevelled. There were even a few brown spots scattered across, what John assumed, was once a white button-up. Isa lifted his head to peer up at John.Â
There was a moment of silence before Isa spoke. âMy God! Itâs John!â Isa said. The manâs demeanour completely changed. There was a spark of life in his eyes as Isa took sight of Johnâs face. âWhy are you here?â The man spoke joyfully.Â
John tried to take in a deep breath, but from the smoke, he ended up entering a coughing fit. Once John had collected himself and once Isa stopped hysterically laughing. John explained his appearance.Â
At the mention of his wife, Kate, Isaâs expression paled. âJohnâŚwhat time is it?â Isa hesitated. His once joyful expression was now one of guilt and worry.Â
âItâs nearly eleven at night,â John said.Â
â...What day?â Isa continued with his questions. He seemed more and more sober the longer John and him spoke.Â
âFriday, October 19th.âÂ
Isa dropped the pipe from his hand and started patting his body up and down as if he was looking for something. âNoâItâs Wednesday. It is Wednesday,â he phrased it more like a question than a statement.
John sighed and shook his head. âItâs Friday.â He pulled out his phone to show Isa the date. Again Isa paled at the sight. âYour wife, Kate, has been worried sick. Isa, you should be ashamed of yourself.âÂ
Isa narrowed his eyes at John in disbelief. âIâve only been here a few hoursâŚIâve only had twoâfour, no six pipes? I forgot how manyâŚâ Isa began to trail off as he wondered about how many pipes he had smoked.Â
Before Isa could spiral any further, John reached for the manâs arm and yanked him up to his feet. âLetâs get you back home,â John muttered before lugging Isa to the door.Â
Isa stumbled into John, nearly knocking him over as they scuffled over to the exit. âIâll go with you, John,â Isa said as he wrapped an arm around John before leaning his entire body weight on John.Â
John grumbled as he tried to get solid footing underneath Isa.Â
âKate must be so frightenedâpoor little KateâŚmy love.â Isa gazed off into the distance thinking about Kate.Â
By some miracle, John had led Isa out of the building and the two of them were now walking down the alleyway back to the street.Â
âJohn! Give me your hand!â Isa exclaimed.Â
John cried out as Isa lunged for his hand and was now holding it hostage. âIsa!âÂ
Isa ignored Johnâs outcry. âDo you have a cab?âÂ
âYes, Isa. I have a cab.â
âGood!â Isa squeezed Johnâs hand. âI owe you, John. I owe you!âÂ
âYes. I heard you the first time, Isa,â John said.Â
Then John continued to lead Isa out of the alley and to the cab that was waiting for them. The alleyway seemingly got darker the longer they walked. It was a narrow lane that made it hard for two grown men to walk side by side. In turn, John walked behind Isa making sure that the man didnât trip over his feet or stop moving forward.Â
Even though they were outside and no longer in that horrific building, John felt his lungs begin to burn from the smoke. He found it hard to breathe. Instead, John took to holding his breath. He deemed that it would be better to not breathe in the smog than to breathe at all. That was until he heard a voice speak to him. It was a voice that was too low to have ever come from Isa.Â
John reluctantly took his eyes off of Isa and looked around the alleyway when the voice spoke again.Â
âWalk past me, and then look back at me.âÂ
John froze before doing as the voice said. He turned around and looked down. His brown eyes fell upon a tall figure hunched over. There was something familiar about how the figure on the ground sat. John would have expected someone who sat upon the vile ground of Upper Swandam Lane to not sit with an air of arrogance.Â
The whole scenario piqued Johnâs curiosity. He found himself leaning over and getting a closer look at the man who had spoken to him. It took all of Johnâs self-control to not grab the man and cry in astonishment.Â
It was Sherlock Holmes. The man who had told both Y/N and John that heâd be away for a business trip. Sherlock turned his head so that John could see him clearly now. There was no doubt about it. There were the striking blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dark of the alley, the curly black hair, and that wicked smirk.Â
âSherlock!â John harshly whispered. âWhat on earth are you doing here?!âÂ
Sherlock rolled his eyes at his friendâs concern. âSpeak as quietly as you can. I have excellent hearing. Also, get rid of thatâŚâ Sherlock turned his head to look at Isa who was now leaning up against the wall of the alley. â...friend of yours. Then Iâll talk.â Sherlock said it with such pompousness that John scoffed.Â
John was considering just leaving Sherlock there and taking Isa back, but then John thought of Y/N. He knew he wouldnât be able to face the woman without spilling the news about Sherlock.Â
âI have a cab, Sherlock,â John whispered.Â
âGood. Send him home in it.â Sherlockâs eyes flashed with disgust as he looked Isa up and down. âHe wonât do anything mischievous. He appears to be limping to hold his own body weight up.â
âWhich is why I should make sure that he gets home!âÂ
Sherlock tsked. âQuietly John.â
John pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. This was a moment where he should have said no. He should have taken Isa home in the cab. John should have arrived back at 221B and then spilt the news about Sherlock to Y/N. Thatâs what any good friend should do when they find someone they care about in a compromising position. But John knew Y/N had too much to worry about. He was her friend too. John clenched his jaw tightly before huffing in agreement. This time, heâd agree with Sherlock. Heâd save Y/N some worry. It was the least he could do.Â
It was surprisingly easy to place Isa Whitney in the confinement of the cab before sending him on his way back home to his wife Kate. Out of courtesy, John texted Kate telling her that her husband was on his way home in a cab. As John finished the message, Sherlock appeared beside him.Â
The two of them didnât speak a word as Sherlock led John down the street. It seemed the two of them were going for a stroll. The longer the silence progressed, the longer John grew worried. He knew of Sherlockâs addiction. The nicotine patches. The side comments from Mycroft offered a brief picture of Sherlockâs past.Â
About two streets later, Sherlock stopped moving and let out a light chuckle. John whipped his head around to look at Sherlock like he was insane. (Although, John did think that Sherlock was partially insane most of the time).Â
âI suppose, John, â Sherlock said. âYouâre imagining that I have added opium smoking to my nicotine patches.â
Johnâs jaw was slack and his eyes wide at his friendâs words. âWhat the hell were you doing there Sherlock?â
âI could ask you the same thing,â Sherlock replied.Â
John placed his hands on his hips and stared at Sherlock. âI came to find a friend.â
Sherlock raised his brows letting John know that he already knew that. âI came to find an enemy,â Sherlock stated.Â
John was unimpressed. The last âenemyâ of Sherlockâs that John had met was his brother. It was more likely that the said enemy was someone else from Sherlockâs past. A cousin, a friend, another relative of some sort. âAn enemy?âÂ
âYes; one of my natural enemies.â Those words from Sherlockâs mouth sealed the deal in Johnâs mind. This was another Mycroft situation. âJohn,â Sherlock continued, âI am in the middle of a case and I hoped that I could find a clue from the incoherent ramblings of these addicts. Something I have done before.â
âWhat case, Sherlock? Cause if I remember correctly, Y/N knows about every case you take and she made sure that youâd be free so you could go on this business trip.â
It seemed like the mention of Y/Nâs name ticked off something in Sherlock because the man began to walk again ignoring Johnâs question.Â
John sighed. âWhat case, Sherlock?!â
âFollow me, John!â Sherlock called out as his long legs took him farther and farther away from John.Â
_____
It seemed like the place Sherlock took John was back to Baker Street. How the two of them walked all over London to get back to their flat that late at night astounded John. He was sure how exhausted he was feeling while watching the horror movie with Y/N that heâd have enough energy to travel all the way back home physically. He knew Sherlock had the energy. The man seemed to have a never-ending reserve of energy.Â
Once the black door of 221 B Baker Street closed, Sherlock began to strip off his coat and scarf. He marched up the stairs with a passion beckoning John to follow. John winced as the stairs creaked loudly underneath his and Sherlockâs steps. If Y/N and Mrs. Hudson werenât already awake, then they would be now.Â
âSherlock!â John hissed at his friend. He was careful of his own volume.Â
Sherlock turned around to John as he flung his coat and scarf on the hanger by the door.Â
John stood expectantly in the doorway. His hands crossed over his chest as if he was urging Sherlock on for an explanation that was due long ago.Â
Sherlock rolled his eyes before answering John. âA few years ago, a man named Neville St. Clair came to London. Not long after he got married to the daughter of a local brewer, someone he has two children with now. I have been told that heâs a good husband and affectionate father and that the family is in a good financial situation. This means that there is no reason for him to be worried about his family or money troubles.â
John pursed his lips and raised a brow at Sherlock. In all honesty, John had no idea where Sherlock was going with this.Â
Sherlock tilted his head as he remembered something. Suddenly he pulled out his phone to show John a photo of Neville. John peered at the picture. Neville was a man with flaming red hair and sad-looking eyes. His face was filled with freckles and covered every inch of skin. Yet the thing that drew Johnâs attention the most was the long scar that ran from the tip of Nevilleâs forehead down to his chin.Â
âLast Monday,â Sherlock continued, âNeville went into town to run a few errands. Meanwhile, Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch near Upper Swandam Lane. Afterwards, she did some shopping, and at exactly 4.35, she was walking back through Swandam Lane on her way back home. Are you following me, John?
