#jim moriarty x you

[moriartsy]

beyond gilded chains

pairing: jim moriarty x fem!reader

warnings: toxic parents, anxiety attack, sexual tension

summary: what is the lesser of two evils? your father and his world of elites he wants to trap you in? or the overt yet unspoken reality of moriarty's darkness?

w/c: 1.7K

a/n: okay, i know this is kind of cliché, but i have an idea for a jim moriarty story and i have to warm up before i get into it. so i wrote this. i plan on writing a second part and possibly making it a series of oneshots / drabbles. but we'll see how it goes...you can send in requests if you want (and if there are any moriarty enthusiasts still)! thank you for reading !! <3

The grand ballroom of the opulent Ravenscroft Hall shimmered with a golden hue as crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a soft, ambient glow. A symphony of murmurs filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soothing melodies of a string quartet playing in the background. Lavish floral arrangements adorned each table, their fragrances intermingling with the scent of expensive perfumes a polished mahogany.

You stood at the periphery of the extravagant scene, your eyes wandering over the sea of elegantly dressed attendees, each adorned in designer gowns and tailored suits. You fidgeted with the hem of your own exquisite dress, a creation of silk and lace that clung to your figure with the same precision as the couturier's careful stitching.

Despite the expensive fabric enveloping your body, your mood was in a poor state. Honestly, you’d rather be at home, rewatching The Office for the millionth time, but your parents will never let you not attend these events. It's like a chore.

Your parents were proponents of social grace and high society and they had meticulously trained you to navigate such events with poise, concealing any trace of your true feelings beneath a veneer of practiced smiles and genteel conversation.

You sighed.

Suddenly, you felt a new presence at your side. Following the sound of slow footsteps, you found one of your father's associates wearing a smirk that mirrored the self-assured glint in his eyes, sauntering towards you with his hand in the pocket of his dark pants as the other held the fragile flute, a fizzy liquid swirling inside.

"I can see attending these social shindigs brings you such a genuine pleasure. A sheer joy is just radiating from your every pore.“ he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

You forced a tight smile. "That would be an understatement, Moriarty."

You took a sip of your Dom Pérignon, the liquid gold sliding down your throat as Jim chuckled, unfazed by your icy demeanor.

"Is there something you want, Moriarty, or are you just here to grace me with your charming company?"

Moriarty grinned, "I'm just marveling at the spectacle, my dear. Your enthusiasm is truly contagious."

Rolling your eyes, you retorted, "If that's all, then kindly go and marvel elsewhere. Go strangle someone just because they looked at you the wrong way."

Moriarty feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart as his lips formed an 'O' and his brown eyes widened.

"Oh, (Y/N), don't be like that. I thought we were bonding over our shared love for wealth and excess this boring bunch put on display oh so exquisitely," he said as his hand, still occupied by the glass, swept over the room before facing you again with a knowing smile. "But just so you know. I just did." He added with mischief.

You honestly didn't know if he was joking just to entertain you or maybe intimidate you. Moriarty was capable of bringing all of those people to their knees right in that instance. Including you.

"Do you really want my father to come after you that much? He won't stand for anyone bothering his precious daughter, you know," you sassed with an ironic smile, bluffing your way through.

"Ah, the protective father card, awfully clever.“ He murmured, his eyebrows knitted together before his expression became serious again as he leaned in. His scent invaded your nostrils as you fought to maintain your composure. "But you and I both know, (Y/N), your dear father is at my beck and call. He wouldn't dare lift a finger against me, no matter how many threats you throw around."

You held his gaze, but as much as you tried to hide the signs of the turmoil he stirred within you, you cou+ldn’t help but grind your teeth together. You knew there was no point in attempting to deceive him. He was remarkably good at reading people and you couldn’t be more of an open book to him.

His eyes fell to your lips just for a millisecond before they bored into yours once again.

Suddenly, a clink of the glasses between your bodies made you jump and he smirked at that.

"Cheers," he said with his psychotically soft voice, taking a sip of his drink. With that, Jim turned around a walked away, disappearing into the sea of the richest.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. He seems to always find you at these events, making your blood boil every time.

Your solitude was short-lived, though, because soon enough, your father appeared at your side. He observed you with a scrutinizing gaze.

"(Y/N), my dear, what was that all about? What did that spider want?"

Always adept at concealing the complexities of your emotions, you responded with a nonchalant smile.

"Oh, nothing. Just a brief exchange of pleasantries."

He probed further. "Pleasantries? You seemed rather tense. Did he say anything about me? Any threats, perhaps?“

Your father was a man driven by self-interest and the desire to maintain his social standing. Moriarty was right, your father would be willing to sell you in pieces if it meant saving his own ass.

You shook your head, your expression composed. "No, Dad, nothing like that. Just some small talk."

Satisfied but still slightly suspicious, your father linked his arm with yours. "Well, let's not dwell on such matters. We're here to enjoy the evening, aren't we?"

He guided you through the lavish crowd, engaging you in conversations that held little interest for you. Stock portfolios, luxury vacations, and exclusive club memberships. You hear it all the time.

It didn't take long for your father to notice your disinterest, though, and it didn't make him happy.

"You should really take more interest in these matters. People talk, you know. It's essential for your future, especially in our circle.“ He hissed at you when he made sure nobody was paying attention, his words dripping with toxicity that echoed the unspoken expectations of your privileged world.

In that moment, you fought an overwhelming urge to snap back, to unleash the resentment that had long been bubbling beneath the surface. You just bit your lip, resisting the impulse.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired is all," you said with a tight-lipped smile before putting on the aristocratic mask and this time truly engaging in the conversation.

But the air started to feel thick and your eyes started stinging. You couldn’t take a nice deep breath and your joints started to tingle. You quickly put the flute on the tray the passing hostess was holding to hide the slight tremor in your hands.

Fuck. Here we go again.

5 things I can see: chandeliers, flowers, couples dancing, gilded mirrors, candles.

4 things I can touch: my dress, the Champagne glass, smooth marble surfaces, my silver necklace.

3 things I can hear: string quartet melodies, hushed conversations, footsteps.

2 things I can smell: rich perfume, and leather shoes.

1 thing I can taste: bitter Champagne.

You'd fought this anxiety battle right in the middle of a circle of elites many times before and you'd always pushed through. And you always will.

As you finally managed to take a breath and your tears dissolved, you took a quick scan of the room, catching the sight of Moriarty as he watched you.

Great. I’ll never hear the end of this.

The circle of riches finally broke not long after your crisis, and you took that opportunity to excuse yourself from the suffocating atmosphere. The sound of your high heels echoed through your personal space as you headed toward the exit. Unbeknownst to you, on the other side of the room, Moriarty discreetly signaled to his bodyguard it was time to leave, making his exit too.

As he stepped into the darkness of the night, he unbuttoned his midnight blue suit jacket, his eyes scanning the grandiose driveway. He started descending down the grand staircase and as soon as he reached the bottom, he spotted you leaning against the newel post of the steps, your eyes closed and arms crossed over your rising chest.

Jim jerked his head at his bodyguard, who nodded and rushed away, leaving you and Jim alone.

"It's a shame for such a magnificent creature to be hiding out here." You opened your eyes, slightly turning your head to follow his nearing form. "I mean, can they even call themselves 'crème de la crème' when you're not around?" he asked with a furrowed brow as if it was a serious question.

"You're disgusting," you said and let your eyelids fall again, rolling your head back into its original position, the sturdy structure of the stone scratching the back of your head.

He was now right in front of you, and even though you couldn’t see him, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

„Your father certainly knows how to orchestrate an impressive show. How long are you planning to dance to his tune?“

You opened your eyes again, the cool darkness giving way to the silhouette of Jim Moriarty standing before you. As your gaze locked with his dark brown eyes, you felt a complex mix of emotions swirling within.

Everything about him was dark, a demon steeped in shadows, but as your eyes lingered on his, you couldn't shake the feeling that, in some inexplicable way, he appeared lighter than the suffocating life you led with your parents.

"Well, you know. It's a waltz I've mastered"

„Sure, sure. But I also know you can only twirl around the predictable steps for so long before the music changes.“

You studied each other in silence before your forms were illuminated by the headlights of a black SUV. He turned on his heels and headed towards the awaiting car, pulling a gum out of his pocket and popping it into his mouth. Once he reached the vehicle, he opened the back door and turned to you, tilting his head as he waited for you to make a decision.

There was no point in stalling, he knew what you were going to decide anyway. You pushed yourself off the hardness of the pillar and walked towards the car. Moriarty smirked as the two of you locked eyes, watching as you got in.

Before he followed your suit, he took a glance at the doors leading inside the manor, spotting your father as he watched the situation unfold with terror on his face. Jim’s smirk widened as his jaw worked the gum, savoring the flavor. Then he disappeared into the luxury of his SUV, and your father only watched as the car sped away, the tires screeching against the rubble of the driveway.

tbc.

oop👀

a/n2: thank you for making it this far! sorry for the pineapples.

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-04-03

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite BBC!Jim Moriarty stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

Legend: 〔E〕 ⇢ Erotic/Steamy | 〔F〕 ⇢ Fluff | 〔A〕 ⇢ Angst/Hurt 〔M〕 ⇢ Minor Angst/Hurt | 〔C〕 ⇢ Comfort | ♥︎ ⇢ Established Relationship | 𑁍 ⇢ Pregnancy/Children | 🚫 ⇢ Content Warning

✑ Little Holmes￨Prt. II￨Prt. III by deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts • 〔E᜶A᜶F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ After You Love by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "You meet the most puzzling person at a café..."

✑ Complicated [Soulmate!A.U.] by megs-mostly-random-fandoms • 〔A〕 •

Summary: "This was not at all how you expected meeting your soulmate would go..."

✑ Devil is a Gentleman, the by keravnous • 18+ • 〔E〕 • 🚫 •

Summary: "You started working at the National Gallery a couple of months ago. Today, the whole staff has gathered to give one of the most benevolent private sponsors a tour. What could possibly go wrong?"

✑ Doomed by make-me-imagine • 〔A〕 •

Summary: Jim never thought he'd fall in love. He never thought he was capable of it, so how can he convince you he loves you

✑ Landslide￨Prt. II by frost-queen • 〔A〕 •

Summary: When John and Sherlock attempt to use you as leverage against Jim, it forces you to come to terms with who exactly you've fallen in love with...

✑ Suprise Sweetie by frost-queen • 〔F〕 •

Summary: "Imagine going out on a date and Jim... surprises you by showing up and claiming you as his."

✑ You're Alive by make-me-imagine • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: You mourned Jim after he shot himself on that rooftop. Hurt, angry and confused you can't understand why he did it and why he never told you who he really was… Needless to say, when he miraculously appears in your apartment, doesn't get him the warm welcome he expected.

✑ Always by ladyalicesbookstore • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Deadly by bonniebird • 〔M〕 •

✑ Fight, the by writings-of-a-british-fangirl •

✑ Hostage by megs-mostly-random-fandoms • 〔E᜶F᜶A〕 •

✑ Midnight Swim by geeks-universe • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Miss Me? by justauthoring • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Moriarty's Secret by megs-mostly-random-fandoms • 〔A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Now Pet by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Privilege by bonniebird • 〔M〕 •

✑ Problem by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Rooftop Reservation by movedtosalamooneder • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Secrets by magicalthoughtsendinterribkefics • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ • 𑁍 •

✑ Sleepover by thepokyone • 〔F〕 •

✑ Swoon by bonniebird • 〔F〕 •

✑ We'll See by writings-of-a-british-fangirl •

✑ You Look Like You Need a Hug by make-me-imagine • 〔F᜶C〕 •

✑ Dating Jim as John's Sister… by charliesmdawn • 〔F᜶A〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Dating Jim Moriarty... by lacelynpage • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

✑ Living w/ Jim Moriarty... by oneshots-imagines-and-that • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation || James 'Jim' Moriarty Master Index

Authors: @bonniebird || @charliedawn || @deerstalkersanddangerousthoughts || @frost-queen || @geeks-universe || @justauthoring || @keravnous || @lacelynpage || @ladyalicesbookstore || @magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics || @make-me-imagine || @megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms || @movedtosalamoonder || @oneshots-imagines-and-that || @thepokyone || @writings-of-a-british-fangirl ||

[sardonic-the-writer]

SHERLOCK: VALENTINES DAY HEADCANONS <3

• "It's valentines day?"

• That's how the morning had begun. With John exasperatedly running a hand down his face as he tried his best not to shout at his flat mate

• He had been reminding Sherlock that valentines day was coming up for the past week and a half, adiment on getting him out of the flat to go out and do something for once. You were in on it as well, giving Greg the heads up not to send any cases Sherlocks way for the day

• So of course John was a bit pissed when he found Sherlock hard at work at what used to be the dining room table, hunched over some of Moriarty's latest work instead of getting ready for the day

• "Yes its bloody valentines day. Sometimes I wonder how you can be so smart but so fucking oblivious at the same time."

• "Not oblivious, John. I meerly have no room in my brain for such trivial things. And the holiday occasion would certainly explain why Moriarty's latest crime was littered with rose petals and the hearts of the victims. Thank you John, that was percicly what I needed."

• "I know you're being serious right now, but I have never wanted to punch you in the mouth more."

• "You wouldn't be the first."

• Eventually, two hours after John and you had originally planned to drag Sherlock away from his work, the doctor finally got him out the door—where you had been standing for quite a while waiting

• He immediately sighed before outwardly deducing the both of you. Probably just to get on John's nerves even more if you had to guess from how red the latter's face was

• "Ah. I see what's going on. You two have devised a plan behind my back to take me out to some rather bland coffee shop or restaurant today in hopes that I will join into your mindless banter. Now I think I'll pas—"

• "Nope." You had popped the p on the end of your sentence, speaking before John could blow a gasket. "You're coming with us, Holmes. Come on, we're going to that fish and chips place you like. I'll even let you talk about the case I'm sure you stayed up late working on while we walk."

• That had gotten him to start following you down the street, breath showing up as cold puffs of air in the freezing england morning

• True to your word, you had let him talk about the case all along the way there as John occasionally put in his two cents

• "—and you know this all is making a lot more sense now that I'm out and seeing the affect this holiday has on people. I never pegged Moriarty as someone to go for something so trivial, but then again that's just another devious—"

• "Wait, what do you mean trivial?"

