#At least I wouldn't be relegated to planning anymore

[alren-ki]

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[eaterofman]

I <3 You!: Serial Killer Yandere x Detective Reader

This was your chance to shine, to finally rise up in the pecking order... but have you bitten off more than you could chew?

The answer is yes, yes you have.

CW: Murder, Stalking, Obsession, Violence NOT directed towards reader, Manipulation, Mild gore/grossness towards the end

A/N: I have learned how to make aesthetic moodboards like the cool blogs. I am unstoppable.

Of course you took the case, why wouldn't you?

You were sick of being at the bottom of the food chain, forced to run meaningless errands and getting stuck with the paperwork for the rest of the division.

This was your big break. Finally an opportunity to prove your worth.

How hard could it be?

He knew you were watching him.. or at least, watching the aftermath of him.

And what a beautiful aftermath it was, specially tailored, just for you.

He hadn't known who you were before all this. He'd even been insulted at first when he learned the detective on his case was some nobody that'd been tossed on his kills like a stray dog being offered a bone.

He really had been planning on making you his next target, spitting on the face of the department that decided that he was so unimportant that his work was only deserving of an amateur. He'd show them what happens when he's underestimated-

...but you'd thrown yourself onto his case with a diligence he wasn't quite prepared for. You were taking him seriously, treating the lowlifes he brutalized as important as the rich bastards the rest of your department was worried about.

It was cute.

Despite your efforts, you were nowhere near discovering who he was. He wouldn't let you, at least, not until the time was right.

No, he would make you great, just as you would make him known, and then and only then, would he reveal himself to you. The two of you were so intricately connected after all, both of you unknown to the world around you.

By hell or high water, the city would know the both of you. He'd make sure of it.

You wearily rested your head on your desk, pressing your face into the wood as your eyes blinked in and out of reality.

You were tired.

You wouldn't admit it to your colleagues, you refused to show weakness. You knew what happened when sharks smelled blood in the water. Showing them, that after all these years of being relegated to coffee running and borderline secretarial duties, that you couldn't handle the first case you'd been trusted with?

No, you wouldn't let yourself be thrown back to the bottom again. You were going to prove your worth to the team.

But the disappearances weren't disappearances anymore. They were clear murders at this point, and they were escalating.

What had started as simple disappearances with no confirmed body had evolved into... statements, for lack of a better word. Brutalized bodies proudly displayed in a clear mockery of your efforts.

The killer was getting bold.

It seemed at first as though they were getting sloppy as well, a few times you had stumbled across a victim that had obviously been alive just a few moments before you'd gotten to them, blood still fresh and their eyes still hauntingly gleaming at you.

No, the killer wasn't getting sloppy. You weren't any closer to finding them then you were a year ago.

This was intentional. They wanted you to see it. Despite their brutality, they were careful, never leaving any trace of themselves behind.

The case had escalated to the point where the rest of your division had to acknowledge it. At first, your colleagues simply hadn't cared about a few disappearances of the city's less respected residents. It was practically a joke when they assigned you the missing persons case, like a wild goose chase you couldn't possibly in.

Despite this, you'd put your all into the case. Even if your colleagues didn't care about the occasional missing prostitute or tourist, you did. They were still people, even if they didn't make headlines.

Your division still didn't actually care about the people when they assigned a more advanced detective to your case. No, they cared about their reputation. A serial killer on the loose did not bode well for their public appearance.

You were happy that attention was now being directed towards what you'd known to be a problem since the beginning... but it was too little too late in your opinion. It wouldn't change the fact that lives were lost because you lacked funds and access to necessary equipment and time.

As your eyes drifted shut, you figured that even if this new detective took over your case completely, it'd be okay as long as the killer was stopped.

You didn't need to known, after all, you just needed to protect your city.

That was enough for you.

White hot anger broiled in his chest, threatening to explode as he paced his hotel room.

There was another man with you, another detective.

No, not a detective, a piece of trash that didn't recognize how important the two of you were.

The piece of shit thought he was better than you, than him.