Johnâs brow raised higher as he continued to stare at Sherlock. He still had no clue as to why a certain Nevill and Mrs. St. Clair had anything to do with a case. In fact, John was positive that there was no case.Â
Sherlock took Johnâs silence as a yes, so he proceeded. âIf you remember, Monday was a cold day, so Mrs. St. Claire took extra care in looking for a cab. While she was walking around Swandam Lane she heard a loud cry from above her. She saw her husband frantically waving at her from an opening in the window. She also described him as being terribly agitated before a force from behind him tore him away from the window. She tried running after her husband and soon found herself in the same building you were in tonight. She tried making her way up the stairs but was stopped by an attendant and forced back out onto the street. Filled with fear and concern, the woman called the police.â
John finally took a step forward and closed the door behind him. His intrigue was piqued.Â
âThey arrived and searched the place but there was no sign of him there. In fact, there was no one to be found. The police were determined that Mrs. St. Clair had been delusional. That was until they stumbled upon a watch that belonged to Neville. Mrs. St. Claire confirmed that it was her husband based on the engraving on the inside of the watch. After further inspection, the police found some blood as well as all the clothes of Neville St. Clair. There were no signs of violence and there were no more signs of Neville. According to witness accounts, the last one to see Neville St. Clair was a man named Hugh Boone.â
By now John was sitting in his chair. His hand rested underneath his chin as he watched Sherlock pace back and forth as he recounted the information about the case.Â
âBoone is a professional beggar. He claims that he was not the last one to see our missing man. Detective Gavinââ
âGreg,â John corrected.Â
â-searched Boone and found traces of blood on his clothes, but the man told Lestrade that it was from a cut on his hand. One that was still bleeding. An injury from the window, where the traces of the blood had been found. Lestrade also took the opportunity to have the nearby area checked. Nevilleâs coat was found in an alleyway. Inside the pockets was the manâs wallet.â
âSo then whereâs the body?â John asked. He was sure that finding all of Nevilleâs clothes and blood but no wallet meant that the man was dead.
âThere was nobody, John.â There was a sparkle in Sherlockâs eye as he said it. âHowever, Boone was arrested and taken to Scotland Yard, but there was nothing against him. The blood had been his own. The only thing that could be used as evidence were Nevilleâs clothes, but even so, that is substantial enough.â
Everything clicked in Johnâs brain. âThatâs why Y/N didnât know you had a case. Greg called you himself.âÂ
Sherlock halted his pacing and looked at John. John was right of course, so Sherlock nodded.Â
Now that John was satisfied with that answer he asked another question. âWhy was Neville St. Clair was at an opium den and what does Hugh Boone have to do with the disappearance?â
Sherlock smiled at John. âNow youâre asking the right questions.â
âSherlockâŚâ John began to fiddle with his hands. âDo you think Neville is dead?â
âYesââÂ
Suddenly there was a banging on the door downstairs. John and Sherlock made their way downstairs. It seemed like the knocking had woken up the other residents of 221B for Mrs. Hudson and Y/N were peering out of their doorways at the noise. Mrs. Hudson was in more of a dazed state than Y/N with her overnight hair curlers and cosy pink pyjamas. The elderly womanâs tired eyes quickly acknowledge John and Sherlock making their way down the stairs. Satisfied with what she saw, Mrs. Hudson crept back into her flat and shut the door.Â
Y/N, on the other hand, seemed to grow more conscious the longer she looked at the scene in front of her. She thought that her mind was tricking her. It couldnât be Sherlock. Could it? Sherlock caught sight of the woman from the corner of his eye. He could help how his brain tuned out the sound of the banging door to look at Y/N.Â
She had that same tired look in her eye as she did when she slept over in his flat. Her hair was slightly ajar from sleep and her pyjamas were scrunched up in just the right way. She looked comfortable and for a moment Sherlock felt guilty about waking her up.Â
âWhenâd you get back?â She mumbled. Her voice was filled with sleep.Â
Sherlock smiled and took a step towards her. âNot long.â
âI called youâŚâ Y/N said. She nervously ran a hand through her hair. Internally scolded herself for acting like a schoolgirl. So much for not showcasing her newfound feeling. No, Y/N couldnât have feelings for Sherlock. She couldnât. She was dating Jim. Jim was perfect. He was kind, gentle, witty, and handsome. But Jim wasnât Sherlock. She winced. She was screwed.Â
âYou called?â Sherlock replied a little too quiet for his liking. He hadnât checked his phone. His mind was too busy with the case. His mind was a little too preoccupied with a case that was purely a distraction from the chemical defect called sentiment.Â
John cleared his throat reminding Y/N and Sherlock that he was also present and so was the knocking on the door. Sherlock and Y/N turned to look at him, both of them hiding a blush that crept on their faces. John took that as a sign for him to be the one to open the door.Â
In front of him stood a woman. Her dark hair was a frizzy mess and two dark circles underneath her eyes made her look like a skeleton. John peered at the woman with a confused look but before he could ask her anything, Sherlock pushed him to the side letting the woman enter.Â
âMrs. St. Clair,â Sherlock stated.Â
Johnâs eyes widened. Y/N wore a confused look on her face. One that John pitied. She still had no idea. Without another word, Mrs. St. Clair was ushered up the stairs into John and Sherlockâs flat with Y/N in tow. She was curious as to why a strange woman appeared on their doorstep in the early hours of the morning.Â
â He wrote me a letter,â was all Mrs. St. Clair uttered before shoving the letter into Sherlockâs hand.Â
_____
Lily,Â
Do not be scared. Everything is fine. There is a huge error which may take some time to fix.Â
Love,
Your Neville.Â
_____
Sherlock took the letter and scoured over the letter. His blue eyes took note of every detail. John looked over Sherlockâs shoulder trying not to notice, Y/Nâs puzzled look. He could see the gears in her head turning as she put the pieces together.Â
âWhoever addressed the envelope had to go and ask about the address.â
This caught Mrs. St. Clairâs attention. âHow can you tell?â
âThe name is written perfectly in black ink. The rest is in a greyish colour which means that the paper was blotted. Whoever wrote it was not familiar with the address. Are you sure that this was your husband?â Sherlock asked.Â
âThere was a ring. His wedding ring.â
Sherlock nodded. âAnd this is his handwriting?â
The woman nodded.Â
Sherlockâs brow pursed at the confirmation. This didnât make sense. He was so sure that Neville was dead, his body missing. âIf Neville is alive, then why has he not returned?â Sherlock asked.Â
âIâŚI donât know.â
Before Sherlock asked another question, Y/N cut him off. âHold up, whatâs going on here?â
âNot now Y/Nââ
âSherlockââ Y/N warned.Â
âIâll explain later. Mrs. St. Clair. On Monday your husband said nothing about leaving you?â
âWhat do you mean youâll explain later? Sherlock a strange woman showed up on our doââ Y/N hissed. John shot her a look letting her know that he'd explain later if Sherlock didnât.Â
âNo.â Mrs. St. Clair replied.Â
âWere you surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?â Sherlock questioned.Â
âYes.â
Sherlock looked to the side before coming up with another question. âHe only cried out to you?â
âYes.â Mrs. St. Clair nodded.Â
âA call for help?â
âYes. He waved his hands at me.â The woman explained.Â
The longer the interrogation continued the more confused Y/N grew. She was much too tired to deal with anything right now.Â
âCouldnât have been a cry of surprise? He could not have expected to see you in such an area.â Sherlock noted.Â
âThatâs possible, butâŚâÂ
âAnd you thought he was pulled back?â Sherlock continued.Â
âHe disappeared so suddenly.â Mrs. St. Clairâs voice began to grow quiet as Sherlockâs questions intensified.