• Sherlock paused, both in his rambling and walking, before picking up his pace much slower

• "Well, amongst the blood and roses we found at the crime scene a few short days ago, there was a note for me. Per usual. But this time an actual one, fancy parchment and all. Detailing how I'd eventually loose, how we play cat and mouse, getting odly sexual I might add, that sort of thing blah blah blah. But what really stummped me—" He ignored the way you and John exchanged amused glances when he admitted that "—was the innuendo he left for you, (Y/n). I assume it was to throw me off in a similar fashion to Irene Adler's tactics but—"

• "Hold on." John stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes wide. "You're telling me, the most dangerous man we know left one of your best friends a note flirting with them, and you didn't think to tell then until valentines day?"

• Sherlock clearly didn't think much of John's steadily increasing tone, just raising an eyebrow in response

• "I didn't see the need to. They have never met before like you and he have at that pool. No reason to worry. Simply a move to get under my skin. Which did not work, I should add."

• You had to choke down laughter at the befuddled look on Sherlocks face, not sure John would appreciate you finding humor in the situation

• The rest of the holiday outing was spent with the two arguing; most of it coming from John as he worried. It wasn't the worst entertainment you had ever had over coffee, so you didn't mind watching your friend fret over something that didn't even concern you. Moriarty had never even known of you until what seemed like recently, so you didn't see reason to fear

• "That's it. You're staying in the flat with us this week. I'm not letting that bastard lay a finger on any of us again." John eventually said, throwing his hands up.

• "Oh come on. It was just a fake out from Mr. Jimmy boy. You heard Sherlock say it himself."

• "Please (Y/n), never call Moriarty that again. And John, leave them be. They're a grown adult."

• "Thank you, Sherlock!"

• "You're welcome (Y/n). Like I was saying, you can move into our flat on your own. No help required from us."

• "You too Sherlock. Really?"

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

✧.*  𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✧.* || REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

**tell me in the comments if you would like to be tagged in anything!**

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

➤ General Taglist | @twisted-monster @starryeddie @the-chaotic-cow @turkisherlockian @aephereal ​ @andthevillainshallrises ​ @baby-bloos ​ @cookiemumster1 ​​ @eternal-silvertongued-prince ​ @bogginsreadings ​ @lumosouls @spencerrxids @serenity-lattes @msseijii @classickook @starstruck-loner @spnfan2020

-ˏˋ CHARACTER X READER! ˊˎ

➤ Sherlock Holmes | @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson ​ @lucywrites02 @danzalladaggers @mrs-holmes @pytharuw @antsn @kabubsmagga @newtsniffles @cemak​ @liv-olive-oliver @iamtrash-withrespect @asgards-princess-of-mischief @summer-is-0v3r

➤ John Watson |

➤ Jim Moriarty | @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @asgards-princess-of-mischief

-ˏˋ SERIES! ˊˎ

➤ The Winged Victory | @justanotheromen @jaseena​ @jessiediegomax​

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

A couple notes...

TO ALL THAT HAVE BEEN TAGGED - YOU’RE ALL SO GREAT!! *HUGS*

If you would like to be tagged in any of the lists above, just tell me in the comments! Either on this post or any of my fics! These are all the characters I’m working on (for now), so let me know because I would love to add you!

If you would like to be added to multiple lists, just say the word! This list is always changing!

[shuichiakainx]

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

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (I)

Part 19 of the Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker St.

Word Count: ~12k

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Warnings: Canon typical violence, explosions, injuries, angst, Mycroft is Mycroft, Sherlock is Sherlock, murder, bomb threats, kidnappings, language, mentions of serial killers and murder (let me know if I have missed anything)

Author's Note: Man, this was such a long and fun chapter to write. After all, y'all did ask for full-course meals, so I present to you this chapter! NGL there will be mistakes...but I wanted to get this out as soon as possible. Lots of fun and angsty stuff happens, and I'm warning you again, it will get worse, but it will be so good when everything comes together! I hope you enjoy! I always appreciate reblogs and comments! I love hearing from you all!!

Sherlock was busy, or at least, he was trying to be. Busy meant his mind couldn’t stop to rest and if he didn’t have time to rest then it was a guaranteed way of avoiding everything: Y/N, feelings, boredom, feelings again, and then of course Y/N. That always how his thoughts seemed to run these days, both starting and ending with Y/N. 

“Just tell me what happened, from the beginning,” Sherlock sighed. 

It was a dreary place, the prison, and exactly like anyone would imagine: Gray, cold, and dreary. Yet this prison was where Sherlock’s next case was, well, he hoped so. 

“We'd been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that, so... when we get back to the 'otel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?” The man, named Berwick, sitting across from Sherlock explains. He’s in an orange jumpsuit which makes sense since he’s in prison. From a quick glance, Sherlock can tell he’s nervous with the way his hands fidget and flail around as he narrated his story to convince Sherlock to take the case. It was an argument already bound to fail, something Sherlock knew from the moment he sat down. 

“She was always gettin' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man!” Berwick exclaimed. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his ears bled from the misuse of words. “Wasn't a real man,” the consulting detective corrected.  

“-What?” Berwick asked. Everything on the man’s face told Sherlock that he did not have a clue as to what he was correcting. 

“It's not "weren't", it's "wasn't", Sherlock duly noted. 

“Oh.” Berwick’s voice got small. 

“Go on,” Sherlock said. 

Berwick nodded his head. “Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives. He learned us how to cut up a beast.”

Sherlock winced. “Taught.”

“What?” Berwick asked again at Sherlock’s interruption. 

Sherlock leaned slightly forward in the cold metal seat. “Taught you how to cut up a beast.” 

A tiny vein bulged out from Berwick’s forehead as his hand motions got more frantic. “Yeah, well, then-then I done it.”

His shoulders slumped and Sherlock fell back into his chair with disappointment. “Did it.” 

Berwick shoots out of his seat and slams his hands on the table between him and the detective. “Did it! Stabbed her... over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't…” Sherlock eyes flashed with disapproval. “...wasn't movin' no more...anymore.” 

Sherlock nodded and at least he didn’t have to correct Berwick anymore.  

Sitting back down Berwick drew his hands together to plead with Sherlock. “You've gotta help me. I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear. You've gotta help me, Mr. Holmes!” 

With a deep breath in, Sherlock stands from his seat and begins to walk away from Berwick. 

“Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this!” Berwick cried. 

Sherlock’s footsteps halted and he briefly looked at his shoulder. “No, no, no, Mr. Berwick, not at all. Hanged, yes.” Then without another word, Sherlock left to try and find another case to keep him busy. It was the only thing he could do if he didn’t want to think of her at all. 

_____

A sigh escaped the young woman’s lungs. It was a full body experience: her spine sunk, her shoulders slumped, and her head fell into her hands. She hurt everywhere, but what hurt the most was her heart. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, John.” Y/N confessed to her friend next to her. She was on the brink of tears.  

By the inflection of her voice, John could tell there was a serious disturbance in Y/N’s character. Sitting a little straighter, he placed his right hand on her back, giving it a rub. “Start from the beginning,” John said, even though he already had an idea as to what placed Y/N in that particular mood. 

“I…I’m not really sure. I thought I had it under control. We were friends and I–”

She was going on a rant. Y/N tended to do these things when expressing herself. It was as if she could never find the right words, so in her mind, as long as she kept talking, maybe the right words would just come. 

“Y/N. Breathe,” John calmly stated. He was right. She did need to breathe, and so she did. “What did Sherlock do?” John asked. He thought that maybe a more direct question would help Y/N along. 

“He–He did everything and nothing,” Y/N explained. Her fingers tightened their hold on the strands of her hair as John patiently waited. After a particularly long exhale, Y/N finally answered. “He kissed me. He kissed me, John. I kissed back, because–” She faltered. 

John finished Y/N’s thought. “You like him.” 

With glassy eyes, Y/N peered up at John. He was one of her greatest friends since she came to England. He was there for her through thick and thin. He was a friend for life. “Yeah,” Y/N muttered. 

John sensed a hesitancy in the woman. “But…?”

Y/N sat up and glanced to the side. Her eyes trailing the other visitors of the park. She watched as people played with their dogs, children ran with glee, and old women gossiped. “He pushed me away. He left me there in that room and has hardly acknowledged that I exist since we got back. John, he’s…pushing me away and I don’t know why.” 

At that moment, John wished he could see into the great detective's mind. He wished every and all secrets that had ever crossed Sherlock’s mind would now be visible to him, just so he could ease Y/N’s pain. But he couldn’t. He was sure no one would ever know what happened inside Sherlock’s mind. So instead, John said, “I’m sorry.” Sniffling, Y/N replied telling John he didn’t need to apologize, but John just shook his head. “No, you need to know that what’s happening to you isn’t fair. When I say sorry, it’s to say you aren’t alone in this. I’m here for you, Mrs. Hudson is, hell, I’m even sure Lestrade would be willing to lend a shoulder for you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said in a whisper. 

A peaceful silence fell over the two of them. The park bench was the perfect place for them to get away from the chaos that was Sherlock. On the park bench, they could think without being criticized and feel without being judged. Both John and Y/N cared for Sherlock, but sometimes, they needed to be cared about too. They needed to not feel alone and ostracized from the brilliant mind that was their friend. 

Together they hoped that maybe one day, they could find solace in Sherlock. That one day his brain wouldn’t come in the way of his heart and soul. Maybe together, all three of them, Sherlock, John, and Y/N would never feel alone again. 

_____

Being welcomed home to the sound of gunshots wasn’t exactly what John and Y/N had planned on but expected altogether. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” John scolded Sherlock the second he reached their flat. 

There Sherlock sat in his chair. His knees rose higher than the cushion he sat on. One hand hung lazily over the side, and in the other he held a gun. Still in his pajamas from the night before, Sherlock briefly glanced over at John. “Bored,” he enunciated. 

“What?” John asked. He couldn’t hear Sherlock clearly with the last gunshot echoing in his ears. 

“Bored!” Sherlock yelled before raising his arm to fire another shot. 

“No!” John cried as he saw another whole form in the wall. 

“Bored! Bored!” Sherlock bellowed again. Each time he said the word, he took another shot at the wall of his apartment. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N yelled as the gunshot rang throughout the apartment. Then pinching the bridge of her nose, she held out her hand to Sherlock, waiting for the gun. When he reluctantly placed it in her hand, she mumbled to herself. “I thought I hid all the guns…” 

“You didn’t hide them very well, Y/N. You have a tell.” Y/N shared an exasperated look with Sherlock, who ignored her. “Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job, I'm not one of them.”

John ground his teeth together. “So, you take it out on the wall!”

“Ah,” Sherlock shrugged. “The wall had it coming.”

Feeling the peace, he received from his time with Y/N vanished, John decided to change the subject. “What about that Russian case?”

Sherlock got up from his seat and marched over to the couch before plopping down as if it was his bed. “Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.”

John fought the urge to roll his eyes as he made his way over to the fridge. “Ah, shame!” Opening the door, he continued. “Anything in? I'm starving. Oh, fu…” John muttered. 

Y/N whipped her head around to look at John. “John, what is it?” 

“It's a head. A severed head!” John felt like crying now. 

“A what?!” Y/N responded. “A head?” She walked over to the fridge and felt her stomach turn. “Oh god…Sherlock.”

“Just tea for me, thanks,” Sherlock said at the sound of his name. 

Now John rolled his eyes. “No, there's a head in the fridge!”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied.  

“A bloody head!” John flipped his arms into the air and then shut the fridge door. 

“Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you?” Sherlock asked. 

“Of course, he minds, Sherlock. Just look at him. Where’d you get it from anyway?” Y/N questioned. 

 Without sitting up from his lying position on the couch, Sherlock answered. “I got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.”

Muttering curses and pleas, John turned away from the fridge and found a seat in his armchair. He quickly pulled his laptop into his lap and opened it. 

“I see you've written up the taxi driver case,” Sherlock commented. 

Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the memory of that case. 

“Er... yes,” John replied. 

“A Study in Pink. Nice!” Sherlock said and John wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a mark of disgust and disapproval. John hoped it was a compliment. 

“Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone,” John explained. “There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?”

“Um... no,” Sherlock stated. 

“Why not? I thought you'd be flattered," John said. 

“Flattered?” This irked Sherlock. Sitting up from his seat he turned to look at John. There was a flash of hurt within his eyes as he recited John’s post. "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." 

John was supposed to be his friend, yet he wrote something so harsh. It was something Sherlock knew well and that plagued his very being. It was the one of the reasons he had left her in that room. He had left Y/N there making his lips grow cold from wanting her. He knew he was ignorant in the ways of love. The very ways that Jim, her boyfriend, was able to give. Afterall, he was perfect, and Sherlock was not. 

“Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a…” John tried to explain.

“Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister…” Sherlock barked. He was angry and hurt. He was angry at himself for kissing her. He was hurt by John. He was hurt that he couldn’t love Y/N. However, Sherlock couldn’t say that. At least not now, so he released his anger, frustration, and fury through another source.  “...or who's sleeping with who... Whether the Earth goes round the Sun…It's not important.”

John was shocked. “Not impor...?! It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?”

“Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it," Sherlock spat. 

"Deleted it?” Y/N questioned. 

“Listen. This is my hard drive,” Sherlock pointed to his mind. “And it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful... really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?”

“But it's the solar system!” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, hell! What does that matter?!” Sherlock began to rage. "So, we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world!” 

Without a word, John opened the door to the apartment and left. His footsteps seemed louder as they pounded on the wooden staircase. 

“Where are you going?” Sherlock demanded. 

“John…,” Y/N called out. 

At the sound of Y/N’s voice, John turned around. “Out. I need some air.” He saw the look of pity on her face, but he knew in her eyes there was understanding. Suddenly, he bumped into something. He quickly glanced at the source and found Mrs. Hudson. 'Scuse me, Mrs... 

“Oh, sorry, love!” She chuckled. 

“Sorry,” John apologized before heading down the rest of the stairs and out the door. 

A mix between a sigh and a groan left Y/N’s mouth as she watched John’s disappearing figure. She whipped around to Sherlock and sent him a glare before busying herself with things in the kitchen. 