After all the effort and work he had put into gaining notoriety, the fucking pigs had stepped in, placed an intruder between the two of you. Worse yet, an intruder who would surely take all the credit from you.

He wouldn't allow it.

As he eyed the two of you investigating the display he'd arranged for you from his vantage point, watching you be forced into the role of a sidekick, he played with the knife in his hands.

This would be his best work yet.

Just as you had feared, you'd been relegated to side work once your more senior colleague stepped in.

At least you hadn't been completely removed from the case, you supposed, but it had still been a bitter pill to swallow. You'd worked so hard, only to be pushed aside and undermined once again.

You wouldn't have even minded as much, if he'd at the very least listen to what you had to say.

Instead, you'd gotten lectured like a small child, chastised for not solving such a simple case.

You chewed on the words as you walked, coffee in your hands from yet another chore you'd been forced into running.

The bastard had even made you pay for it.

"Forgot your wallet my fucking ass..." you mutter to yourself as you stomp up the stairs to the small office your superior had claimed for the investigation.

Or at least, his part of the investigation. You typically weren't allowed to "cramp up his space" while he "worked". You were used to getting kicked out into the general shared office space to work on the additional paperwork he deemed himself too important to touch.

You knock on the door, hoping to not have to struggle to open it with your hands full of hot coffee.

But there's no answer.

Of course there isn't, god forbid he actually gets up off his ass and helps you for once.

You roll your eyes and go to reach for the doorknob... only for the door to crack open on its own. Huh.

You shrug, turning to hip bump the door open the rest of the way. Easier for you, you supp-

You're snapped out of your thoughts when you step in something... wet. Back still turned, you jump in surprise at the unpleasant sound of wet carpet smooshing up against your shoe.

"Ew, what th-"

You stop mid sentence, now facing the inside of the room. You drop the cups your holding in your hand, barely registering as the brown liquid mixes with the now deep red carpet.

There's blood everywhere.

Soaked into the carpet, splattered onto the walls, dripping from the desk your colleague is sitting at.

Or what remains of your colleague, at least.

Most of what was once him is now covering the small office space, you feel bile rising in your throat.

Even in your shock, it's hard not to notice the oddly pristine, brightly colored paper in the space where your superior's face used to be.

You refuse to step into the room to get any closer to it, survival instincts howling at you to not getting any closer.

But you don't need to, you can clearly make out the almost childishly placed paper cutout letters on the paper.

You feel your stomach contents finally leave your body, mixing with the other fluids on the ground.

The message of "I <3 You" mocks you from the other side of the room as you scream, falling backwards as your mind tries to process what you're seeing.

The killer was just here, had to have been you were only gone for twenty minutes at most and-

-and he knows you, you realize with dread.

You scream.

[melinaajamie]

"I care about you, too"

“When will you finally stop playing God?!”

“Oh, hello John.”

He couldn't believe it. John couldn't believe it. Of course Sherlock had to play the aloof hero and place himself in danger instead of just telling him or Lestrade for bloody once what he was doing so they could help him.

“Don't you have anything else to – oh, why do I even ask anymore?”

“Anything else to say? It was the gardener like I said. You can arrest him, Lestrade. You should find enough evidence in the garden shed, I doubt he was clever enough to hide it any better. And could they stop wrapping this blanket around me, we already had that!”

John was at his wit's end, probably just like Lestrade who was standing next to him. They were both standing in front of Sherlock who had absolutely stupidly solved a case on his own again and was now sitting in the back of an ambulance car. John found himself being relegated to their very first case again as he saw how the emergency doctor kept putting a blanket around Sherlock, and how he kept pushing it from his shoulders.

“The garden shed, alright... thank you. Maybe next time you'll decide to let us in on your plans.” Lestrade looked ready to throw a punch at Sherlock for keeping doing these absolutely ridiculous things he was doing but turned around instead to order his men what to do. Which left John to be pissed at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes ran over John who had crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You're angry. Why?”

John raised an eyebrow.. “Why I am angry? Are you serious?”