âHe could have leapt back. You didnât see anyone else in the room,â Sherlock noted. His height towered over the woman and he began to lean over her small figure.Â
Mrs. St. Clair shook her head. âNo, but that horrible man confessed to having been there.â
âRight. Your husband was wearing his clothes?â
The woman gulped, unsure of where these questions were going. âYes, but he wasnât wearing his tie. I remember seeing his throat.â
âHas he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?âÂ
âNo.â
âHas ever shown signs of taking Opium?â
Mrs. St Clair looked from Sherlock to John and then to Y/N. She bore a nervous and confused look on her face.Â
âJohn. What are the symptoms of some who have taken Opium?â
John had been startled by Sherlockâs sudden question that it took his mind to process what he had been asked. âMood swings, irritability, changes in appearance, risky behaviours, dizzinessâŚâ
Sherlock cocked his head to the side. âWell?â
âUmâŚno. No Neville hasnât,â the woman said.Â
Sherlock snapped back into his upward position. His back was tall and straight as he walked to the door and swung it open for Mrs. St. Clair.Â
âVery well, Mrs. St. Clair,â He looked to the door and then at the woman before flashing a tense smile.Â
Mrs. St. Clair took that as her cue to leave for the night. Once she removed herself from the flat, Sherlock shut the door and turned around to face John and Y/N.Â
âJohn, Y/N. Pull out your phones.â Sherlock instructed.Â
âSherlock you havenât explainedââ Y/N began.Â
âPhones.â
John and Y/N grumbled as they did as Sherlock asked. Once that was complete they looked up at Sherlock. They were half expecting heâd take their phones and do whatever he liked to them. So when they saw that Sherlock had his own phone out, the two of them were confused.Â
Before they could ask any questions, Sherlock continued his instructions. âIâm going to call Grayson. Then John. Then Y/N. We will continue to do this until he picks up.â
âSherlock, itâs 1 oâclock in the morning. Greg is not going to answer,â Y/N said.Â
âCall,â Sherlock commanded as he dialled Gregâs number.
______
Greg quite liked his days off of work. Typically he would start it all off by sleeping in. A luxury he was not used to having in his everyday life. Then heâd wake up and lie in his bed for a moment, sometimes he used the time to read a book or scroll through his phone checking the daily news. Then maybe heâd make himself breakfast or go out to a local cafe. He had all the time in the world and he had the power to choose what he did with it.Â
However, this was not Gregâs ideal day off. It seemed like the world was out to get him as his phone deafeningly rang on his bedside table. He was sure he silenced his phone before falling asleep last night. Blinded by his tiredness, Greg let the phone ring until it eventually ended about thirty seconds late. Again it was silent and Greg was well on his way to fall back into a deep sleep. That was until the phone rang again. Greg groaned and rolled over in his bed. His eyes peeled open to look at the time displayed on the alarm clock next to his bed. It was 1.15 in the morning. His mind began to fumble around thinking about who could be calling him at such an hour. It couldnât have been Scotland Yard. It couldnât have beenâŚ. Greg would have finished the thought if the phone continued to ring. Once again it stopped and the manâs body came crashing back down on the mattress.Â
There it was again. That boisterous ringtone. Greg shot out of bed and grabbed his phone, yanking the charger out of its socket.Â
âWhat in the hell do you think youâre doing calling me at one in the morning!â Greg grumbled into the phone. He hadnât bothered to check the caller ID, so when a soft voice from the other end of his phone started speaking he felt incredibly guilty.Â
It was Y/N. She hardly ever called and whenever she did it was always for a good reason.Â
âSorry Greg,â She whispered, taking into account the early hours of the morning.
From the sound of her voice, Y/N wasnât fairing any better than he was.Â
âNoâŚforgive meâŚsorry. Why are you calling?â Greg began to rub the sleep from his eyes.Â
There was a pause as Y/N thought of the best way to say it. â...Sherlock needs you to meet us at Scotland Yard.â
Greg groaned. He should have known that it was Sherlockâs doing. Only one man would have the audacity to call Greg this early in the morning, especially, on his day off.Â
âSorry, Greg, but he says itâs urgent. Something about the St. Clair case.â
Now this caught Gregâs attention. The case that had been plaguing his desk ever since he received the call a few days earlier. He would have been glad that Sherlock wanted to see him. It meant that there was a breakthrough. However, Greg was tired and had been woken up from a deep sleep.Â
âCouldnât this wait until tomorrow morning?â Greg voiced.Â
Sherlockâs voice spoke over the phone loud and clear. âIt is the morning Lestrade.â
âOh, Sherlock itâs you,â Greg said with disdain.Â
âOf course, itâs me. Meet us at Scotland Yard in twenty minutes. Iâve solved the case.â
With that, the phone hung up. Greg had no choice but to remove himself from the comfort of his bed. He had to forgo any thought of a nice morning sleeping in topped with a warm breakfast. He knew Sherlock had commanded that he be at Scotland Yard in twenty minutes, but that was the same amount of time as the commute there. If anything, Greg wanted to take as much time as he could before having to confront Sherlock.Â
As Greg changed and prepared himself for the day, he prayed that the coffee machine in Scotland Yard had been fixed like it should have been weeks ago because Greg knew that he could not deal with Sherlock without a little help from caffeine. The praying was more for Sherlockâs sake (Not that Greg was contemplating murder or anything.)
_____
One of the first things Greg took notice of that morning was that the coffee machine was still broken. However, it seemed like an angel was smiling upon him that morning, that angel was Y/N. She handed him a warm cup of coffee that she had made herself. He couldnât help but smile at the woman for her kind gesture. A smile that seemed to sour Sherlockâs mood.Â
âYouâre a godsend, Y/N.â Greg thanked her.Â
âOh, Greg thereâsââ Y/N tried to reply.Â
âYouâre late,â Sherlock stated.Â
âI know that, Sherlock,â Greg said. âIt wasnât physically possible to arrive here in twenty minutes. Speaking of, why am I here?â
âI need to see Boone.â
Greg took a sip of the coffee. The warm, quite frankly delicious drink made quick work of waking Gregâs body. He raised his brow at Sherlockâs request.Â
âThe beggar?â Greg asked.
âYes. I know heâs here.â Sherlock replied.Â
âHe is,â Greg confirmed.Â
âIs he quiet?â Sherlock questioned. This earned a few strange looks from his friends.Â
âQuiet? Yeah, I guess so. He is a dirty scoundrel thoughâŚâ Greg trailed off thinking about how dirty the man was.Â
âDirty?â John asked.Â
Y/N looked between the three men. She was beginning to think that this was all an elaborate prank Sherlock was pulling. She had been dragged from her flat and still had not been told what was going on. âHold on. Before anyone says anything else. What is going on?!â She exclaimed.Â
Sherlock sighed and looked at John, causing John to sigh as well. It seemed to the job of an explanation landed on Johnâs shoulders because Sherlock couldnât be bothered when he was on a roll. So as John pulled Y/N to the side to let her know what was going on, Sherlock and Greg continued their conversation.Â
âHeâs dirty?â Sherlock repeated.Â
âYes,â Greg scoffed. âAll we can do is make him wash his hands. His face is covered with soot and dirt. The man needs a bath.â
âI need to see him.â
Greg raised a brow as he took note of Sherlockâs seriousness. âAlright, this wayââÂ
âSherlock Holmes!â Y/N yelled. âYou were in an opium den?!â
Sherlock winced at the noise and turned to glare at John. In Sherlockâs mind, explaining things meant the case, not the whole situation. Hesitantly, Sherlock turned his gaze to Y/N who was staring right at him.Â
âFor the case.â It was all Sherlock could say.Â
âFor the case myââ Y/N grumbled as she marched up to Sherlock.Â
âY/N! Sherlock! It is too early for this.â John stepped in as the voice of reason.Â
Greg looked at the scene before him. Then he took a long and loud sip of coffee in an attempt to diffuse the tension. After a few moments of silence passed, Greg deemed it safe enough to speak again.Â
âAs I was saying, Booneâs this way,â Greg said. The group followed him as he led them to the back of Scotland Yard where the holding cells were.Â
It was a very whitewashed corridor. On each side of the wall, there were barred doors as far as the eye could see. A large majority of the cells were empty, something that Y/N noted as Greg led them down the hallway.Â
Soon the group's pace began to slow. âHere it is.â Greg pointed to the sleeping figure behind the bar doors.Â
Boone was huddled on the cot in the room. His legs were held close to his body. His chest rose and fell slowly. The man was in a deep sleep just like one would be this early in the morning. But from what Y/N could see, he was dirty. The man was covered in dirt and soot from head to toe. The grim did little to hide the broad old scar that ran across his face. Y/N scrunched her nose. She couldnât fathom how someone could stand to be covered in such filth.Â
âA beauty, isnât he?â Greg said sarcastically.Â
âCertainly needs a bathâŚâ Y/N mumbled.Â
Suddenly, Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a large bath sponge.Â
âSherlock! Whereâd you get a bath sponge?â John asked.Â
âDonât you recognize it?â Sherlock questioned as he tilted his head in Johnâs direction.Â
Johnâs face turned red as he tried to control the sudden wave of anger.Â
âLestrade, open the door very quietly. Weâll make him much more⌠tolerable.â Then Sherlock turned to look at Y/N.Â
Y/Nâs eyes widened. âNo, Sherlock. Thereâs no way Iâmââ
âGreg, the door,â Sherlock commanded.Â
Gregâs mind was in shock at how quickly he opened the door for Sherlock. It seemed as if his body was moving on its own. Once the door was open, all of them made their way into the cell. Sherlock quietly turned on the sink in the cell to wet the sponge before raising the sponge to Booneâs face.Â
Y/N was surprised that Boone had not woken up from how vigorously Sherlock rubbed the grime off the manâs face. Once Sherlock was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and dropped the wet sponge to the floor.