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and took one look at her grand-niece and Sherlock. “Ooh-ooh! Have you two had a little domestic?” There was silence after her comment. Quickly, Mrs. Hudson changed the subject to John. “–Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.”

Sherlock huffed and bounced out of his seat before stepping to the window. His long fingers drew back the curtain to watch John cross the street below. “Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful.” Sherlock sighed. “Isn't it hateful?”

“A little quiet and calm won’t kill you, Sherlock,” Y/N hissed over her shoulder. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on the young woman’s figure. The look wasn’t one of distaste like Mrs. Hudson was expecting. Instead, Sherlock’s blue eyes seemed to be longing for something. Mrs. Hudson softly smiled to herself. She knew that look well. Afterall, it is the very look all the young men in her romantic dramas had in their eyes when gazing upon their love interests. 

“Oh… Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up,” Mrs. Hudson said. 

Sherlock glanced away from Y/N. “Can't come too soon,” he muttered. 

Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at Sherlock and Y/N. Her mind began to flood with ideas on how to bring them together when she noticed new holes in her walls. “Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!” Sherlock’s smirk did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Hudson or Y/N. “I'm putting this on your rent, young man!”

Then, just like John had left, Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat. 

Sherlock was still standing by the window. His back was now turned to Y/N, but even so, she could still sense his ever-cocky smirk. 

“Don’t.” Y/N’s hand’s stilled as her voice pleaded. 

“Don’t?” Sherlock asked. His body now faced her. 

“Don’t,” Y/N repeated. She sent him a warning glare. 

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock began to approach her. “I’m bored,” he said with a precise enunciation. 

Y/N scoffed and took a few steps closer to Sherlock. “That’s not an excuse, Sherlock.” She raised her hands in frustration before dropping them by her side. She was now standing only a few steps away from him and his captivating blue eyes. Y/N shook her head and turned away towards the window. “You’re not the on–”

There it was. A deafening roar that broke the conversation as a sudden explosion ripped through the air. The force of the blast shattered the frail windows of 221B with a thunderous crash. Shards of glass were sent flying in every direction: down onto the streets below, on the wooden floor of the apartment, and deep into the skin of Y/N and Sherlock. The two of them were thrown off their feet with such a force that sent them flying. Furniture toppled over and the walls seemed to tremble with the shockwave of the explosion. 

Alarms blared, smoke filled the arm, people screamed, at least that is what Y/N would have heard if she could hear. Her head was ringing, screaming, pounding, and bleeding all at once. She felt immense pain coursing through her body as she tried to push herself off the floor. Then there was Sherlock. He hovered above her. Y/N’s dazed eyes watched the fear in Sherlock grow. His mouth opened and closed over and over. She couldn’t hear him. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock felt powerless as the fear and vulnerability washed over him. One minute he was conversing with her and the next her they were on the floor. It was the blood he saw first. The dark red liquid spilled from where the shards of glass imbedded themselves into her skin. He crawled over to her, and said the only thing he could, her name. Sherlock said it like a prayer and a plea. Then she moved, the pain evident in her face as she tried to sit up. The sight of her moving did little to stop Sherlock from rushing to her. He pulled her in close and into the safety of his embrace. 

The tremors in the 221 B Baker Street stilled and the kicked up dust fell back down to the floor. There they would sit, Y/N and Sherlock, holding on to each other like a life line. If they were to let go, they were confident they’d both break into a thousand pieces. So, there they would sit until the sound of police sirens and ambulances came cascading down the street to the rescue. 

______ 

The scent of old leather and perfume filled John’s nose as the light of the morning flooded his senses as the curtains drew back with a sharp screech. 

“Morning!” Sarah’s voice called out cheerfully. 

John winced as he sat up. He carefully turned his head back and forth, finally discovering where his pain came from, his neck. “Oh, mor... Morning,” John groaned. 

Sarah chuckled. “See? Told you you should've gone with the lilo.”

Shaking his head in refusal, John replied, “No, no, no, it's fine. I-I slept fine. It's very kind of you.”

“Well, maybe next time I'll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know,” Sarah joked. 

Smiling John, continued on with the joke. “What about the time after that?”

Sarah rolled her eyes playfully before reaching to turn on the telly.  The news flashed onto the box-like screen and the clear voice of the anchor woman spoke out. “Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century. The last time…”

For a moment, the two of them focused their attention on the telly to see if there was anything newsworthy before tuning it out as the morning background noise. 

“So, d'you want some breakfast?” Sarah asked. 

John sighed before turning back to look up at Sarah. “Love some.” 

Patting her hand on John’s shoulder, Sarah began to walk away. “Yeah, well you'd better make it yourself, 'cause I'm gonna have a shower!” 

Now it was John’s turn to roll his eyes with a hint of amusement. With his neck still horrifically sore, John decided he could wait a few minutes before starting up breakfast, instead, he turned his attention back to the telly. His hand took up the remote and turned up the volume. 

“...it fetched over twenty million pounds.  This one is anticipated to do even better. Back now to our main story. There's been a massive explosion in central London. As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement.”

Suddenly a dreadfully familiar street flashed upon the screen. It was Baker street, but not the street he had left the night before. No, this street was in disarray: Broken glass, ambulances and police cars, debris, fires, the list went on and John couldn’t bear to look at the screen any longer. 

“Sarah!” John yelled. He could hear the sound of water pouring out of the shower head. 

“Police have issued an emergency number…” The television continued to play. 

“Sarah!” John yelled again. His voice now echoed throughout the apartment. 

“...for friends and relatives…” The news broadcast interrupted. 

“Sorry! I've got to run!” John said before he dashed out the door hailing a cab to Baker Street. 

____

Panic coursed through John’s veins like blood. Even so, John still remained the polite gentleman his mother raised him to be. “'Scuse me, can I get through? 'Scuse me.” 

For the aftermath of an explosion there were an awful lot of people. Some of which John believed were intrigued by the destruction as if it was some sort of entertainment. 

“Can I go through?” He asked impatiently once he reached the police line. The officer standing guard shook his head. “I live over there.” John frantically pointed to the 221 B Baker Street and the officer reluctantly let him through. 

Nodding his head to nearby officers, John weaved between the chaos finally coming to the black door. It was truly a sight for sore eyes. Immediately, John opened the door, and darted up the stairs. “Sherlock. Sherlock!” John called out to his best friend. 

There was a sharp pizzicato note. Sherlock sat unamused in his chair with an annoyed expression plastered onto his face. His violin was still in pristine condition as he plucked the strings. 

“John,” Sherlock acknowledged. His attention was elsewhere. 

“I saw it on the telly,” John said out of breath.  “Are you okay? Where’s Y/N?”

“Here…” the woman groaned. She was holding an ice pack to her head. “...and I’m alright.”

John’s brows creased at her disheveled state. “Sherlock?” 

Sherlock blinked, bringing his attention to John. “Hmm? What? Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.” He played another note of annoyance on the instrument and turned back to John's chair. John tilted his head in confusion, the chair was occupied. “I can't,” Sherlock said to the person in the chair. 

"Can't?” It was Mycroft. John would recognize that voice anywhere.  

“The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time,” Sherlock explained. His eyes narrowed as they glanced over at Y/N. “Maybe ask your spy.”

Y/N let out a defeated sigh and clenched her eyes shut. “Sherlock… for the last time–” 

“Am I wrong?” Sherlock interrupted as he lowered his violin.  His grip on the bow in his other hand tightened. “You are under my brother’s employment afterall to…spy on me.” There was a nasty tone in his voice that made John shudder. 

“What?” John asked. His eyes darted between Sherlock, Y/N, and Mycroft for an explanation. 

“John, did you know Y/N took my brother’s deal? The very one you were offered when you first moved into Baker Street?”

“No, but–”

“She’s been spying on me ever since,” Sherlock spat. 

“Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded and the sight forced Sherlock to turn his gaze away from the woman. It hurt more than he thought it would seeing her like that, but he had to. She had hurt him just as much by conspiring with his brother. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s antics. “Oh, never mind this usual trivia. Sherlock, this is of national importance.”

The sound of Sherlock’s violin picked up again. “How's the diet?” He asked his brother. 

“Fine,” Mycroft said. He turned to John who was still standing in the entrance of the apartment. “Perhaps you can get through to him, John.”

“What?” John asked. 

“I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent,” Mycroft noted and he flashed a tense smile on his face.  

“If you're so keen,” Sherlock questioned, “why don't you investigate it?”

Mycroft shook his head, the smile was still present on his face, but it was anything but pleasant. “No, no, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so...well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this – it requires... legwork.” He eyed his brother’s long legs. 

A flat note rang in the air and Sherlock’s jaw tensed. “Sounds like a perfect job for Y/N.”

Y/N’s teeth dug into her lip leaving an iron taste in her mouth. “I’m getting a migraine,” she whispered. The growing ache in her mind could be from a matter of things; The recent explosion, how Sherlock had held onto her for hours after the event and now wouldn’t even look at her without disdain in his glossy blue eyes, or the increasing stress levels caused by her newly discovered feelings for the consulting detective. It all was growing too much and she felt like she’d drown in the sea of it all with no one to save her. 

“How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?” Sherlock abruptly asked his friend.  

“Sofa, Sherlock,” Mycroft corrected. “It was the sofa.”

Sherlock widened his eyes at his brother’s word. “Oh yes, of course.”

Meanwhile John was still trying to process Sherlock’s new animosity towards Y/N, the explosion, the presence of Mycroft, and how they knew he slept on the sofa. “How...? Oh, never mind.” Sherlock’s and his brother’s skills still amazed John despite the lengthy time he had known them. However, being on the receiving end of such skills wasn’t quite so delightful. 

Mycroft shuffled around in his seat and his posture began even straighter, if that was possible. His calculating eyes fell on Y/N. She had made herself small. Her legs were drawn in close to her chest and her head rested on her knees. Her eyes casted aside staring at one of the only undamaged spots on the wall. They were filled with utter misery. Mycroft felt like he should pity her, but he had better things to be worrying about than his brother’s sweetheart. It was obvious to Mycroft what his brother felt for the young woman and it wasn’t ideal. Sherlock was supposed to be free from all the trivial stuff that is accompanied by love, but it seemed no matter how hard Mycroft worked, the damned thing still snuck into his brother’s life and it appeared like he was partially to blame. Afterall, he had paid the woman to check in on Sherlock. 

“Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... pals.” Y/N’s shoulders tensed as she continued to ice the injury on her head. “What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine,” Mycroft mentioned. 

“I'm never bored,” she replied.  

“Good! “ Mycroft beamed, this smile resembled something a bit more real. “That's good, isn't it?”  Suddenly he stood up and handed a file to John, whose hands unconsciously held onto it. “Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant,” Mycroft explained, “found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.”

John opened the file and took a quick peek at the crime scene photos. “Jumped in front of a train?” He guessed from the gruesome scene depicted in the photos: A man lay dead with his eyes wide open next to train tracks. He shook the imagery from his brain before peeking up at Mycroft. 

“Seems like a logical assumption,” Mycroft muttered. 

John recognized that tone. It was the same one Sherlock had when he made an incorrect observation. “But...?”

"But?” Mycroft encouraged. 

“Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident,” John promptly said. It was the best response he could muster until he had something more. It was better to be vague than incorrect.  

Mycroft smiled at John’s words. “The MoD is working on a new missile defence system, the Bruce-Partington Program, it's called.” John nodded. “The plans for it were on a memory stick.” 

“That wasn't very clever,” Y/N added, the small comment brought a bit of light into her eyes. 

“It's not the only copy,” Mycroft told the woman. 

“Oh,” she apologetically said and the light was gone as fast as it came, replaced by sorrow.  

“But it is secret. And missing.”

“Top secret?” John asked, already knowing the answer. Afterall, Mycroft was the British government in person. 

“Very,” Mycroft replied. “We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you.” 

“I'd like to see you try,” Sherlock challenged. A cunning smirk grew on his face as his eyes were lit with a defiant fire. It raged on as he stared at Mycroft.  

“Think it over,” Mycroft tensely said, moving his gaze from his brother. It was not a fight he would win now, not with Sherlock still aggressive from his latest discovery. “Goodbye, John. Goodbye, Y/N. See you very soon.”

Sherlock huffed once his brother disappeared from view before he raised his bow with strict accuracy and began to loudly play the same phrase of music over and over. 

“Why'd you lie?” John had to yell over the music. “You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?” 

“Why shouldn't I?” Sherlock shrugged. He brought the bow close to his face, pretending to examine the thin horse hairs strewn together. 

“Oh! Oh, I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere,” John grumbled. “What happened between you two?” John pointed between Sherlock and Y/N. 

Sherlock just glowered in response. Y/N pinched the back of her neck letting out a defeated exhale. 

“He found out I took Mycroft’s deal to check in on him.”

“A spy. You’re a spy,” Sherlock spat. The fire in his eyes in his gaze from Mycroft’s presence diminished. John knew Sherlock was furious at his brother, not at Y/N. She was the ‘spy’ but it was Mycroft who was truly at fault in Sherlock’s mind. His blue eyes shivered as they admired Y/N. John internally smiled knowing a physical one would only gain Sherlock’s annoyance. He could see the reflection of yearning in Sherlock’s ocean eyes. They often say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and now John felt like he could truly see inside Sherlock’s soul. It was battered and bruised from the years empty from the light of sentiment. Now, with Y/N in view those bruises had faded, no longer an angry blue and purple, but a warm yellow. He was healing in her loving presence. She made him feel safe. Sherlock didn’t have to say it, John already knew. In his mind, John recalled all the times she was there for him, holding his hand or shutting down any harsh comment aimed in Sherlock’s direction. The longer Sherlock gazed at Y/N, the warm feeling in John’s heart only grew stronger. Sherlock was in love with Y/N. But Sherlock was an idiot. Love was strong but Sherlock’s lunacy appeared to be stronger.  

“No, I’m not. I’m just a messenger for a concerned brother,” Y/N replied. “And for your information I took the deal before I really even knew you. I wouldn’t even think about–” 

Sherlock played the strings louder. 

“Agh!” She groaned in frustration. Then Y/N clenched her hands into fists and raised them into the air before pushing herself off the couch. She brushed past John with a sad look in her eyes that made his heart suffocate at her predicament and in the blink of an eye the sound of her apartment door slamming shut echoed throughout the building. 