“Well, yes. The case is solved, the murderer caught. No one got hurt, and I'm only adding that because that's, for some reason, so incredibly important to you... well, no one got seriously injured at least.”

“You almost got killed! He would have shot you if Lestrade and I wouldn't have made it in time!”

“But I didn't. Why does it bother you so much, John, seriously? You were on time, we saved the day, everyone's happy.” Sherlock got up, throwing the blanket into the ambulance car mindlessly, and slipped his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Dinner?” He didn't wait for John but started walking away.

“How can you think about dinner now? Sherlock!” John hurried after him, trying to catch up to the bloody idiot with the ridiculously long legs. “Sherlock, we were worried about you. Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, your brother, me, because we didn't know what you were up to!” He stopped the oh so great only Consulting Detective in the entire world in his tracks to make him look at him.

Sherlock tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “I do that every time. Why do you still worry? Why do you worry at all, I know perfectly well what I'm doing.”

John groaned. “It's called caring, Sherlock. We never know what you're up to. And it could go wrong one day.” His hands were still gripping Sherlock's shoulders tightly, and John had no intention of letting go anytime soon. He had been so afraid. Well, he always was when Sherlock just ran off without telling anyone about his plans but it had been particularly distressing this time. John also knew perfectly well why. Not that he would say it because Sherlock would most probably not get it anyways.

“Caring.” The word rolled off his tongue as if he was trying them out even though they'd been through this at least a million times by now. “I care about you, too, John.”

The statement almost knocked John of his feet. He couldn't do anything but blink at his friend for a solid minute. He must look like Sherlock when John had told him that he was his best friend. “What?”

“I care about you, too, John,” Sherlock repeated his previous words rolling his eyes. “But that doesn't keep me from solving these crimes. Why is it so important to you anyway? It's not like you'd cared bef-”

Sometimes, straight forward was the only direction someone could take even though it meant breaking right through a wall. In one swift motion John pulled Sherlock towards him and crashed his lips against his. John heard him gasp in surprise, not a sound he would have thought to ever hear from him (not that he thought anything could ever truly surprise Sherlock Holmes). Maybe Sherlock would get it that way he thought for a moment before he suddenly felt him shake beneath his hands and his legs giving in.

John backed away from Sherlock and managed to catch him just in time before he could break down completely. Maybe he was in shock more than any of them had previously thought, maybe John had completely overwhelmed him, maybe he had-

It was his turn to gasp in surprise when all of sudden he felt Sherlock grab his head and pull him in for another kiss. His lips moved against John's slowly but passionately and it didn't seem like he was about to stop anytime soon judging by how tight his grip was. Not that John minded, oh. Not at all. His eyes flattered shut as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pressed his body against his own. Warmth radiated through his body from where they touched.

Never before had he voiced or made his changed feelings for Sherlock clear in any way. Bloody hell, he had barely admitted them to himself out of fear what it would mean for their relationship. They had never talked about the matter, not even when people had assumed they were a couple so John had absolutely no idea what Sherlock was thinking about it (ignoring that it was generally difficult to even follow his train of thought, let alone figure out what exactly was going on in his head).

But, for the first time, John felt like he had a pretty good idea of what was going on beneath the dark and messy curls of the bloody idiot whose lips tasted like black coffee and smoke and home.

When Sherlock finally loosened his grip a bit, John gently pulled back. Sherlock sighed and leaned back in slightly but John kept him at distance which caused Sherlock to slowly open his eyes.

“You've been smoking,” John exclaimed, somewhat reproachfully but with a stupid smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You've been caring,” Sherlock replied in the same tone, and John gave a laugh. One day, that bloody idiot would be the death of him.

“Yes, of course. I care about you, Sherlock Holmes. A lot actually. But no matter how often I tell you, you don't seem to get it. You can be awfully oblivious sometimes.”

Sherlock grinned before he leaned down and whispered into John's ear, “I know. But it's fine as long as I have you, John Watson.”

(Picture from Pinterest, the writing is mine)