âLet me introduce you to Neville St. Clair.âÂ
John and Gregâs faces all bore the same expression of shock. Y/N, on the other hand, was a bit puzzled as she looked at the sleeping man. Before them lay Neville. The scar from the manâs face, one that his wife declared was his most identifying trait, was present.Â
âChrist, Sherlock. It is him,â Greg stated. His voice was much louder than a considerate whisper.Â
This seemed to wake up Neville. The man took one look at the four people standing over him, and he yelped out in fear.Â
âLestrade, donât you think it smart to let our missing man go home?â Sherlock asked.Â
Neville gulped, waiting for Gregâs answer.Â
Greg sighed. His coffee was all gone. âWe have no case if the missing man was Boone all alongâŚwhich brings me to ask. What happened on Monday?âÂ
Neville looked down at his feet. âIâm an investigative journalist. I write about what itâs like being a beggar, addict, or anyone suffering from the poor conditions of life. My alias is Hugh BooneâŚâ Nevilleâs voice grew quiet as he admitted his secret.Â
Greg pursed his brows. âGreat, but that still doesnât answer my question about what happened on Monday.â
âI had finished work for the day in Swandam Lane when I looked out my window and saw my wife. I cried out before covering my face and running away from the window. I ran to my confidants in the building asking them to hide me just as I heard my wife downstairs. In a hurry, I threw away my clothes and once again entered my persona of Boone. Doing so, I cut my hand on a nail in the window sill. Before I knew it the police were involved and I was arrested as my own murderer,â Neville explained.Â
Sherlock stepped forward. âWhat about the letter?â
âWe were told we could contact someone. I was too ashamed to call my wife. Sheâd hear my voice and know where I was. Instead, I wrote a letter and placed my wedding ring inside.â Then Neville buried his face in his hands. âShe must have been so worried. I need to get home to her and the kids.âÂ
Greg hated seeing how guilty Neville felt. It was too much for one morning. âAlright, up you go,â Greg motioned for Neville to stand up and follow him out of the cell. Without another word, Neville was let off. The case was solved and everyone went their separate ways: Greg back to his warm bed to sleep the rest of the day, and the case-solving trio back to Baker Street.Â
_____
A few days later, a thank you email appeared in Sherlockâs inbox. Of course, Y/N was the one to find it as it was part of her job to search and organize Sherlockâs emails. It was a heartfelt message thanking Sherlock for his work. Not very many clients thanked Sherlock after the case was solved, although Nevilleâs case wasnât a normal one.Â
Speaking of emails. That was the worst and probably the most entertaining part about Y/Nâs job. Yes, she was also hired to clean, organize, and follow Sherlock around on death-defying cases, but emails were the bane of her existence. Dealing with her own emails was enough, the inbox filled with incessant ads and subscriptions she never remembered signing up for. However, Sherlockâs emails were much worse. There were the subscriptions: newsletters from all over the world, daily notifications about new updates on bizarre websites that would concern even the best of people and ads for the strangest things that would somehow eventually end up in Sherlockâs flat. There were also emails about potential cases, those tended to be mundane things or crazy outlandish stories to get attention from someone online, or people asking for favours. In fact, the hardest thing was finding a job that Sherlock, John, or Y/N couldnât solve the second the email appeared in the inbox.Â
Y/N groaned as she swore to God that sheâd gouge her eyes out if she had to read another email from a concerned elder about their missing cat or jar of cookies that mysteriously went empty.Â
Ding!
Clenching her eyes shut and whispering hopes and prayers that this wasnât a bogus email, Y/N opened her eyes and peered at the screen. It seemed that God or some angel watching over her liked her eyes right where they were on the screen was an email from Hilton Cubitt. The visitor from Ireland, who stopped by two weeks ago. Y/N couldnât help the triumphant cheer that left her mouth.Â
âDid you win the lottery?â Sherlock asked without peering up from his latest novel, 100 Ways to Kill Your Employees. A book of many that displayed his loathing of the whole scenario. His tone matched the underlying threat of his choice of light reading, unamused and with a pinch of disdain for his imprisonment.Â
This confinement began the moment Y/N discovered where Sherlockâs business trip had been. Upon returning to 221B, John began to scold Sherlock. The man in question stood in the doorway to his own flat without a care in the world. Johnâs words of concern and fear never reached his ears. However, it was when Y/N began to speak up, Sherlock began to listen. Eventually, it was agreed that Sherlock would be watched over just to make sure that he had not been taking opium. (Something that was proposed by Mycroft, but Y/N had been under strict instructions to not tell Sherlock that.)
âNo, Sherlock. I didnât win the lottery, but it looks like Cubitt did,â Y/N said. Sherlock froze in his seat. He gradually moved his gaze up to look at Y/N with a burning fire of curiosity in his eyes. He looked down at the computer in her hands and looked up at her once more. In the blink of an eye, the novel in Sherlockâs hand was replaced by his computer.Â
Front and Center on the screen was an image depicting more of the code Cubitt had presented Sherlock with two weeks prior. Along with the message of urgency.Â
______
Come to Clifden. It may be worse than I thought.
Hilton Cubitt
______
âY/N pack your bags and book us a flight to Ireland,â Sherlock began as stood up from his seat to grab the paper Cubitt had given him of the code.Â
âSherlockââÂ
âCubitt needs us there to solve the case. Time is of the essence.â
âSherââ
âOh and call John and tell him to prepare a bag as well.���
âSherlock!â Y/N yelled.Â
Sherlock froze in his step as he turned around to look at her. He raised his brow up as if saying âWhy are you not doing what I asked?âÂ
âSherlockâŚâ Y/N cleared her throat. âWeâll go to Ireland, but onlyâŚâ
Sherlockâs eyes narrowed at the woman.Â
âOnly if you promise to never lie about a business trip again.â
Sherlock scoffed at Y/N. âI donât know whatââ
âYes, you do! Sherlock. Youâve been grumbling about being kept here in your flat, so you know full well why. IâŚâ Y/Nâs voice grew quiet. âI was so worried, so just promise that youâll take one of us with you.â Sherlock winced at her words, â OR at least tell us where you are going. Please.â
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a sharp intake of breath through his nose. His mind was in torment. This whole scenario was ridiculous. He was being treated like a child. Everything from Y/Nâs, not so secret, hovering, Mrs. Hudsonâs checking in, and Johnâs horrific attempts of spying on him all put Sherlock on edge. In his mind, he had done nothing wrong. But she had said please. She said she was worried. She cared. Now, if Sherlock had been given this treatment two months ago when she first came on board as his assistant, he would have fired her on the spot and uttered something about her worry being misplaced. However, time is a funny thing. Now, all Sherlock wants to say is yes. But a singular yes is too harsh, too noticeable, and an easy entrance into the hard-kept secret in Sherlockâs heart. So he settled for a simpleâŚ
âAlright.âÂ
It was enough for Y/N to order three tickets to Ireland and transportation to Clifden. In a moment, bags were packed, an inn was booked, Bjørn was placed in the care of his great-grandmother, things were settled, and notice was made of their departure. The game was afoot. A new case was brewing, and Sherlock couldnât wait.
_____
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Lestrade x Male!reader - the crime lover
Hey! Pretty please could you write about a meet cute between the reader and Lestrade, during the week leading up to Halloween so there are horror mazes and VR experiences, Halloween Parties and gatherings all over London. Lestrade gets a case at one of them and one of the witnesses is a Horror/true crime buff staff member (Reader) who catches his eye! Thanks in advance! Hope itâs the kinda request you were looking for - @the-imitation-blog đ
Standing behind the desk, you flicked your gaze to the security cameras before looking back at the papers in front of you.
Walking to the other side of the office, you sat down on your desk as you looked through the updated contracts for the new adult only horror game sessions.
âOi (Y/N).â
âGet lost Markus, busy.â
He scoffed a little bit and walked over, taking the papers from your hands.