“Are you happy with yourself?” John angrily questioned Sherlock, but Sherlock ignored John’s presence. Instead, the consulting detective had discarded his violin and now occupied himself with his phone. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said over the phone. “Of course. How could I refuse?” With a click the call was over and an inferno of intrigue was lit in his blue eyes. He whipped around to face John. “ Lestrade,” Sherlock explained. “I've been summoned. Coming?”

No, John wanted to say. His anger at Sherlock’s actions and the disheartened state he consistently had been leaving Y/N as of late made him want to run and comfort her. John wanted to grab Sherlock by the collar and scold him for being so blind. He wanted to pry open Sherlock’s heart and deliver it to Y/N. He wanted them to no longer hurt. There were so many things John wanted for his two best friends. Yet John knew if he went to Y/N, Sherlock would tag along only resulting in more hurt for the two of them. It was in his nature for Sherlock to find Y/N. No matter how much the infuriatingly intelligent man wanted to deny it, he was drawn to her, seeking her out wherever he was. “If you want me to,” John defeatingly said. 

“Of course,” Sherlock replied as he flicked the collar of his coat up. “I'd be lost without my blogger and—” He didn’t finish his thought, but it didn’t take a genius to know who else he was going to say. It didn’t take cunning and wits for John to figure out that Sherlock would be lost, and is lost without her, his Y/N.  Yet here was Sherlock leading himself astray when he knew all paths would lead to her, and for once in all the time John had known Sherlock, he knew the man was truly insane. 

_____

Greg Lestrade was supposed to have the week off. He planned on taking a nice trip to visit his mother and father in the countryside and take a break from Sherlock Holmes and everything that seemed to follow the man. Greg was supposed to get some sleep for once in his life and maybe enjoy a few home-made meals instead of take-out dishes and frozen dinners. This time off seemed too good to be true, and it was. Rather than spending quality time with his elderly parents in the home of his childhood, Greg sat in his office filled to the brim with case files. The phones hadn’t stopped ringing since the explosion the other day. It was getting annoying, and now Sherlock had arrived, Greg’s workload got even bigger. 

“You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones,” Lestrade asked Sherlock. It was a rhetorical question. The strange cases were always the ones Sherlock solved for Scotland Yard. 

“Obviously.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“You've love this. That explosion... Where’s Y/N?” Lestrade peered around Sherlock and John hoping to catch sight of the third companion. He had only known the young woman for a few months, but she soon became ingrained in the chaos of it all. A slight frown appeared on his face, when he realized she was absent. She was the only glimpse of normal he could find around here, and now she was nowhere to be found. 

“Traitor,” Sherlock muttered. Lestrade sent John a questioning look to which John only shrugged. 

“Alright…anyways, that explosion–” Lestrade continued. 

“Gas leak, yes?” Sherlock phrased it more like a statement than a question. 

“No,” Lestrade corrected. 

Sherlock looked puzzled. He was hardly ever wrong. “No?”

“No. Made to look like one,” Lestrade explained. 

John’s eyes widened. “What?” He felt a pounding in his chest. It was an animosity he had never felt before, and it only grew stronger with each hit. Someone had purposefully hurt his family. His best friends. His home. 

“Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box,” Lestrade said. “A very strong box and inside it was this.” He raised up an envelope. On the well-kept paper, the name ‘Sherlock Holmes’ was carefully scribed. 

“You haven't opened it?” Sherlock questioned. He eyed the envelope with intrigue. The same anger in John was a light in Sherlock.  

Lestrade shook his head. “It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped.” 

“How reassuring!” Sherlock replied, his voice full of sarcasm. He snatched the envelope out of Greg’s hand and held it close to the light. His eyes narrowed as he observed every detail about the seemingly simple letter.  “Nice stationery. Bohemian,” he noted. 

“What?” Lestrade asked. 

“From the Czech Republic,” Sherlock specified.  “No fingerprints?”

“No,” Lestrade replied. 

Straightening up, Sherlock lowered the envelope. “She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duo fold, iridium nib.”

"She?” John repeated. His tone was full of disbelief. 

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. He was a man of few words today. His mind was elsewhere. The explosion, the gas leak was purposeful. He was a target, and so was she. Y/N. He had to keep her safe. It was a foreign feeling, his mind being filled by his desire for her safety rather than the thrill of the case, and no matter how much Sherlock fought it, the desire only grew stronger. 

“Obviously!” John grunted in defeat. Without a warning, Sherlock tore the envelope open revealing the contents inside. A block of pink slipped out the envelope and sent John into a shock. “But that... That's the phone. The pink phone.”

“What, from the Study in Pink?” Lestrade wondered with eyes just as wide as John’s. 

“Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like…” Sherlock mumbled before tilting his head to face Lestrade. “The Study in Pink? You read his blog?” 

“Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?” Lestrade genuinely asked and a wave of vile snickers echoed throughout the office. Sherlock’s shoulder’s tensed and his hand ached for the comfort of another–Of Y/N. Sherlock wished she was there, but he couldn’t–no shouldn’t be wishing for that. Sherlock closed his eyes; everything was all too complicated.  

“It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new,” Sherlock noted once he returned his focus to the present case. 

“Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone,” John mentioned, and he looked over Sherlock’s shoulder at the device. 

“Which means your blog has a far wider readership,” Sherlock muttered, and John gulped. John was proud of his work, but knowing a criminal who meant his family harm was reading it was almost too much to bear. 

Turning on the pink device, the screen came to life and an automated voice spoke. “You have one new message.” Then five beeps followed after. 

“Is that it?” John asked after hearing the beeping.  

Sherlock frowned, but then a photo appeared on the tiny screen. “No. That's not it.”

“What the hell are we supposed to make of that?” Lestrade gasped looking at the photo. It was a room: practically pristine with everything cleaned and stored away. In all honesty, it looked like something out of a housing catalog. “An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!”

While Lestrade threw a fit, Sherlock found his voice stolen away. His lungs collapsed as his eyes scanned over the photo. This feeling was one he hadn’t felt in awhile. A feeling he hoped to never feel again. The very one that encapsulated his soul the night in the museum during the Blind Banker case. As he looked at the picture, Sherlock realized that he knew this place, yet it wasn’t the place that brought a momentary lapse in his composure. It was where the photo was. “It's a warning,” Sherlock whispered. 

“A warning?” John asked. 

“Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that,” Sherlock explained. “Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again. I know where that is. Let’s go.” With shaky hands, Sherlock pocketed the phone. 

By the time John had processed Sherlock’s words the man had already left Lestrade’s office. “H-hang on,” John called after Sherlock. “What's gonna happen again?”

When Sherlock looked back at John, there was the terror of uncertainty reflected in his eyes. Cases like these typically excited Sherlock, making John doubt the fear in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock was hardly ever scared.  Yet Sherlock’s response only confirmed John’s observations. Sherlock Holmes was terrified. 

____

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock bellowed the moment he returned home to Baker Street. In tow followed John. 

“Yes dear?” Sherlock felt a slight feeling of relief when Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out of her apartment. The elder woman’s eyes smiled at the young detective until she locked onto his trajectory, and she stepped out blocking his path. “No, Sherlock. She doesn’t want to talk to you–” 

Sherlock brushed her aside. “The door's open,” he announced to John.  

“Oh! Men!” Mrs. Hudson said wringing her hands in the air with frustration. She caught sight of John. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything–”

“Stupid?” John finished. “I’m way ahead of you Mrs. Hudson.” Then quickly he ran after Sherlock to Y/N’s apartment.

There was a loudly hissing sound when they entered. Bjørn was furious with the intrusion of Sherlock Holmes and so was the cat’s owner. He growled as Sherlock strolled into Y/N’s apartment like he owned the place. His strides were long and quick as he approached the closed room in the back of the flat: Y/N’s spare room.

“Christ Sherlock! What are you–” Y/N gasped as the man intruded into her home. Her patience for Sherlock was running thin. 

Sherlock stopped in his tracks at the sound of Y/N’s voice. He stood frozen ignorant of the angry cat. His eyes only saw one thing, Y/N. The fear and anxiety that had piled up on his journey back to Baker Street dissipated at the sight of her. Now that he gazed upon her, Sherlock knew he couldn’t live without her in his presence. It was if his eyes were crafted to only look at her. In this trance, Sherlock stood watching her as the confusion appeared on her face. 

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” Y/N asked. Just as her voice drew him into her spell, her words pulled him back out. 

“He's a bomber, remember," John cautioned everyone as he appeared in Y/N’s doorway. 

“Does anyone care to fill me in on anything?” Y/N looked around at the two men. None of them answered. Sherlock, now free from her spell, turned back to the spare room. He trekked over to the door and swung it open. 

It was a neatly organized room despite the cardboard boxes shoved in the corner. The walls matched those in the living room. Everything had a place, except for one thing. In the center of the room sat a pair of shoes. Shoes that hadn’t been there before. 

 “Sherlock what are you doing?”  Y/N hurried on after him. “Why are you–how’d those get there?” 

“That’s exactly my question.” Sherlock stepped away from the door and approached the shoes. He carefully took a step closer and closer until he deemed the shoes no threat. 

“They’re shoes,” John muttered. “Are they yours?” 

“Not mine. I don’t even know how they got here,” Y/N whispered. “Now do you mind explaining things to me. What about the bomber?”

Before any of them could answer Y/N, the phone in Sherlock’s pocket buzzed. He quickly retrieved it, placing it on speaker. 

“Hello,” A soft voice said followed by ragged breathing. 

“Hello?” Sherlock replied. 

“H-hello... sexy,” the voice said. There was a sniffle. The voice, whoever it belonged to began to cry.

“Who's this?” Sherlock demanded. 

A sob from the phone echoed around the room. “I've... sent you... a little puzzle... just to say hi.”

“Who's talking? Why are you crying?” Sherlock listened as the woman over the phone continued to cry. 

“I-I'm not... crying… I'm typing....and this... stupid... bitch... is reading it out.” 

Y/N gasped and raised a hand to cover her mouth. She had seen many things working with Sherlock. Being held hostage was something she knew well. It was an experience she never wished on anyone, and an experience she’d never be able to forget. John felt Y/N’s demeanor change and offered his hand as comfort. She gratefully grabbed his hand squeezing it tight as she fought off the terrors of memory. 

“The curtain rises,” Sherlock whispered as if he was connecting the dots. 

“What?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing,” he responded.  

“No, what did you mean?” John urged Sherlock to answer. 

“I've been expecting this for some time,” Sherlock said. Y/N’s hand squeezed John’s tighter. The sight made Sherlock tense. 

“Twelve hours to solve... my puzzle, Sherlock” the crying woman read. “...or I'm going... to be... so naughty.” The call had ended. 

“So, who d'you suppose it was?” John was the first to speak after the concerning call. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock quizzically raised his brow up. His mind was still focused on Y/N’s hand in John’s and not his. 

John blinked. “The woman on the phone – the crying woman,” he mentioned.  

“Oh, she doesn't matter.” Sherlock waved his hand as if to brush away the anxiousness John felt for the hostage. “She's just a hostage. No lead there.” 

Y/N released John’s hand and her jaw hung open with shock. “Sherlock! John wasn't thinking about leads.”

“You're not going to be much use to her,” Sherlock shrugged. 

“Really? Sherloc–” Y/N scoffed.

“I need a lab,” Sherlock mumbled before walking out of the room with the shoes in hand. “Come on, Y/N! John!” 

Taking in a deep breath, Y/N and John shared an expressionless look. They were worried with all of this new information. What did Sherlock mean he was expecting this? What about the bomber and the shoes? There were too many questions and little to no answers to be found. With the look, an uneasy feeling made their stomachs churn. They felt sick, but there was no turning back now. A case needed to be solved. A woman’s life was on the line as well as the potential for more tragedy and destruction. 

“We’re coming Sherlock!”

____

John paced around the lab with his arms crossed over his chest. “Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?” 

“The bomber's too smart for that,” Sherlock boredly said before holding his hand out.  “Pass me my phone.”

“Where is it?” John asked as his eyes darted around the room looking for the small cellular device. 

“Jacket,” Sherlock replied. John’s shoulders slumped. Sherlock was wearing his jacket. Biting the inside of his cheek, John reached for Sherlock’s pocket. 

“Careful,” Sherlock cautioned without taking his eyes away from the microscope.  

John rolled his eyes as his fingers carefully brushed over Sherlock’s phone. “Text from your brother,” John announced. 

Sherlock let out a disappointed grunt. “Delete it.”

“Delete it?” John questioned. 

“Missile plans are out of the country now,” Sherlock noted. “Nothing we can do about it.” 

John huffed. “Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important.” He turned the phone around to flash Sherlock the screen. Sherlock didn’t look up from the microscope. 

“Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?” Sherlock muttered. 

“His what?” John asked. His eyes widened and he peered back at the phone. How had Sherlock known?

As if sensing John’s doubt, Sherlock began to explain. “Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?”

John just stared at Sherlock before reluctantly deleting the text messages. 

Immediately after the messages on Sherlock’s phone disappeared, Y/N’s phone buzzed. “Sherlock. He’s texting me now.”

Sherlock looked up from the microscope at Y/N. “Then maybe think next time before agreeing to my brother’s antics. Now shut up. I need silence.” He winced at his words upon seeing the pang of hurt in her face. He wasn’t planning on them coming out so harsh, yet they were already spoken. 

“Really?!” Y/N scoffed. All the pain in her expression vanished and was replaced with an unknown yet terrifying look. John shivered and he was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end.  “Alright then! John. I’m off to the bathroom to cool down before I murder him.” She reached for her coat, before stomping out the door. 

Once the door had clicked shut, John turned to Sherlock. “Try and remember there's a woman here who might die,” he hissed. 

“What for?” Sherlock impatiently said.  “This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?” Sherlock didn’t give John’s stunned expression any thought as the machine next to him beeped. “Ah! He exclaimed. 

Suddenly a young brunette entered the room with an adoring smile on her face. “Any luck?” Molly asked. John felt relieved at her presence. 

“Oh, yes!” Sherlock replied, his mouth still hung open waiting to say more until the door opened once more. 

It was a young man. “Oh, sorry. I didn't…” He nervously glanced around the room.