âThereâs some police here asking about video footage from a few days ago, you know relating to the murder from across the street.â
âOh right, yeah send them in, also can you take those clues over to room four, theyâve been at it a while trying to escape and I feel kinda bad for them.â
Markus laughed and took the cards from your hands as he made his way back towards the door.
You turned back to what you were doing and heard the door open once again.
âIâm detective inspector Lestrade Iâm here about the security footage.â
âYeah, Iâll send Caroline in to show you, she knows how to do that.â
You pulled out your phone and texted said woman to come and help you, then sat in your chair as you began to make some notes on the contracts.
Lestrade glanced around the office, and he looked at you, watching you for a moment.
You were tall, dressed in some joggers and a baggy jumper, you looked pretty scrawny to him, probably similar to Sherlocks build in a way.
âWhat exactly do you do here?â He asked.
You looked up from your paperwork and you grinned a little at him.
âWe offer a bit of everything, from escape rooms and VR experiences, to lectures on true crime from the past, and game nights revolving around them where the customers have to try and work together to figure out who really committed the crime.â
âWho runs those?â
You raised your hand and got up, heading to the other side of the room to get a drink, offering him a bottle of water which he took.
âI studied criminology in university, and I really enjoy reading and watching things about true crime. We only use case fifty or more years old however.â
Lestrade nodded his head and he looked around.
âIs there a possibility that somebody would try to recreate one of these events?â He asked.
You thought for a moment.
âWell, we do take the names and IDâs for everybody attending one of these sessions, and itâs strictly no photography or phones, you have to leave them with security. But I suppose if one of our customers were fascinated by one of the cases they could have taken it away for more research.â
âYou let them take things?â
âNo, no. We email out the tickets with the name of the event and what it would include, itâs part of the company policy so people canât try to sue us for anything, they know what theyâre getting into.â
Lestrade nodded his head, sitting opposite you when you sat down at your desk.
âWe keep recordings and documents from all these events for up to three months, I can show you everything from that night if that helps you.â
âWeâd have to look at everything you have from before then if thatâs possible.â
You nodded your head.
âOf course, I have send it all over to you by the end of the day.â
âThank you so much.â
You smiled at him and you carried on discussing the case with the detective, offering him all the information you possible could.
Lestrade realised that you were well versed in everything, you really were a fan of true crime because you were able to help him narrow down what events he needed to be looking for.
You have him your own alibi and proof as well, including what you could for the rest of the workers at the centre.
Caroline came inc and you let her take him through the footage while you carried on with your work.
But every so often when you walked past Lestrade would glance at you.
It wasnât that he suspected you, they had already ruled out all of the workers, so he knew that it wasnât you.
But your vast knowledge and your dedication to it all amazed him, and in a way he was captivated, curious and wanting to know more about you.
But once he had to footage he had to leave, and he was sure that was the last time he was going to see you.
Until that evening when you came by with a box in your hands and you set it on his desk, grinning from ear to ear at him.
You had changed from your jumper into a sleeveless hoodie, and Lestrade couldnât help but eye up your biceps.
They were huge, considering you looked like a man without muscle he was impressed to say the least.
âI have a few more boxes for you, Iâll bring them in now.â
âThank you so much.â
You grinned at him again and carried on bringing everything in.
âThis is the last box, you can keep these until youâre ready to give them back we only keep them for reasons such as this.â
âYouâve been a huge help (Y/N), really.â
âIf you need anymore help, just ask.â
Lestrade found himself talking before he thought it through.
âMaybe you can tell me more of what you know over a drink, like a coffee.â He blurted.
Laughing, you nodded your head.
âYouâve got my number, just let me know when and where.â
With that, Lestrade watched you leave, and he sat back down at his desk with his head in his hands.
He couldnât believe he had just done that, especially while he was supposed to be working a case but something about you drew him in and he wanted to know more
#bbc Sherlock#bbc sherlock x reader#bbc sherlock imagine#bbc sherlock lestrade#bbc Sherlock x you#Lestrade#Lestrade x reader#Lestrade x you#Lestrade imagine#Greg Lestrade#greg lestrade x reader#greg Lestrade x you#greg Lestrade imagine
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Chapter 26 -Â Alternate Meeting
The fresh fall of snow had made the streets quiet, and cold. They had come out tonight, despite the snow - and much whingeing from John - to meet Lestrade for dinner at a pub in the centre of town. A catch up before Christmas. Every year, they treated it like they would all be going on vacation and wouldnât see each other for a couple of weeks, but invariably, each year, there were murders at Christmas time - heightened emotions and all of that - and they would be called back to help out. So the dinner meeting was usually unnecessary, but it was nice to take a moment away from death and casework, and acknowledge they had become more than just colleagues now. They were friends.Â
After a hearty meal which had helped warm them and polishing off two bottles of wine between the three of them, they had capped of the meal with a whisky. With a lovely buzz in their systems, there had been much laughter and merriment: stories of the mad cases they'd dealt with across the year, and memories of older cases too. Greg regaled them with tales of his cheating wife and how much fun his Christmas with the in-laws would be.
And finally, after three hours together, Sherlock and John had stepped back out into the cold together. The walk back to the tube station was a few blocks, but there weren't many cabs floating around, so they began to walk.
âI always feel for poor Lestrade. He seems to like being married and in a family, but sheâs clearly still cheating and he knows about it. How is that happy?â Sherlock sighed heavily.
âEveryone has their own threshold, I suppose,â John said. âSometimes being alone is the most painful way to live. I suppose heâd rather be with her than without her.â
âHow romantic,â Sherlock scoffed sarcastically.
âWhen we met - you and I - I was so very lonely, returning from war, and while I donât like people, I couldnât bear being that alone. If we hadnâtâŚâ John let the thought drift into the cold night air, his breath creating clouds of condensation.
âDo you ever think of other ways your life might have been?â Sherlock asked. âYou know, if you hadnât got shot? If you hadnât joined the army at all? Or what if we hadnât met? Do you think we might have still met at Barts - if youâd stayed on after studying? Not joined the army at all? Imagine that,â Sherlock chuckled.Â
John couldnât help laughing at that too. He smiled, stopping the walk and turning to Sherlock. He had absolutely thought about this already - their possible alternate meeting and what it would have been like. He nodded. âSometimes I thinkâ"
It suddenly occurred to John, as the cold soaked into him, that he had left his gloves and scarf back at the pub. His lovely new warm things. He was about to turn back towards the way they had come, his words for Sherlock forgotten, when a voice stopped him in his tracks.
âJohn? John Watson?â The voice interrupted him. John sighed. Probably another bloody reporter. John made a decision in that instant to be on his best behaviour this time, and say nothing, as Sherlock had directed him he should from now on. He was never as calm and collected as Sherlock in these situations. Not for things like this. He spun around to flash the reporter a winning smile, just in case there was a camera at the ready again, but instead, he was greeted by a group of people, coming out of a nearby restaurant, at the front of which stood a tall man, quite respectably dressed. His salt and pepper hair coiffed perfectly, a sophisticated cashmere scarf twirled beautifully at his neck.Â
John froze to the spot. His brain was working overtime and he could feel Sherlock watching him for his response, but he felt like he was going to disappear into himself. His body felt disconnected. All the blood ran out of his face to his toes. He felt hot and cold all at once. He could hear Sherlock say his name, beside him, but it sounded like he was miles away.Â
âIt is you. John!â the man said, rushing forward.
âAlex?â John choked out, knowing full well who it was. His voice sounded weak and raspy.
He felt Sherlock tense beside him at the mention of the name. John absolutely regretted having told Sherlock about this, now.
âJohn.â The man rushed to him and hugged him tight, although John didnât move a muscle. His hands didnât wrap around and reciprocate. âHow have you been?â he asked, as he stepped back again.
âFine,â John said stiffly.Â
Alex looked next to him and took in Sherlockâs equally stylish figure. John made no moves to introduce them so he held his hand out. âHi, Iâm Alex.â
âSherlock Holmes.â
There was a moment of silence and then: âOh good lord, the detective fellow? Oh, of course. I had heard about your blog, come to think of it,â he directed at John. âIâd clean forgot about it. Guys itâs Sherlock Holmes - the detective!â he called out to his friends who all murmured and seemed excited. âIâve read about you both in the papers.â
âAh. Funny. I know nothing about you,â Sherlock said coldly, pointedly.Â
John still made no move to talk. The air was thick between them all. He knew Sherlock would have deduced plenty about Alex - and him - just by standing there in silence.
Alex nodded, the encounter now incredibly forced and awkward. He was definitely assessing the two of them standing together. But it was clear John wasnât going to speak. âWell. I wonât keep you both. It was just such a surprise⌠I had to come over. Lovely to meet you,â he said to Sherlock. He reached out and touched Johnâs arm. âSo good to see you. Youâre looking well,â he added in a slightly condescending tone. Johnâs spine straightened slightly. âI should get back.â He paused, seemingly hoping for John to still say something.