“Jim! Hi!” Molly beamed at the man. “Come in! Come in!” She waved him in and lovingly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.” She introduced. Sherlock barely spared a glance at the man. “And this is John. And thi…where’s Y/N?” Molly wondered. 

“Bathroom,” John replied before sticking out his hand for Jim to shake. “John Watson. Hi. Funny, Y/N’s boyfriend has the same name,” He commented looking between Molly and Jim. John had actually never met Jim yet, he was always too busy with work or Y/N. Not that John really minded. However, he noticed a flinch in Jim’s expression at the mention of Y/N, but it was gone before he could read further into it. 

Jim chuckled and ran his hand along the back of his neck. His dark brown eyes scanned the consulting detective who was still staring at the screen of the computer next to him. “Jim’s a common name…,” he said to John. Then Jim turned to Sherlock. “Uh Hi. So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly told me all about you. You on one of your cases?” He pointed a shaking hand to the objects captivating Sherlock’s attention. 

“Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance,” Molly proudly grinned as she adored her boyfriend. Her cheeks flushed a light pink. John smiled at the sight.  

“Gay,” Sherlock coughed. 

The smile on Molly’s face flattered. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock shook his head. He removed his eyes from the microscope. “Um, hey.”

“Hi.” Jim’s face flushed even redder than Molly’s. He stuck out his hand for Sherlock to shake, only knocking over one of the tools off the counter. “Sorry. Sorry!” He apologized. He twirled around placing the object back on the counter. “Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?” He told Molly.  

“Yeah!” Molly smiled. Her eyes trailed as Jim's figure turned to leave the room. 

“'Bye.” He said to her, giving her a swift kiss on the cheek. 

“Bye,” Molly whispered back.

“It was nice to meet you,” Jim said to Sherlock and John. 

John replied for both of them. “You too.” And then Jim was gone. 

The door clicked shut “What d'you mean, gay? We're together,” Molly growled. 

“And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly.” Sherlock sarcastically said. “You've put on three pounds since I last saw you.” There was a bitterness in his voice. He hated it. He hated how Molly was happy. He hated how his name was Jim. It all reminded Sherlock of her. Y/N. He couldn’t have her because of her damned boyfriend. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. Sherlock wanted to scream. 

“Two and a half,” Molly corrected. 

“No, three,” Sherlock stated. Molly’s jaw clenched and her eyes grew watery. 

“Sherlock…,” John warned. 

“He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil...? He's not,’ Molly denied. All joy in her face was replaced with sadness. 

“With that level of personal grooming?” Sherlock scoffed.  

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair,” John said. His tone was protective as he stood up for Molly. 

“You wash your hair. There's a difference,” Sherlock noted. “No-no – tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear.”

“His underwear?” Molly’s voice broke. 

“Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here…” Sherlock lifted up the bowl Jim had knocked over and there sat a small slip of paper. Jim’s number.  “...and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain.”  Sherlock tossed her the paper as a waterfall of tears fell from Molly’s face. She ran out of the room not a moment later. 

_____

Bathroom. Y/N and Molly

Women building women up. 

Cultural differences. Y/N loved discovering them as she progressed through her new life in London. But now, as she stands in front of one of the mirrors in the public bathrooms, she can say she found a cultural similarity, crying alone in the women’s bathroom. 

Y/N found herself to be releasing tears more often than she thought. It was both a terrific and terrible thing; Terrific because she could express herself without any judgment, horrible because she was doing it more. However, what was worse was because all the tears came from a single source, Sherlock. 

Sniffling, Y/N wiped the latest of tears falling down her cheeks. The tiny droplets were leaving noticeable streaks down her face and her hand eagerly erased them. Less evidence for Sherlock to notice. 

Suddenly the door swung open, startling Y/N. She jumped back and instinctively turned her face away from the door. Her cheeks flushed red as she hoped her eyes weren’t as red as she thought they were. However, all signs of embarrassment fled when she heard a muffled whimper beside her. 

Correction. Bathrooms were the perfect place for women to cry together. 

Turning her head to view the addition to the bathroom, Y/N saw Molly. It took the young woman to remember her, but Y/N could recall the few times they had met before. Each time dealing with a case.  More tears crept into Y/N’s eyes as she saw Molly hunched over hiding her face with her shoulders. 

“Molly?” Y/N whispered. She stepped towards the other woman wondering if she should put her hand on Molly’s back to comfort her. She decided against it. 

Molly jolted up at the sound of her name. Her fist clenched tightly around a small sheet of paper in her hand. “Huh? Oh, Y/N. Um, sorry about…” Molly wiped her tears feeling embarrassed until she saw Y/N’s. “You too?”

Y/N nodded, wiping a few more tears away. “Are you alright,” Y/N found herself asking. 

Shaking her head, Molly glanced down. “My boyfriend is gay. He just–” A sob broke her train of thought and Molly almost collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for Y/N’s gentle hold. 

“Men suck,” Y/N muttered as she held Molly helping stand up once more. 

A light chuckle left Molly’s mouth at Y/N’s words. “They really do. Here I thought he might be nice, but he just used me to get his number to Sherlock and then he went and did his thing, you know,” Molly motioned with her hands when words no longer seemed to find her.

“When he deducted you?” Y/N finished. Molly could only nod before breaking down again. Y/N frowned. She had seen firsthand Sherlock’s deducting abilities. He never held anything back for the sake of accuracy. Oftentimes he’d forget one key factor, feelings. Y/N had yet to be on the other end of Sherlock’s observations. She was sure John had something to do with it; he was always protective of her when it came to Sherlock’s judgment. However, Molly was never spared. “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered. 

“It’s not your fault…” Molly began but Y/N cut her off. She stood Molly up right and looked into her watery eyes. 

“No, I know it’s not, but sometimes it's nice to know you’re not alone when it comes to Sherlock.” Y/N smiled, and Molly’s eyes widened. 

“He’s made you cry?” She asked.

Y/N somberly nodded. “A lot actually.” Saying those words made more tears appear. 

Molly looked at Y/N with confusion. “But he’s…I thought he…well, he always looks like he’s…” she mumbled nervously. Raising a brow, Y/N urged Molly to continue. “Why would he make you cry when…I thought he was in love with you.”

Y/N froze. “What?” 

“It’s obvious. At least it is to everyone. Sherlock really likes you,” Molly said. Tears no longer fell from her eyes. 

Her heart jumped at Molly’s words. Sherlock. Love. Obvious. “Really? Because it doesn’t feel like that.” If anything, Y/N thought Sherlock hated her now. It was as if she could never do anything right anymore after that night in the hotel. Even her need to breath made Sherlock tense. If he was in love, he sure had a strange way of showing it. But just the idea of Sherlock being in love with her washed away all sadness. It filled Y/N with hope. 

That was the other great thing about women crying together in bathrooms, they built hope together. You never left the bathroom sadder than when you entered it. You always emerged revived. It was the power of women. Something that was the same all over the world. 

“I’m sorry,” Molly whispered, and Y/N knew Molly was saying it for the same reasons she had said it to her. They weren’t alone. 

They stood in the bathroom chatting with each other for minutes longer. Each word only gave the women back strength they thought that they had lost. Soon, they could stand on their own. Their cheeks were no longer wet, and their eyes were no longer puffy and red. They were ready to face the world once more. 

_____

“Sherlock. What did you do?” Y/N hissed as she entered the lab. Her talk to Molly only made her even more infuriated with Sherlock. 

Sherlock immediately knew what Y/N was talking about. “Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?” He smiled. 

Y/N’s eyes ticked. 

"Kinder? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind,” John said. “He announced rudely to Molly her boyfriend was gay,” he explained to Y/N. 

“I know, I heard all about it in the bathroom as she was crying. Sherl–” Y/N scolded. 

“Go on, then,” Sherlock interrupted. His gaze was on John as he raised his hand to the shoes on the counter. 

“Mm?” John stared back at Sherlock confused. Y/N’s mouth hung wide open. A fly could have flown in and out and she wouldn’t have noticed. 

“You know what I do. Off you go,” Sherlock clarified now looking at the shoes. 

“No,” John shook his head. “You hurt Molly, and then interrupted Y/N. I’m not–”

“Go on,” Sherlock insisted. Y/N began to curse in the background. 

John angrily placed his hands on his hips. “I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try to disseminate…”

“An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me,” Sherlock sarcastically smiled. 

“Yeah, right!”  Y/N huffed. 

“Really,” Sherlock repeated. His tone was calm and serious. 

John bit his tongue as he stared at Sherlock. “Fine,” he grumbled before moving onto the shoes. “I dunno, they're just a pair of shoes. Trainers.”

Sherlock nodded. “Good.” 

“Umm... they're in good condition. I'd say they were pretty new... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while,” John continued. “Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs.”

“You're in sparkling form,” Sherlock praised. It struck John’s pride just right to keep him talking and the focus off of him and Y/N. “What else?” 

“Well, they're quite big, so a man's,” John noted. His eyes glanced at Sherlock and then to Y/N as they watched him. 

“But...?”

“But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip,” John said. “Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid.”

Sherlock was beaming now. “Excellent. What else?”

“Uh... that's it," John muttered. His hand flopped to his sides as if to further express the point. 

“That's it?” Sherlock was disappointed. 

“How did I do?” John asked like he was a child being tested on the colors of the rainbow. 

“Well, John; really well,” Sherlock began. John softly smiled. “I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know…”

Y/N saw red. “If you’re so wise then Sherlock, show us what you’ve got.”

“Gladly,” Sherlock smiled at her, taking a bow with his head. “The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored. Changed the laces three... no, four times.  Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old.” 

“Twenty years?” John questioned. 

“They're not retro, they're original. Limited edition - two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine,” Sherlock explained. 

John shook his head. “But there's still mud on them. They look new.”

“Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it.” Sherlock peered at the shoes. 

“And how do you know that?” Y/N asked, stepping closer to the counter with the shoes. 

“Pollen,” Sherlock smirked. “Clear as a map reference to me. South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind.”

“So what happened to him?” John wondered. 

“Something bad. He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So, a child with big feet gets…” Sherlock trailed off and his eyes bulged. “Oh.”

“What?” Y/N and John eagerly asked. 

“Carl Powers,” Sherlock whispered. 

John and Y/N looked at each other as if they had missed something. “Sorry, who?”

“Carl Powers, John,” Sherlock said. The annoyance in his voice was noticeable. 

“What is it?” Y/N found herself asking. 

“It's where I began,” Sherlock muttered. “Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?”

As Sherlock relayed the story, something deep within Y/N had risen. “Carl Powers…huh.” She whispered to herself. The name felt familiar in her mouth. She couldn’t place why. 

“But you remember,” John noted. 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. 

“Something fishy about it?” John asked. 

“Nobody thought so – nobody except me,” Sherlock explained. “I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.” 

“Started young, didn't you?” John jokingly said. Sherlock ignored it. 

“The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head.”

“What?” Y/N wondered.  

“His shoes,” Sherlock said. 

“What about them?” John looked at Sherlock stare off into the distance. 

“They weren't there,” Sherlock pushed himself out of the chair and stood up. “I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes...until now.” 

Sherlock had put on his coat in an instant before moving towards Y/N. With each step he took toward her, the ache in his chest lessened. “Right. Y/N with me.” His hand reached for hers wrapping around them so tightly she wouldn’t be able to escape. He didn’t care if she was pissed at him. All he cared about was keeping her safe. She could only be safe when he was with her. His observant eyes would keep danger away. He would keep the monster from twenty-years ago far away from her. The very one who broke into her apartment. The very monster who was warning and taunting him. “John, go deal with my brother.”

John stood dazed as he watched Sherlock drag Y/N behind him. They were gone before he could give Sherlock his reply. “Uh…fine.”

_____

It wasn’t often Mycroft got visitors. Although, to be fair, all his visitors were invited, so they weren’t technically visitors. “John. How nice,” Mycroft said. It said more to be socially acceptable than from joy that John had visited. “I was hoping you wouldn't be long. How can I help you?” Again, another trivial social phrase. Mycroft knew exactly why John was here, however being the British government required such pleasantries that his brother could afford not to have. 

“Thank you. Um, well,” John looked around Mycroft’s office. It was exactly as he expected. The office was practically decorated. The walls only had two paintings, each on opposite sides to create a sense of symmetry. There were a few chairs and of course a desk. Everything else was empty space. Mycroft was a practical person, a trait sometimes shared by Sherlock (barely).  “I was wanting to... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans - the missile plans.”

Mycroft raised a brow up skeptically. “Did he?” 

“Yes.” John nodded before moving his eyes to look at a small notebook with questions and notes about the case. “He's investigating now. He's, er, investigating away,” John corrected. “Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man.”

Leaning back into his chair, Mycroft began to answer John’s questions. “Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington programmed in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies... Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening.” 

“Right. He was found at Battersea, yes?” John noted, “So he got on the train.” 

“No,” Mycroft replied. 

John looked up from his notes. The scribbling with his pen stopped. “What?” 

“He had an Oyster card…” Mycroft said. “...but it hadn't been used.” 

“Must have bought a ticket,” was John’s response and he went back to jotting down some notes. 

“There was no ticket on the body,” Mycroft corrected. 

John stopped again. “Then…”

Mycroft had grown a bit impatient. His back straightened and he leaned in the direction of where John stood. “Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?” He smiled letting John know he knew what his brother was actually doing. 

“He-he's fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going…” John hesitantly gulped. Despite it all he hid his nervousness well. “...very well. It's, um, you know – he's completely focused on it.”

_____

Sherlock was, in fact, not focused on it. With his thumb tucked under his chin and his pointer fingers in front of his lips, Sherlock focused on Y/N. Well, he was thinking of the case, but each thought about the case was broken up with thought of her. 

The woman in question was making tea. She had to keep her hands busy so she wouldn’t accidentally strangle Sherlock for dragging her along and giving her no explanation. Even so, she had tried talking to him about everything: the kiss, the case, their relationship, Carl Powers, and the shoes found in her apartment. Each attempt was met with silence. All Sherlock seemed to do was stare at her. She found it unnerving as his careful eyes trailed across her face and body. 

“Poison,” Sherlock muttered. 

“What?” Y/N placed the teapot on the stove. Her eyes flitted over to Sherlock who was still gazing at her. 