Sherlock also looked to John waiting for him to say more, though he had apparently become comatose, and then offered a stiff smile to Alex, in place of Johnâs response.
And with that, Alex returned to his friends and got in a cab. The street was silent again. But John remained still, silent, staring into the distance where Alex had been moments earlier.
âJohnââ
âDonât,â John warned. His voice was flat, and cold and angry.
Sherlock stood beside him in absolute silence for as long as he could but John didnât move a muscle.
âSooo⌠Alex wasâŚâ
John sucked in a breath at the sound of the name. He turned to look at Sherlock, his eyes so lost all of a sudden, searching Sherlockâs face for something, for some way to escape this. He couldn't find a single way to start this conversation comfortably. So before Sherlock could speak, John rushed away, without a word, crossing the road and moving at quite a pace.
âNot a woman then,â Sherlock sighed to himself, processing the information.Â
The big relationship in John Watsonâs life, that could have become marriage-and-kid-worthy⌠and apparently broke his heart⌠was not with a woman at all. Alex was a man. A slightly older man, too, if Sherlockâs judgement was right. And, assuming it was pre-Afghanistan, it would have been back before marriage was legalised.
All the pieces were falling into place and Sherlock felt almost sick with understanding.
âJohn!â He called after his friend, but John had already disappeared around a corner into the cold night. Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and took off after him.
@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmartÂ
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Sherlock fandom. (TW: domestic violence)
Building Walls
Both had been scared as boys. John of the dark, Sherlock of the light.Â
Johnâs vivid imagination made up monsters under the bed and kidnappers in the woods around the tent when the Watsons went camping.Â
âFear is a weakness,â Johnâs father growled when his son was shaking and sobbing, terrified of the horrors of the darkness around him.
The solution was to beat the fear out of John while using spite words like coward, squeamish, queer, faggot, weak.
It took some time before it worked. For every stroke from his fatherâs hand or belt, Johnâs protecting wall was reinforced with a new brick, until his father was satisfied, and Johnâs fear had dissipated. So it seemed anyway.
***
Sherlock was a night owl from an early age but was forced to live in the light where others could see his aberrant behaviour. His cousins, aunts and uncles all called him freak, queer, weak, abnormal.
He just wanted to be left alone with his experiments, which he preferred to conduct in the dark hours.
âFearing the light is a sickness,â his mother told him, and caught him in an iron grip before he could abscond and ordered him to sit in the conservatory with her and his cousins for hours.
When he finally was released, his head throbbed, his eyes stung, and he felt bone tired. He cried when he woke in the morning, realising that heâd been too exhausted to escape sleep.
âYou must not let them see your weakness, brother mine,â Mycroft advised him, so Sherlock built a wall around himself and called it his Mind Palace.
***
In the dark Afghan desert, John met many soldiers who were afraid of what they could not see, and with good reason. He knew he should be terrified, and deep down he was, but he had a responsibility as a captain. His wall was strong and didnât crack until a bullet came out of the velvet night and found his shoulder.
Back in the radiant city that was London, Johnâs wall crumbled. His mind was a dark hole even if he was surrounded by light.
âNothing ever happens to me,â became a mantra he lived by, until he met Mike Stamford, and later Sherlock Holmes.
The brief and totally ridiculous encounter in the lab at Barts, lifted a vail, and a glimpse of sunshine entered Johnâs mind.
***
For years Sherlock lived in the blissful darkness, but people still interfered and made his life miserable. His mother and brother in particular. So, he sought out company that at first was a relief, but later put him on the path towards addiction and destruction.
Stumbling over Greg Lestradeâs crime scene, high as a kite, but still capable of observing and deducing what had happened, saved Sherlockâs life. For the first time in years, someone was interested in the knowledge he possessed; signs that a victim had been poisoned, different traces of mud or ash.Â
âGet clean, and Iâll call you when weâre out of our depths,â Lestrade said.
Mycroft probably ensured Lestradeâs promotion after that, when Sherlock explained, and begged Mycroft to take him to rehab.
The incongruous scale Sherlock used to categorise the crimes Lestrade called him about, wasnât all about how interesting a case was, but had more to do with the time of day. Only a serial killer could make Sherlock attend a crime scene in broad daylight. The darkness was his friend, and his dramatic persona thrived and added mystery to it all when he whirled around in his beloved Belstaff and polished Italian shoes.
John was like the sun and should frighten Sherlock with his warmth and incandescence. Instead, Sherlock felt an instant calmness fall over him when his fingers brushed Johnâs as he took the phone John offered him the day they met.Â
***
Johnâs fear of the dark night vanished when he saw Sherlock together with Jeff Hope, and his hand was steady when he shot the awful cabbie.
Sherlockâs case scale suddenly changed, and he and John turned up at crime scenes at all hours, even when the sun shone bright and clear.
The only fear they had left, was losing each other.
----------------------------------------------------------------
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#flash fiction friday#sherlock fandom#sherlock#john watson#bbc sherlock#johnlock#sherlock fanfic#FFF260#fear is a sickness
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His Move
1557 Words / Prompt: Manipulate
He shouldnât have been surprised. Mary was an assassin, the business of her past never quite behind her. Sheâd run away once, and Sherlock had insisted they go after her. At that point, John was willing to let her go. They were never going to have the future heâd imagined when he bought her that ring.Â
She was already dying when he arrived at the aquarium, and said the things you would expect a loving wife to say. You were my whole world.Â
He felt a dull sense of relief, and hated himself for it. The problems of your future are my privilege.Â
A future, cut short. And still, her problems would haunt him.
When Sherlock reached out his hand towards John, his eyes wide, John saw the horror-stricken expression on his face..Â
You were my whole world, he thought.Â
Her body was lifted, put on a stretcher, and carried out. John followed.
Sherlock texts him: Iâm so sorry. SH
John doesnât reply.
Please talk to me, John. SH
He feeds Rosie, gives her a bath, puts her to bed. She fusses; sheâs old enough to sense something is wrong. Now she has only her father to keep her world stable.
John, please. SH
He plans the funeral; thereâs no one else. Mary has no family, only a few friends. Itâs his responsibility. This keeps him busy, gives him space to work out what comes next.
Sherlock is actually sorry. This John doesnât doubt. Heâs not a sociopath, regardless of what he says.
Johnâs words at the aquarium were spoken in anger; he doesnât blame Sherlock for Maryâs death. John is the one who brought her into their orbit. He canât change that, but sometimes he thinks about what would have happened if Sherlock had returned six months sooner. Of course he would have been angry, and would have expressed how he felt about watching his best friend die, being abandoned for two years. Six months earlier, maybe he wouldnât have paid attention to the new nurse, the one who kept flirting with him.Â
He has no doubt that he would have come back to Baker Street if Sherlock wanted him. The compromise, as always, would have been on Johnâs part. Sherlock is never going to change. He will always treat John as a convenience, a habit that doesnât require thought.Â
Sherlock is rarely solicitous, never bestows compliments, only flatters someone if heâs being manipulative. The speech he gave at the wedding nearly knocked John over. Maybe Sherlock was only trying to do what was expected of him, but it was unexpectedly touching.Â
Sitting there, hearing the two people who love you most, heâd had this thought: I would have waited for you, if Iâd known.Â
In his own way, Sherlock does love John. He also knows how to manipulate John, to get him to do what he wants. To keep John in the dark when he doesnât trust him.Â
Loving Sherlock has always meant giving something up. It means following him into danger. John isnât sure he can afford that any longer, not with a child to care for.Â
He has to be sure.
It doesnât surprise John to see Sherlock at the funeral. Mrs Hudson sits with him, and Lestrade joins them. Molly slides into the pew, whispers something to Greg. Itâs a protective entourage; they all know what John said.
Harry is home, watching Rosie. John sits alone, in the front row.Â
Sherlock has texted him daily, and John hasnât replied. Thatâs why Sherlock is here. He wants John to accept his apology, for everything to be as it was before he ruined it all by dying. Not that Sherlock understands it this way; he doesnât think that dying ruined things. Heâs convinced that he had to do it, that John would have died if he hadnât. In his mind, there was no alternative.Â
Maybe heâs right, but for two years, John carried the weight of grief. Thatâs just feelings, sentiment; Sherlock wanât dead; he was saving John, saving the world, winning the game. He left John behind, let him grieve, because that was the only way to solve what happened at Barts that day.Â
Sherlock will still leave John behind at crime scenes, run heedlessly into danger, and probably get wounded at some point. He will question Johnâs intelligence, talk to John when heâs miles away, text him impatiently while heâs treating patients. He will dismiss Johnâs concerns as frivolous, insist that sentiment makes him weak. He will break Johnâs heart again and again. Thatâs just the reality.