“Clostridium botulinum!” He exclaimed before jumping out of his seat and pranced over to her. He had begun his dance. The one Y/N hated to admit she enjoyed watching. It really was beautiful how Sherlock twirled around the room as the ideas came to him. Each step entangled with new observations from the case. “It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet! Carl Powers!” 

“Wait, are you saying he was murdered?” Y/N asked for clarification. Her eyes floated around the room finding Sherlock’s figure as he approached her. 

“Remember the shoelaces?” he smiled and she thought that this was her Sherlock. The intelligent, lively, and caring man was back. She could see it in his eyes as he looked at her. She had missed that look. She had missed his eyes on her. Once her Sherlock had returned, Y/N also felt herself return. 

“Mmm,” she nodded letting Sherlock know she was following. He was close now. Just as close as he had been when he held her after the explosion. 

“The boy suffered from eczema,” Sherlock beamed. “It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles and he drowns.”

Her stomach jolted at the proximity, but she longed to be closer. “What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?” 

Instinctively Sherlock’s hands found the sides of her face. His cold fingers were warmed by the heat in her cheeks. “It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it. But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet. That's why they had to go,” Sherlock whispered. His nose brushed against hers. They were so close. He could just–

“So how do we let the bomber know…” Y/N wondered. 

Sherlock licked his lips and then let his hands grow cold once more. “Get his attention…”

“Mmm-hmm,” Y/N stepped in closer just as he stepped away. The distance remained the same.

“...stop the clock,” Sherlock said. His blue eyes trailed over hers before coming to rest on her lips. The very lips he had kissed so fervently not so long ago. He could still taste her on his tongue, but it was faint. The sweet intoxicating flavor plagued his mind and he knew he was addicted. He had to have more or else he’d waste away in withdrawal for the rest of his life. 

“The killer kept the shoes all these years,” Y/N said. Her breath was heavy weighing down her lungs. The air she exhaled was exhilarating. 

“Yes. Meaning…,” Sherlock muttered. 

“He's our bomber,” she finished. 

Before they could lean in closer and ease the ache in their souls, the pink phone buzzed. 

“Well done, you,” the woman cried. “Come and get me.”

When Sherlock stepped away from Y/N, the pain in his chest grew a million times worse. “Where are you? Tell us where you are.”

_____

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Pregnant S/o Escaping

S/o pregnant with Sherlocks Child

Jealous cause S/os getting attention at the Gym

S/o Breaking Down over a Halloween Prank

Physically weak s/o

Sherlock vs Moriarty: S/os birthday fluff

Sherlock vs Moriarty: getting S/os attention

Smart S/o yet is too trusting

Fighting over a S/o whos great at singing

Affection HC

How he shows his love when off on work

Finding themselves stuck in the amazon with S/o

Finding themselves stuck in the amazon with S/o prt 2

Encouraging S/o to get candy with their rival

S/o being spiteful and challenging him

S/o playing horror games

S/o who barely eats TW

S/o who comes from a long line of assassins and government officials

Sherlock Holmes

This is for your Protection

S/o who he cant read

Sherlock vs Moriarty

Sherlock vs Mycroft

Possessive S/o

Vampire Sherlock

Sending Sherlock a Love Letter

Halloween Date

Life Threatening Situation

S/o getting overprotective when Sherlocks insulted

Bed Sharing

Timid S/o being harassed by their ex

Hacker Crush realizing their Husbands having a Affair

Crush found stood up

Being the cause of S/os Amnesia

“Keep your sluttish hand away from MY man.”

“Youre all i think about”

Whipped and Soft for S/o

Jealousy Headcannons

S/o whos stressed over School

Single Parent S/o

Fluffy Headcannons

S/o who is scared of relationships for theyve never been in one

American S/o

Yandere Letter

Murder Mystery

S/o who charges straight into danger

Extremely calm S/o

How hard he fell for S/o

S/o who always accompanies him on cases

Sick S/o

How he shows his love

Sherlock vs Moriarty: getting S/os attention

Sherlock vs Moriarty: S/os birthday fluff

Fighting over a S/o whos great at singing

Finding themselves stuck in the amazon with S/o

Finding themselves stuck in the amazon with S/o prt 2

Encouraging S/o to get candy with their rival

Getting S/o a puppy

Formal business S/o dropping everything when he wants them

S/o who plays minecraft a lot

Christian S/o

Mycroft Holmes

Headcannons

Sherlock vs Mycroft

Asking him to sign a marriage certificate

Mycroft vs Moriarty

Trying to Escape

Dense Crush

Irene Adler

Headcannons

Sherlock

NS FW Headcannons

Sub Sherlock cumming in his pants 

Irene

NS FW Headcannons

[redskull199987]

Kidnapping of a Nobblewoman

William James Moriarty x female!reader

Word count: 1.8k

Warning:kidnapping, kind of SA, but not really idk? There is touchung without consent, blood, death, fluff at the end

Summary:You are supposed to accompany William to the University in Durham when something happens that the Criminal Mastermind didn't expect...

Masterlist

"Y/N, please hurry up," William said, looking at me encouragingly.

"I'm coming," I replied softly.

We were standing at the station waiting for the train to Durham.

William had a lecture there and I was to accompany him.

"The train should be here any minute," Will added, letting his gaze wander over the train tracks.

"I think I left my book on the bench," I mumbled, looking at him, "I'll be right back."

William nodded, "Be careful!"

I rushed back to the bench we were sitting on and yes, my book was still there.

I quickly took it and wanted to run back to Will.

But as I walked past a small alley, I could hear faint calls.

"Help!?" It was difficult to understand but clearly audible.

I hesitated, Will was standing merely ten meters away. I could get to him, but something in me stopped me.

I gripped my book tightly and headed down the alley.

"Hello?" I asked hesitantly. It was pretty dark here even though it was the middle of the day.

suddenly a tall man stepped out of the darkness.

I took a step back, startled.

He looked quite poor, wore normal peasant clothes and looked at me intently.

"Sorry," he said.

"Are you Lady Y/L/N, Earl Moriarty's fiancée?" he asked politely.

"That's me," I said confused, "Who are you?"

"Grab her," he whispered, and suddenly two big guys with daggers appeared behind him.

One grabbed my arm, but I dodged, having learned how to fight.

but I wasn't fast enough, he caught my wrist and pulled me to the alley.

"William!?" I yelled and watched him turn to me in shock before the kidnapper put his hand over my mouth and held a dagger to my throat.

"Shut up!" he muttered while his accomplice tied my hands.

"Y/N!?" I heard Will shout, but he was bumped into by someone who passed him and fell to the ground.

the kidnappers continued to drag me down the alley to a carriage and just as William got to his feet we drove off and he lost sight of us.

"Release me!" I yelled, trying to kick, but one of the kidnappers grabbed my neck and painfully dug his fingertips into my skin.

"You shut up, got it?" He raised a knife.

I weighed my chances. unfortunately there wasn't much escape, so I nodded and he lowered the knife.

His buddy took a piece of cloth and tied it over my eyes.

"Now shut up, little mouse"

"That wasn't one of our plans, Louis," William said to his brother, looking at him intently, "Y/N was kidnapped!"

His brother just looked down in silence, after all he knew William's fiancée and loved her like a sister.

"We'll find her," Moran interfered, who now entered the room with Fred and Bond.

"I'll start looking right away," Fred added and was gone again.

fear for his beloved was written all over William's face and everyone present knew that it would be difficult for him to keep a cool head and make a plan now.

"William," Louis said calmly, "We'll find her, but when we do, we'll need a plan."

he looked at him meaningfully.

"Yes,"William whispered and jumped up, "I already have an idea. Where's Albert?"

"Wake up," I felt cold water being splashed on my face.

Someone roughly pulled me to my feet and tore off the blindfold.

"you're going to the boss," he murmured, tugging at my arm until I gave in and followed him.

They took me to a large room with floor to ceiling windows, it was already night and the moonlight shone on the dirty floor.

"Lady Y/L/N!" a voice called out of the darkness, "Soon to be Lady Moriarty, won't you?"

You could hear the glee as he stepped out of the darkness.

"May I introduce myself?" he said politely and walked to a small side table next to the sofa and armchair.

"I'm Count Albus," he took a sip of tea, "and I'm facing bankruptcy."

I had to laugh.

"What's so funny? Does my suffering amuse you?" he scoffed, all niceties faded.

"No," I said quietly, "I'm amused that you squandered too much money on hunting children and thus led to your own downfall."

He looked at me angrily. I watched as he put the cup back and walked toward me. He raised his hand and raised his hand to punch.

the left side of my face felt numb after he finished.

I let my head hang low in pain, but he tugged at my hair and grabbed my head forcefully.

I looked into his eyes.

"Now listen to me! You and your fiancée together have enough money to fund all of London"

"So you want to blackmail him?" I suggested.

He slapped me one more time, before grabbing my hair again.

I felt a bruise forming on my lower lip and blood running down my chin.

"Unfortunately, yes," he whispered, eyeing me, "Right now, a ransom note is being sent to Lord Moriarty."

"Well, you'll have to wait a long time for an answer," I replied.

"He'll answer, I'm sure of that," he let go of me, "He loves you, truly. something very honorable and yet..."

The Count looked at me intently.

"Let's get down to the pastime," he murmured, hurrying toward me.

He roughly grabbed my neck and then pressed his lips to mine.

I tried to fight back, but his grip was unbreakable and he pinned me down.

finally Albus broke away. He licked his lips greedily. Blood on his own face now. My blood

"This is going to be fun," he murmured, kneeling in front of me. Since I was tied to a chair, there wasn't much of an escape from him.

This time he placed his hand on the back of my neck, his fingertips playing with my hair, which was now cascading in long waves over my shoulders.

Suddenly he roughly grabbed the back of my head and pulled my head to the side so he could have more access to my neck.

without warning, he quickly kissed up my neck to the nape of my neck. I writhed in disgust, but couldn't do anything.

"Well," whispered Albus, "Calm down, lady."

The kisses grew longer and more painful, he literally bit down and I felt his other hand wander to my waist.

Suddenly a shot rang out and a window to our right shattered.

Albus backed away, startled. I breathed a sigh of relief. Will and the others had to be there.

"That's it then," I muttered as more shots rang out and Albus' men screamed.

two rushed in but they promptly went down, Two bullets to the back of the head.

"What's going on here?" Albus asked, puzzled.

"Scotland Yard!" someone shouted from outside.

"Damn," Albus had gone completely insane now, he grabbed a dagger with an ornate hilt and ran towards me.

He untied my bonds, but before I could escape, he grabbed my arm and pulled me along.

"William!?" I yelled as he pulled me with him, the dagger pointed at my throat.

Immediately afterwards the door burst open.

william was standing in front of us, holding a crowbar in his hand.

A grin crept onto my face, he had found me.

"Count Albus," Will said politely.

"I am asking you to drop the dagger, please"

but Albus only pressed the blade harder against my throat, causing a drop of blood to roll down my neck.

"Back off!! " he shouted.

"Sorry," William whispered, lifting the crowbar, "You chose the hard way!"

he came up to us: "And now take your hands off my fiancée "

Leaping forward, he deftly slashed at Albus, causing him to drop the dagger.

I quickly jumped to the side as William swung again and hit Albus on the forehead. Immediately he fell to the ground.

from then on all hell broke loose.

Moran and Albert burst in, along with three of Albus' people. But they were shot immediately, since two members of MI6 also came along.

When the shooting started, William immediately pulled me towards him and protected me with his body.

"William!?" I yelled and we backed away.

"Y/N, are you alright?" Will asked worried.

"Yes," I whispered as he pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me.

I looked around. Dead bodies lay everywhere, five of Albus' people, all with a bullets between the eyes. and Albus himself, lying in front of the sofa, head smashed and blood dripping from his forehead.

"Y/N?!"

I took my eyes off the bodies and looked at William.

"Oh god, Will," I mumbled, burying my face in his shoulder.

Lady Moriarty kidnapped: Count Albus scandal solved

I read today's newspaper with an amused look and realized that this unexpected incident could still help us in our project.

"What makes you so happy, love?" William came up behind me and leaned his elbows on the back of the chair.

"It turned out to be a good thing, Will," I murmured, smiling at him.

He smiled back cautiously.

He slowly raised his hand and gently pushed my hair aside. There were still a few bruises there.

I caught William's worried look.

I quickly grabbed his hand: "I'm fine"

I looked up at him.

"Will?" I asked confused as he got up and walked around the chair. He slowly knelt down in front of it.

"Y/N", he literally put his hands on mine, of course he didn't miss the fact that my wrists were still bruised.

"I love you," he continued, "And nothing in the world is ever going to change that. I'm sorry that I was careless and let this happen. I should have come with you"

He sighed and looked down.

"William," I put my hand on his cheek and gently lifted his head so he was looking at me, "None of this is your fault, got it? If anyone has been careless, it's me. You saved me and I am eternally grateful to you for that. I love you too Will and it will always be"

A grin crept onto his face now.

He cautiously approached me, but I immediately pulled him towards me by his tie and pressed my lips to his.

he happily pulled me onto his lap.

"Will!?" I yelled as we both fell to the ground. Suddenly I was on top of him. But he wrapped his hands around my waist and rolled us over so he was now laying on top of me.

"Will?" I laughed as he began planting feathery kisses down my neck, careful not to hurt me.

"I love you Y/N," he murmured into the back of my neck.

"I love you too, Will," I replied, running my fingers through his long blonde hair, "And only you."

[charliedawn]

Moriarty!Sherlock X Sister!Reader X Dark!Sherlock

TABOO SUBJECT AHEAD.

Incest implied. Stalking. Don't like. Don't read. Thank you.

Moriarty started seeing you as a necessity.

You and Moriarty always had a complicated relationship—even as children. You would always follow him around and be in awe in front of everything he did.

Your parents had found it endearing at the time, but they should have been more aware of the consequences. For what was a pure and wholesome friendship quickly turned into an unhealthy obsession as your brother started seeing you as something more than a sister.

Something he owned and needed to feel whole.

You had first noticed the slight changes in your brother when he had decided to come back to visit you.

You had a boyfriend/girlfriend back then and were studying to become a lawyer. Now, you still don't know the real reason behind his actions of the time.

Maybe, was your life not up to Moriarty's standard ? Maybe, your well-being had grown insignificant to him ? Or, did he think you unworthy of anyone else's love ? You didn't have a clue..

All that you knew was that your first boyfriend/girlfriend had been found eviscerated on the sidewalk and there had been no investigation, as everyone knew who had done it.

But, standing up against the Moriarty family would have been suicide. It was like facing an entire army who could destroy you in mere seconds. They were a mountain. And you were...just a snow flake. So, you had ignored it and waited...waited until Moriarty had no choice but to move away.

You were the one who had insisted on Moriarty to pursue his studies in London and become a mathematics teacher in front of your parents—him who had always adored the subject. You knew he wouldn't be able to say no if it came from them. However, you had no idea at the time that it would lead to your own doom.

As not only did your brother agree to move away, but he had insisted on taking you with him. And as you knew better than to say no to Jim by now, you had obeyed.

You had started as Moriarty's attorney. As his dutiful and merciful sister, you had made sure to keep your little brother out of trouble, which eventually led to your meeting with none other than the great Sherlock Holmes. You had never meant to mingle with the likes of him—but life had decided otherwise. He was frustrated with your law expertise that always seemed to save your brother from serving his sentence, and you didn't like how every time he was involved, you had to be.

People never expected you to work for Sherlock Holmes after your brother's "disappearance" —especially with his history with your brother. But, you wanted to get away and thought staying with the likes of Sherlock Holmes would get you a little bit of fresh air. However, you had no intention to help Jim in his evil scams, nor his sworn enemy to catch him..You had studied law to protect yourself—but had ended up as both dangerous individuals' jail get-away card. The only difference for you, it was that one of them did pay you.

Moriarty always sent you money under one form or another at the end of the month. But, you knew better than to accept anything coming from your brother. Sherlock Holmes on the other hand..He never paid you. He did once invite you to dinner, and it was to tell you he was going to lock your brother up, if it was the last thing he did..You had reminded him multiple times that your services weren't free, but he had ignored you until you had simply stopped asking. However, Watson had eventually taken pity on you and offered to pay half of it. And, Mme Hudson—who also knew how Sherlock could be—always offered you homemade cookies during your visits. Funny how all of Sherlock's friends seemed understanding of your situation—but the one primarily concerned.

But, you didn't complain.

You knew why. Better than anyone.

Being Moriarty's sister entailed you couldn't be trusted—not worthy of being payed.

You knew you better stay away from him, but you simply couldn't.

Sherlock had something you feared—and revered. He was maybe the only person in the world who could understand and defeat your brother. No matter how much you loved him, you had never been able to truly understand Moriarty. You thought him the only person able to get your brother back.

But, on the very night before Jim's death, he had wiped all doubt as to whether you could have or not..

Flashback :

Moriarty had called you to discuss, and he had given you a set of instructions to follow in order for Sherlock to stay away. You hadn't questioned his intentions and had followed all of his requests to a fault.

You wanted to see your brother—no matter how evil or ill-intended he might be.

You knew he would never hurt you.

You waited for him in a small restaurant on the intersection between Middle Road and Excalibur Avenue. It was well hidden behind thick bushes and the table he had chosen was closest to the door.

Typical.

He had even ordered your favorite drink to sip on while you waited. When he came in, his eyes covered by a pair of big dark glasses—probably Gucci—and a wide grin plastered on his face, you knew this wasn't a simple visit to check on you.

It was much more than that.

He pecked your cheek and you didn't comment on the way his lips lingered there a few seconds longer than necessary.

"Hello, sis'. Long time no see." There was a joyful tone to his voice, but not one that reached his eyes. The glasses wouldn't hide it from you, no matter how it usually worked with anyone else.

You knew Jim—better than anyone else.

"What is happening, Jim ?", you cut to the chase and Jim's smile faltered before he finally sighed in defeat and took off the sunglasses.

"I could never hide anything from you, huh ?"

You raised an expectant eyebrow at him and he addressed you a sad smile.

"I'm afraid that game with Sherlock is coming to an end." Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you leaned forward to take Jim's hands. On the one hand, you were relieved that it would soon be all over, but on the other you wondered what this "end" meant.

"How ?" Jim opened his mouth to answer you, but reconsidered and instead asked.

"Will you..miss me, Y/N ?"

Miss..him ? You felt cold dread taking over you as your hold on his hands tightened. Where was he going ? Why wasn't he taking you with him ?

"Where are you going ?", you asked—even though you already knew the answer. You just hoped he would reassure you, tell you you were wrong..But, for the first time in forever, your brother looked at you with a sad smile without answering your question. It was the most serious you had ever seen him.

It left a strange bitter feeling in your stomach.

"What about me ?", you finally asked and Jim gently ran a finger on the side of your face.

"Oh my sweet sweet sister..I'm afraid where I am going, you can't follow." Before you could protest, he held your chin firmly and forced you to look him in the eyes.

"This is why I want you to stay near Sherlock Holmes for me. Watch him. And let him watch over you as I know he will.." It was not a request. You both knew that and Jim's eyes finally softened as he saw the growing concern in your eyes. Sherlock was his nemesis, his opponent..It didn't make sense. But, you didn't question him. You knew he wouldn't answer anyway..

"But, please..Do not betray me. Tell me you will remember me." That sounded a little too much like a permanent goodbye to your taste and you held back your tears. You knew the answer he wanted, and the only answer you could give him.

"Family is forever, Jimmy. I would never betray you—or forget about you. You know that.", you reminded him—something that you had already assured him on the night of his leave for London. The Moriartys protect each other. It is a rule your parents had taught you at a young age. It was the reason you had never sought revenge upon your brother for killing the person you had tried to build a life with. A Moriarty never betrayed their own. Everyone and everything else was deemed unimportant.

Well—until Sherlock that was.

You had never met anyone like your brother—not until Sherlock..

Moriarty's shift from a gentle and caring brother to a complete psycho had happened not long after his meeting with the detective. And to try to answer who had created whom in that case would be the same as trying to solve the mystery of what from the egg or the chicken came first.

Impossible and pointless.

However, you had always wondered if you weren't a little at fault with Jim. You had tried to help him, to make him understand that you would always protect him—but maybe was it the problem. You had protected him too much—to the point where he grew up to be uncaring and cold to everyone else, but you.

He stared at you and smiled.

"That is why I love you, Y/N. You never look away.." You then realized that your eyes were still locked with Jim's. Jim beamed under your attention—as he always had.

Did it ever occur to you that your brother might be mad ? Yes. The answer was without doubt. Jim Moriarty was a mad man.

Had you ever regretted caring for him ? Yes. Yes, you had. Many times.

But, had you ever considered leaving ? No. Because you knew, he would always be your little brother. You would always love him.

And if he said to stay with Sherlock Holmes ? Then you would. If he said to jump off a bridge ? Then you would.

You would always protect and trust him.

If it made you the Devil's advocate ? So be it.

You finally smiled at him and nodded in agreement—tears brimming in your eyes as you gently pulled Jim's face towards you and connected your foreheads. You both closed your eyes and for a moment, you could pretend you were back to being children. You with your arms wrapped around his small form and Jim, tugged safely against you and covered with your favorite blanket.

Moriarty sighed and you smiled. No. It wasn't conventional. You knew that, but hearing your brother breathe and feeling his heart beat under your hand brought you comfort. He was still here. He was alive.

And that was everything that really mattered.

"I love you.", he uttered in a whisper and before you could reply—Moriarty was gone.

He had left a handful of cash on the table for your drinks and when you sat back down—a single tear rolled down your right cheek.

In all the years you had shared with Jim, he had never once said that he loved you..Not even as children.

It made your stomach churn and this feeling of terrible dread numb your whole body..

What was he planning ? Was he really going to....?

However, you didn't question it further.

You simply went back, packed your bags and dutifully followed your brother's last instructions.

It was time to move to 221 Baker Street.

You still didn't understand your brother's plan, but you wouldn't disobey. He was your cruel brother and you were his loving sister.

Both blessed by your unbreakable bond. Both cursed by it.

It didn't matter. You would always love each other...until the very end.

A few months after your sudden relocation :

When you had moved in, Sherlock hadn't even acknowledged your presence for weeks. He didn't want to associate with his enemy's sister without being forced to—and you understood.

The only reason you were here was because your brother had asked you to watch over him. He had given you the address and asked you to move in—an order which you had not dared disobey.

You had agreed, as it was his demand and you had ended up as Sherlock's neighbor. It was probably a ruse to make him paranoid and full of self-doubt, but you had no intention to interfere. So, you had stated your objectives from the start.

You were here on your brother's request—but whatever rivalry had occurred between them had nothing to do with you and you would never interfere with his work. You thought it would be enough. You really thought it would be enough to keep both men in your life. But, it had only brought their downfall faster than ever.

When you had seen both men tumble over the edge of that rundown building on TV, your heart had stopped and you knew the idiots had reached their last line.

You had assisted to both funerals, cried your eyes out at both and no one could even begin to imagine how you felt—watching both men you cared about more than anything die.

You knew there was little to no chance that they may have survived. But, you suspected one of them had at least.

Your grief was real, but you also knew better than to expect the both of them to fall to their demise..

So, when Sherlock was found alive and well, you weren't as surprised as the rest—even though still very angry.

You had slapped him. You had even refused to talk to him for months, not until he finally apologized to you. You then became good neighbors again for a year or two..until Sherlock found out he wasn't the only one who had faked his death.

As soon as he was certain, he returned to Baker Street and didn't even knock at your door before entering your bedroom—even though you were pretty sure you had locked it before going to bed..You felt him before seeing him.

You slowly opened your eyes and sat up to find him standing there—his expression unreadable.

"...Moriarty is alive.", he informed you.

You frowned at the news and even though you hadn't talked to your brother in such a long time, you felt as if Sherlock was blaming you.

"I had no idea.", you assured him—even though you knew it was no surprise for Sherlock. You hadn't seen your brother since that day at the restaurant..

Like everyone else—you had thought him to be dead, until now.

He hummed softly to himself in silent contemplation while you tried your best to keep your composure. He was the best detective in London—if not in the world—and you knew that every action you took would be classified in Sherlock's mind place as suspicious.

You didn't want him to think of you as devious. It wouldn't look good on his mind resume..You smiled at the thought, but quickly realized it wasn't the time for mind jokes.

"Tell me, Y/N. Do you still possess any lingering feelings for him ?" The question did surprise you, but you only cleared your throat and thought about it. Did you have any feelings for your long lost brother ?

"No, Sherlock. I do not.", you answered with a straight face and Sherlock tilted his head to the side—observing your features carefully for any sign that you were lying. He then sighed loudly when he realized you were telling the truth and shrugged.

"Good. I wouldn't want anything to interfere with my work—and our friendship.."

Friendship ? That was a first..As long as you had known Sherlock, he had never referred to you as a friend..

"No worries there.", you tried to laugh it off—but you could see Sherlock wasn't in a laughing mood. He only nodded shortly before standing up and heading for the door—but you then asked.

"Do you ?" He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Do I what ?" His tone was a little higher and cunning than usual, clearly defensive—but you didn't comment on it.

"Do you possess any lingering feelings towards my brother ?", you clarified. "He used to be your nemesis after all.."

He stayed still for a while—probably pondering on your words while you tried to seek the answer yourself. You stared at him—hoping for any sign that the man had been affected by your brother more than he wanted you to believe, but Sherlock noticed and shook his head.

"Goodnight, Y/N.", he said with a finality that left no room for discussion before closing the door behind him. You sighed and let yourself fall on your bed again—your exhausted muddled brain not completely processing what just happened.

You were used to Sherlock's weird antics—but he had never called you out on anything regarding feelings. Truth be told, growing up with Moriarty had had some repercussions on your life for sure—especially emotional life.

He had played you. He had made sure to make you as emotionless as him. As insensitive. He had ruined you for any other man.

And in return, you had only made his condition go worse by sheltering him.

In his bedroom :

You had turned your own brother into a monster. You truly hoped Sherlock wouldn't have to suffer through the same fate.

The moment Sherlock was back in his bedroom and had carefully closed the door shut behind him, he stood still for a few seconds. He only noticed at that moment how his hands were shaking and he felt his mind place sink into chaos. He covered his ears and tried to end the voices whispering things in his head..things he would never admit to anyone. He opened his window and uttered such a loud scream—multiple people in the street looked up at him in shock and dogs barked in the night.

You wouldn't talk about it the next morning.

There was nothing to say.

You had heard it, but you wouldn't mention it.

He had then left in a hurry, leaving you his keys and taking John with him.

You thought it would be the end of that.

But, no.

A few weeks later, Sherlock was back.

And each night, he would stand at the foot of your bed and ask you the same question over and over again..as if expecting the answer to change somehow. But, it never did.

"Y/N..", he whispered in the shadows of your room—but you didn't reply..You were tired and already knew what he would ask you.

"Y/N.", he insisted—but you only buried yourself even further in the warmth of your blankets. You had a case to go over tomorrow and had other things to do than to deal with Sherlock's shenanigans..

But, he wouldn't let you.

He grabbed the edge of your blanket and harshly yanked it off you. It made you sit up in a flash to glare at him and—after nights of frustration—you yelled.

"Why ?! Why do you keep asking me this question ?! I already told you ! Multiple times !"

Sherlock remained unmoving as he stared wordlessly at you—his cheeks hollow and his two eyes barely lit with life. You immediately regretted yelling at him as you saw the pitiful state he was in. You were about to apologize when he opened his mouth to answer you.

"Because I have the strong conviction that you are lying. And I cannot comprehend why." You took a deep sigh and closed your eyes.

"And what series of brilliant deductions helped you achieve such conclusion ?", you replied sarcastically. You knew the best way to reason with him was to get to the bottom of this and find out what was the spark that had lit this fire in him. He had never acted so impulsively before. You had never seen him so disturbed.

"I simply observed.", he confessed. "I observed you. Day and night. It is strange—when you think about it..Feelings. I have never suffered to the hands of emotions before. They seemed so far away..But, you. I have this conviction that you are lying—and yet, you seem so confident. Your façade never broke. Not once. You hide yourself well. But, I can see it now. You are afraid. You feel guilty. Guilty of not being good enough, of being the reason behind your brother's many misdeeds..And now ? You are afraid of what I may become if this game with your brother keeps going on..Am I wrong ?"