And John could break his heart, too. He has a temper, and letting go of anger is hard. Will that anger still be simmering in a year, two years? Itâs hard for him to forgive; even in death, he hasnât really forgiven Mary.Â
Can he say he forgives Sherlock and really mean it? Â
John prayed for a miracle, and hit the ghost when he returned. Sherlock didnât hit back; he made a joke. He missed the point.Â
But he pulled John out of a bonfire. His look of panic is something John wonât ever forget. Â
He tricked John into forgiving himâbut has also tried to be worthy of that forgiveness.Â
He has expressed his love for John in front of a hundred people.Â
These are not the acts of a heartless man.
Sherlock needs him. Maybe two years away was as hard for him as it was for John.Â
Does John need him?
He imagines a life without Sherlock. He weighs it against a life without Mary. One is possible, one is past.
His wife was a master manipulator. Heâs only beginning to realise the extent of that. Heâd had doubts, but couldnât put words to them until he was in Leinster Gardens, hearing her admit that sheâd shot Sherlock, that she would do anything to keep John in the dark about who she really was.Â
The woman he fell in love with saved him from despair.
The woman heâd married was a facade.Â
He never forgave the woman who shot Sherlock.Â
The woman he went back to gave him his daughter.Â
So. Maryâs gone, and what he feels about that is a confusing mixture of guilt and sorrowâand relief. At some point, he loved her. Or the idea of her. He chose her.Â
She made choices as well. She chose death, rather than allowing Sherlock to take that bullet. When John came back to her, she understood that he would never completely forgive her, that he was doing it for Rosie. Sheâd chosen to save Sherlock, to die rather than live with Johnâs grief over losing him a second time.
Sherlock didnât kill her. She chose to die.
But when he stood at her grave, he didnât ask her not to be dead.
What he wishes now is that theyâd never met, that he could rewind time and make a different choice. That she was still alive, a stranger living somewhere else.Â
But then he wouldnât have Rosie. He loves his daughter completely, protectively, without rhyme or reason. He wants the best life for her, the carefree childhood he never had. And he imagines her growing up without a motherâwith a father who has chosen to be alone.Â
He pictures her, a child with pigtails and a stubborn streak. A teenager able to go toe-to-toe with her father and still see reason, take a small step back when sheâs wrong. A young woman with curly blond hair and a teasing smile. She leaves for uni, and heâs alone again. He grows old, and remembers.
Does he need Sherlock?Â
Absolutely, desperately. Like air.Â
Can he trust Sherlock?Â
Probably not. And he wonât change him.
He misses Sherlock. Whatever they have been to one another, his heart wants him.Â
Is it worth the risk?
Heâs standing in the church reception hall, drinking a cup of terrible coffee. Sherlock is across the room, looking at him. His expression is sorrowful, not the fake sorrow he can put on during a case, pretending he cares. His hands are stuffed in his coat pockets and heâs slouching against the wall, watching John.
Coworkers from the surgery express their condolences. Mrs Hudson hugs him tearfully. Lestrade tells him they need to get together over a pint. He accepts their sympathy, makes small talk because thatâs what people do. All the while, he feels Sherlockâs eyes like a magnet, pulling on him.Â
As the hall begins to empty out, he can resist the pull no longer. Sherlock looks up, surprised, as John walks towards him. His pale eyes fill with tears.Â
John has given up so much already. He doesnât blame anyone but himself. Maybe heâll never fully trust Sherlock, but heâs already forgiven him.Â
Setting aside all his objections, laying down his anger and his regret, he surrenders.
When he pulls Sherlock into the hug heâs always wanted, this time Sherlock hugs back. John makes deductions. He can smell a cigarette, maybe two (nervous). He feels his ribs, still too prominent (unhappy). Heâs trembling with the emotion he hates (love). The world may have lost a fine actor when Sherlock Holmes became a consulting detective, but this is not acting.
âPlease come home,â Sherlock whispers.
John smiles into his shoulder, his own tears beginning. âOh God, yes.â
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Sherlock BBC: Mystrade version
Emmaline "Emma" Sofia Lestrade Holmes
Faceclaim: Malina Weissman
Emmaline is the only biological child of Mycroft Holmes
Mother unknown (or is known, but Mycroft doesn't want to go down that rabbit hole again)
Gregory lestrade is her stepfather
Mycroft and Greg married when Emmeline was only a few months old
She is 2 years younger than her twin cousins
Despite the sibling rivalry between her father Mycroft and her uncle Sherlock, she and her cousins get along really well, but they do have their little competition with each other regarding their unique intelligence
She is a master hacker and has secret access to the British and American government security
She often goes behind mycroft and Greg's back and hacks into their systems for either information or because she's bored
She inherited Mycroft's deduction ability along with high intelligence
She has an interest in mechanics and engineering
She loves Greg
Learned fencing
Math, science, and chemistry genius
Loves Rosamund and Allison
She often joins her cousins on their cases
She and the twins run on caffeine if a case gets challenging
She has raging OCD
She plays the harp, lyre, piano, and flute
Emma and the twins play games together, whether it's deduction games or board games.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Tyler Pierce Lestrade
Faceclaim: Keean Johnson
Tyler is the biological son of Gregory Lestrade
He has multiple siblings. His oldest sibling is at college in america
He originally was in his mother's custody, but he would visit Greg a lot as a kid
As he got older, he thought Greg didn't care about him. So he would get into trouble with the police to get his dad's attention
Tyler didn't like Mycroft as he grew up or Emmaline. He thought that they were the reason he wasn't around him or his siblings growing up and that he was replaced
Things between Tyler, Emmeline, and Mycroft were tense until Tyler and Emmeline slowly started to get along then Mycroft slowly followed
After Tyler slowly got more involved with his dad and his new step-father and step-sister, he got involved with the Holmes children and their adventures, which he did not mind except the many enemies trying to kill a bunch of teenagers
When Tyler went to school with Emmaline and her cousins, he would always threaten the bullies who would dare to make fun of his new family (he always denies it, tho)
Tyler has a short temper and is aggressive
He loves to skateboard and do graffiti
Is a great liar and can come up with an alibi in a snap
He is incredibly sarcastic, and he is always questioning his life choices
He plays the drums as a hobby to smash or hit his feelings with sticks
Spends most of his time with the Holmes family
He will never admit it, but he loves the Holmes family as his own and will fight with and for them
Loves family game nights
The family dinners are a bit "extreme," but they are also very entertaining
#sherlock bbc#sherlock holmes#sherlock fandom#bbc sherlock#sherlock & co#sherlock au#sherlock and co#mycroft x greg#mycroft holmes#mycroft bbc#mystrade#greg lestrade#greg x mycroft#inspector lestrade#greg lestrade x mycroft holmes#mycroft holmes x greg lestrade#sherlock next gen#sherlock next generation#sherlock bbc next generation#sherlock bbc next gen#bbc sherlock next gen#bbc sherlock next generation#sherlock headcanon#sherlock hc#sherlock imagine#i am sherlocked#parentlock#221b baker street#mystrade child#johnlock
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To Another Year
Relationship: Sherlock x lestrade!sibling reader
Warnings: mentions of fireworks, alcohol, Molly makes the briefest appearance, slight hints of jealousy, and Sherlock is a little grumpy
Summary: When the party for the new year begins at 221B, you reflect upon your year and the many blessings it's given you - that one of a new family, both blood and chosen.
All writings belong to me @bakerstreethoundâ (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)Â
Word Count: 1.09k+
A/N: Happy 2024 everyone! Let's hope it's a good one. University has had me in a whirlwind this past semester and up to this winter course I'm on the tail end of. I hope to continue writing and posting more stories about our beloved detective. I know this is a few days, almost a week short of the new year, but it is Sherlock's birthday, so this works as a two-for-one gift. I sincerely hope you enjoy it. As always comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated. Huge shoutout to @strangelockd for beta reading and helping with the title! Graphic by @firefly-graphics
Mrs. Hudson rushed into the room, a bottle of champagne in one hand, the other holding a tray of sweets balanced precariously on the platter. You smiled, making your way over to help before John shoved you aside, taking the platter from her in stride.Â
âLet me get that for you, Mrs. Hudson, ah yes these look swell!â John grinned, and you rolled your eyes, joining him as he popped a brownie in his mouth.Â
You chuckled, biting into one as well, letting the warmth coat your tongue and suddenly you felt like a child again. âOh, Mrs. Hudson youâve outdone yourself truly. These are fantastic!âÂ
She chuckled while pulling out the glasses, clearing the table in the kitchen from the remnants of Sherlockâs experiments youâd cleared away, but somehow mysteriously popped up again.
You groaned in exasperation. You couldnât remember the last time the kitchen, or the table for that matter had been clear of experiments or Sherlockâs current fixations.Â
âSay, where is Sherlock?â John asked, taking another brownie from the tray.Â
You shrugged, taking a sip from the champagne Mrs. Hudson handed you. âI havenât the faintest idea. If he had any plans he didn't tell me.â
âSince when does he ever have plans other than dragging us along on cases?â John nudged you playfully and you sighed.Â
âSherlock always likes to go off and run around without regard to us,â Mrs. Hudson pipped in, taking a sip from her glass.â But that doesnât mean we canât have fun without him. Surely heâs bound to show up.âÂ
âOh, Iâm sure he will, heâs been on a few holiday cases up in Cardiff, from what Greg has told me,â you smiled. Speaking of the devil your phone buzzed and you moved with John and Mrs. Hudson to the living room where you promptly seated yourself in Sherlockâs chair, John following suit in his own while Mrs. Hudson sat on the couch youâd pulled closer to the chairs.Â
You pulled open the text from your brother, your smile widening. Gregâs message was a selfie of him hauling a grocery bag, likely offerings for the party accompanied by an âon my way!â and a profuse apology for being late as Scotland Yard refused to close at a decent hour.
Well, a decent hour for Greg would be five, so he could sleep earlier and be to work at an even earlier time. Between the both of you, youâre more the night owl.
You take another sip of your drink, watching as John set up festive music on the telly, and opening the curtains where you were met with a rich dark sky littered with stars, the moon glowing softly. You admire the sight and you canât imagine anything better than this or anywhere youâd rather be.Â
Your phone buzzed again, met with another text from Greg. Make sure to keep Sherlock in line.Â
Thanks, Greg, you think. If you had any idea where he was you would be sure to do so as he was your significant other. Yet communication on large cases tended to hinder his whereabouts.Â
Pretty sure John will do a fine job once we find out where the hell Sherlock went, you shot back.Â
âWhatâs this Grantham wants?â Sherlock burst through the door in all his glory, his beautiful Belstaff billowing around him as he fiddled with his phone. Joh chuckled, rolling his eyes at the absurdity and you huffed in amusement.Â
âWonderful to see you too my dear. Welcome home!â You rise to greet Sherlock but heâs over next to you in an instant pulling you in for a hug.
You fall into him, sure that Mrs. Hudson is giggling in a corner sending a meaningful look to John. You donât care in the slightest, not anymore. Sherlock was always yours and you are his, despite the doubts you had from time to time through the years.Â
âOi, come on you two lovebirds is this a party or what?â Greg beamed, patting John on the shoulder, raising a glass to Mrs. Hudson. It didnât take him long to find the drinks, you chuckled to yourself, pecking Sherlockâs cheek. âAlso, my brother's name is not Grantham. You should know this by now.��
âSmart girl that one is,â Greg said, âyet she gets herself involved with the likes of Sherlock. Iâll never understand it. The Lestrades like danger over stability it seems.âÂ
âOh knock it off you all,â Mrs. Hudson admonished. âAt least take a few more drinks and at least eat. I bet you all havenât eaten since lunch, and likely skipped breakfast as well.âÂ
You cast her a look, for she knew you all too well. âOf course, Mrs. Hudson,â you pulled yourself from Sherlockâs embrace even though it was agony to do so, your mind screaming for you to pull yourself up against him and drown in his kisses and warmth.
You quickly give your brother a hug and Greg grinned good-naturedly as you squeezed him tight. Itâd been weeks since youâd seen him given the business of the holidays.
It was nice to finally settle down without the impeding stress of work and other responsibilities, relinquishing yourself to the relaxation amongst friends and family. It was why you cherished moments such as these and when you hugged Sherlock again, ruffling his curls, as he grumped, but you knew deep down he enjoyed it.Â
******
Soon enough youâre all full of champagne, a filling meal, and in generally good spirits. Molly made a chance to stop by, too, and you pulled her into a warm embrace. She blushed in the dim light, not expecting it from you. You couldnât blame her for having a crush on Sherlock all those years, but your mutual jealousy between you had faded with time and youâd come to enjoy her company.
You hand her a glass, eyes shining in mirth and at that moment you know youâll be alright. With your found family and kin in the room, all felt right.Â
Perhaps the year would be a good one after all.Â
You found Sherlock in his chair observing the quieter atmosphere as everyone settled, talking quietly. You noted the way his fingers tapped on the chair impatiently and you carefully situated yourself in his lap, setting your half-empty glass on the side table.
From the window, fireworks light the sky in all their glory and soft cheers ring through 221B. You brush your lips against Sherlockâs, and he welcomes you into the dawn of what hopefully will be one of the best years in your memory.
******
#sherlock x reader#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock x you#sherlock holmes fanfiction#happy new year 2024#bbc sherlock#benedict cuimberbatch#my writing#my alleyway
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Imagine trying to warn Sherlock that Moriarty is freeâŚ
The verdict was in - not guilty. You honestly wanted to shake the jury by their shoulders and ask why they had left their rational thoughts at home. The judge slammed the gavel, signalling for Moriarty to be free of his bonds and when you looked at the man, you could have sworn that he winked.
John nudged your arm, reminding you that it was time to follow the rest of the courtroom out. Once the pair of you were out on the street in much cleaner air, John pulled out his phone and began punching in a number.
âIâm calling Sherlock. He needs to know that this maniac is going to be walking about like a free man.â
Giving him a nod, you pulled out your own device. âIâm going to head back to Scotland Yard.â
John instantly pulled his phone away from his ear as it started to ring.
âWhat? Y/n we need to stay together.â
âI know but I need to set up a protective detail on Sherlock and Baker Street. Moriarty doesnât care about collateral damage.â You reminded the good doctor.
Pointing at you, Johnâs expression was stern and serious. âOkay but be careful. Iâll see you back at the apartment.â
You gave the man a brief hug before turning and bolting down the street to hail a cab. Thankfully, the area was crawling with the vehicle you required. Once you had hopped in, you dialled Lestradeâs personal number and hoped with each ring that he wasnât otherwise engaged. Your heart was pounding in your ears, the traffic felt slower than normal and the phone wasnât being picked up as if the matter wasnât of import.
âCome on.â You edged nervously, staring outside at the pedestrians huddled on the sidewalk.
When the signal turned green, the call was answered by the man you had been trying to reach. âGreg? Oh, thank god.â
âY/n, I just heard the news. How are you holding up?â The detective inspector asked.
âHonestly Iâm pissed but we can get into that later. Listen, I need a favour. I need a-â
âYou need a protection detail on Sherlock, I know.â Lestrade guessed correctly. âI filed in the paperwork as soon as Moriartyâs trial started and got it fast tracked. It felt appropriate since you, Sherlock and John have thwart his schemes the most.â
You frowned. Something didnât feel right about the way he was talking about the detail. âAnd?â You prompted.
âAnd it got rejected as soon as Moriarty was acquitted.â
You were mad and disappointed - in all honesty, you wanted to scream. But you pushed it all down and did what you could to tackle the problem. Leaning forward, you tapped the driver on the glass to get his attention.
âYes, dear?â The elderly man smiled.
âChange of plans - take me to 221B Baker Street please.â
âY/n, what are you doing?â Shit, you almost forgot Lestrade was on the phone.
As the car turned left onto Baker Street, you kept a tight grip on the device. âIf Scotland Yard wonât help, Iâll do it myself.â You told your friend before hanging up just as the taxi pulled up to the curb.
Paying for the ride, you made a mad dash to the front door, pushing it open to get inside. It was mostly quiet. Mrs Hudson was running the cafe and it was clear that John wasnât home from the lack of his coat from the hallway rack.
There was an absence of people and yet you heard teacups being set upon saucers and very low voices speaking. Heart leaping into your throat, you raced up the stairs and burst into the open flat of 221B.
âSherlock-â
The rest of your sentence died on your tongue, ice running through your veins when you saw the man who had almost killed you and your friends without any remorse standing in the living room.
âHi Y/n.â Moriarty greet when his eyes laid on you. âI take it that your little bid for a protection detail fell flat?â
He knew and he was mocking you for it. Stepping into the flat, you scowled at the enemy. âIâve kept my friends safe from you before. I can do it again.â
Moriarty smirked. He moved away from Sherlock and across to you on his way to the door. His eyes skimmed over your features before he inhaled.
âYouâre just delectable. Ready to give your life for a man who isnât ready to return the favour. A pity really.â He commented and walked off.
~ More imagines here ~
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