Your smile faltered.

You hadn't asked questions at the time of Moriarty's decision and had simply decided to close your eyes and stay blind as to his dark fate. You hadn't asked questions. You hadn't put into doubt his odd behavior. But you should have asked. You should have cared. Now, you knew why Moriarty had asked you to get closer to Sherlock. It was obvious. Moriarty knew you were the reason of his own path to darkness, and sought for you to do the same with Sherlock. It hadn't been your intention to be a part of Sherlock's slow run-down to madness, but there was no going back now.

Your eyes watered and Sherlock's expression immediately softened. He knelt beside your bed and took your hand in his.

"You love me."

It wasn't a question, but you still denied.

"No. I don't."

Sherlock frowned as you quickly retrieved your hand to wipe your tears away.

"It wouldn't make any sense for me to catch those feelings—and yet, you stay perfectly fine.", he reasoned and you shrugged.

A long silence followed his confession.

You looked up at the sky and let out a bitter humorless laugh at the cruel joke of fate.

"Just my luck. The detective. Catching feelings for the most dangerous criminal in the world's sister.."

Sherlock frowned and stared at you as he tried to understand 'he had undoubtedly fallen for you...No matter how absurd it was. You were the oak he could rely on. The only thing he was certain of. And yet, he would see that you weren't lying. You did care for him, but not like he did.

"It's...impossible."

The great Sherlock Holmes had reached a dead end. It felt like a trap. You had never asked for his affection, but he had still been unable to stay away.

He had never felt so lost.

"Unrequited love exists..", you finally tried to explain—but Sherlock shook his head vividly.

"Not for me.", he whispered and you sighed.

"Love is dangerous, Sherlock. It is unhealthy. Especially with me.", you explained and Sherlock nodded shortly.

"I know.", he agreed and yet—the way he was looking at you was unmistakable. It was the same way Moriarty used to. It scared you.

"That's the problem. You know. And yet, you still decide to stay. Don't you understand ? Death is all around me..You better just forget about me.", you said and Sherlock tilted his head before replying .

"Impossible."

Your eyes widened when Sherlock leant forward and your heart beat wildly in your chest.

"I'll leave tonight.", you warned him.

"I'd follow you.", he replied in a one breath and was so close you could feel his breath hitting your face.

"I'll...take my life.", you uttered in a whisper and he paused for only a second before raising his hand to your cheek and holding you in place.

"I wouldn't let you."

Your lips were merely inches apart and you finally breathed out.

"I hate you."

To which Sherlock replied with a knowing smirk.

"I love you."

And then, his lips were on yours. You hesitated for a second or two before finally giving in. You were tired and just wanted to feel something. Anything.

So, you drowned out your worries and just decided to feel the moment.

There would be tomorrow to think of guilt and sorrow..

A few hours later :

You woke up and found your bedroom empty. Well...You didn't know what you were expecting. Sherlock had surely left on another case with John.

He had gotten what he wanted.

You tried not to let disappointment overwhelm you and sighed before sitting up and rubbing your eyes. You didn't notice the shadow at the corner of the room until HIS voice rose up.

"Hello, Y/N. Missed me ?"

Your eyes widened at the familiar voice and you snapped your head up to meet Jim's eyes. He was standing before you and you didn't have the time to scream that he had his hand clasped over your mouth.

"Ssh...Wouldn't want to wake love Mrs. Hudson, right ?"

It was a clear threat and after a moment, you nodded slowly and he grinned before retrieving his hand. You took a couple of shaky breaths before staring at Moriarty. He was here. He was alive. So many questions went through your mind, but only one got past your lips.

"...How did you survive ?"

Moriarty licked his lips before taking your arm and bringing it to his lips and kissing your inner wrist.

"It took some time for me to heal, but don't appear so surprised. You knew I would eventually return..I always do."

He then smirked as he felt your shivering under his touch.

"You're trembling. Are you scared of me ? Don't be..You're safe. You will always be safe with me.", he claimed before suddenly pulling you out of your bed so you were flush against him and he was holding you steady. He then peered down at you and smiled.

"Come on..Aren't you happy to see me ? I still remember what you told me, you know ? We'll always be family. And family protects each other.", he reminded you painfully and you closed your eyes before shaking your head.

"Yes. But, no one has ever hurt me as much as you did. You were my home, Jim. And you left me. I was alone for so long and after all this time, I'm just supposed to leave everything behind to follow you ?"

Moriarty laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes as he leant forward and you could see a spark of insanity in his eyes.

"Since when have your become such a rebellious pawn, big sis' ? Have you grown a backbone during my absence ?"

As if to test his little theory, he pretended to drop you, only for you to grip his shoulders in order not to fall and Jim smirked mockingly.

"Seems not...Still need your little bro' to hold you up right, isn't that right Y/N ?"

You tried to deny and tell him you didn't him, but one look at him and all words became cement in your throat..You couldn't breathe and Moriarty's smile widened as he gently wiped the cold sweat off your face.

"Ssh...Little bro's back. And I'll take care of you. It's my fault. I should have known Sherlock would get to you..But, don't worry. I'll kill him, won't you like that, Y/N ?"

Your eyes widened and you thought of Sherlock and even though you had said that you didn't care for him, you shook your head vividly.

"No...No, please. I'll..I'll follow you. I'll be good. Please. Don't hurt him. Don't hurt any of them.."

You thought of John and Mrs. Hudson who had always been kind to you and Moriarty's eyes darkened as he led you outside.

"Very well. Let's go. We got a train to catch.."

You wanted to protest, saying that you needed your things, or at least to change..But, Moriarty didn't leave you the time. You were dragged outside and shoved inside a car before you could utter a word.

Moriarty smiled when he saw you try to discreetly send a message to Sherlock and was quick to grab your phone and text him himself. He then threw the phone back at you, as if not afraid that you would call anyone. You then saw that he had texted an address to Sherlock and a train station.

You looked up quizzically at your brother who only elegantly crossed his legs and winked at you.

"...I'm not a monster, sis'. You can say goodbye."

Your eyes watered as you weren't sure of what Moriarty meant by "goodbye". But, he didn't explain and you just hoped Sherlock would be smart enough to stay away.

At the train station :

Well...Seemed like Sherlock wasn't as smart as you thought. He was already there and pointed his gun at Moriarty.

"GIVE HER BACK OR I'LL SHOOT YOU !", Sherlock shouted—but Moriarty shook his head, a small knowing smirk on his face. He had fallen deep..It showed, and Moriarty wondered if it was written in the cruel story of fate for both men to suffer the same curse.

In love with the same woman—said woman insensible to both of their attention and unable to love one or the other. Jim had never doubted your love for him—mind you—but there was always this taboo about what he felt about you. His parents had warned him. They had told him to stay away and had even tried to separated you by sending him away—but it had never worked.

The Moriarty twins were never to be apart. In life, or in death.

"Yeah. No. Sorry. Y/N is special to me. And I don't like sharing." He then pulled you flush against him—a silent challenge for Sherlock to shoot.

Sherlock hesitated and Moriarty smirked before slowly backing away from him and getting on the train. He then shouted.

"I HOPE YOU ENJOYED HER TASTE YESTERDAY NIGHT, BECAUSE THAT WILL BE THE LAST TIME I'LL BE AS GENEROUS, SHERLOCK !"

He then gestured for his men to start the train and Sherlock gritted his teeth at Moriarty. When the train started moving, you seemed to realize Moriarty was about to get away with it and take you away...So, you bit his hand. You then attempted to throw yourself off the train, but Moriarty grabbed a handful of your hair and you let out a loud cry as he pulled you back.

"Oh no, you don't !", he yelled before throwing you unceremoniously inside the compartment. He then locked it after you and you were dragged away by one of his goonies.

"SHERLOCK !", you shouted and hit the door multiple times, struggling against the man holding you back.

"Y/N !", Sherlock ran after you and tried to jump on the train, but was stopped when a bullet pierced his shoulder.

He fell to the floor and you screamed loudly in grief—throwing your fists desperately against the glass. You cried out his name and Moriarty wrapped his arms around you when he was inside—the smell of gun powder still caughting the air with its sweetly sick burning fragrance..

"Don't worry, sis'. We're going home."

You closed your eyes and started crying.

This was a nightmare.

[lacelynpage]

Can you please write a Moriarty x reader meet cute? It just seems so unlikely for someone like him to meet his s/o that way, making it even cuter!

Thank you 🙏

After You, Love ~ Moriarty x Gender Neutral!Reader

Summery: You meet the most puzzling person at a café. 

Word count: 1,424

Warnings: Free and clear, Darling

A/N: Anything for you Darling! I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer this. I love this idea and I hope you enjoy my execution of it! you are a wonderful human being and I send you all my love! See you later Darlings.

Mingling with the common peasants wasn’t really James Moriarty's style. They were all soooo BORING! Seven billion of them and not a single brain cell among them. He found it tedious to have to talk to them. None of them got it. They didn't see what was right in front of their stupid faces. Sometimes, he almost felt bad for how easily he could mess with their empty little heads. Then they actually spoke and any drops of empathy he had was washed away in the tidal wave of disgust that flooded his brain. He did like to watch them though. To study how they talked and walked and pretended to live a life with any sort of purpose. He had a favorite little café in the heart of London that he loved to watch them all from. 

He was standing looking at all the little puppet people running around when from behind him the barista called out his order: a double shot of espresso with a cheese danish. As he grabbed the coffee out of her hand someone else grabbed the little bag with the danish. Startled, he looked to the right and saw someone whose eyes were different than everyone else's. There was something behind them that sparked his interest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You thought you had heard your name. In all honesty you were too busy looking at all the people in the café to pay attention. They all seemed so far away from you somehow. Like they all existed on a different plane of reality. You knew they didn't see the world like you did. That they didn't understand things on the level that you understood them. You saw the little strings pulling them around like marionettes putting on a play of living. Sometimes you felt bad for them, but most of the time you were just confused how they could be content to live like that. 

You grabbed the danish bag but before you could grab the espresso someone else did. In utter confusion you looked to your left and saw a man standing there looking just as puzzled as you. The moment your eyes met it was like the whole world went out of focus around him. As if you watched him step onto your plane of existence. Like he was the first person you could truly see.

“Ohh sorry,” you said, holding the bag out to him. “I thought they said my name. I think we got the same order.” you looked him over. Noting the slightly upturned corners of his mouth, His slicked back hair, and his slightly chewed cuticles. 

“S’alright” He said in a thick Irish accent. “You have good taste.” He laughed lightly as he said it. You could feel him studying you as you locked eyes again. It was like he could hear your thoughts as he eyes bore into yours, like he could watch you think. His intense gaze lessened as he began to talk, “I’m Jim. do you ah… do you come round here often? I stop in almost every day and I don't think I’ve seen you before.” 

You shook your head, “No, I’m just here for business. Seemed like a nice spot to catch up on emails, that's all.” You weren't lying, you were here on business, and you did have some emails to read. You tried to put together what he did for a living as you looked him over. His gray suit was expensive which read business man but the callus on his right index finger indicated he commonly fired a weapon. He was a puzzle, one that you needed to solve.

“Y/N!” the barista called again, holding out the same order. It startled you out of your investigation and back to the moment at hand. Jim smirked,

“Y/N, I'll have to remember that.” you chuckled as you took your espresso and danish. 

“Care to join me?” you asked, gesturing to a nearby table.

“Sure, sure” He agreed happily. The two of you sat together for a while, both attempting to riddle out exactly what connected the two of you. The elaborate dance you performed together around the truth of your lives’ was mesmerizing. Eventually, all good things must come to an end. And Jim and you parted ways about an hour or so later. Jim made the excuse of a meeting and you made the same. You were both lying. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your target that night was irritatingly easy. Actually, it was insultingly easy. Government documents are always the simplest, you would think they would at least try to challenge you. 

   The office that you were in was sparsely decorated. A large antique portrait of someone you didn't care to recall was hung on the wall behind their desk. It was a small concrete room, honestly it seemed like a sad place to work. Mycroft Holmes was pretty high up there though so you suspected this was supposed to be a very secure location. You typed away on the desktop, almost absent-mindedly breaking through the encryptions. 

Your mind had wandered back to Jim from the café. Even now he was still perplexing. No one else ever seemed to remotely match you in wit or intellect, but there he had stood, sharp as a razor and clearly just as deadly. There was something unique between the two of you, something you had never felt before. You had talked for an hour without a pause, it was like the electricity between you was tangible. You regretted not getting his number. Though you had a sneaking suspicion that if he wanted to find you, he would. 

The sound of leather shoes creaking at the other end of the room roused you from your thoughts. You pulled your gun from its holster smoothly, pointing it in the direction of the sound. Your eyes were still locked on the screen as your free hand typed away. They whistled as you cocked the gun,

"No need to be hostile, Love" The thick Irish accent made you smile. "After this morning I thought we were friends." You smiled and finally looked up at him. He was in the same grey suit. His hair still slicked back, but his smirk was replaced with a grin. He had his hand in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Soooo… What are you doing?” he whisper-yelled.

“I could ask you the same thing." You glanced back at the screen. The last firewall was almost broken, it wouldn't be long before you were in. "Don't tell me you work for the government." Jim laughed,

"Who, me? Noooo no no no. They are SOOO pointless! They just sit there, with their grandiose illusions of power and importance." He walked closer to the desk as he talked. Rolling his eyes and gesturing with his hands. The cadence of his words sounded almost musical as you broke through the last of the so-called "defenses''. You looked back at the screen as Jim talked. 

"I know where the real power is. I know how the world works." He stopped in front of the desk, "And I think you do too, Y/N.” you smiled as you hit download on the files you needed. The orange thumb drive already waiting in the USB port.

“Do I?” you asked. His normally rather high voice got low and drown out as he spoke

“Ohh I know you do. I mean you're here aren't you? Stealing classified documents to sell to the heist bidder.” he leaned in close until his forehead nearly touched yours. You looked up from the computer screen you had been so focused on. His face was inches from yours. He smiled wickedly. 

"That's true," you sighed, "what are you going to do about it?" His smile grew,

"Offer you a job, obviously." He moved back and raised his eyebrows. "You're clearly quite clever. So why not be clever with me?" You just looked at him.

“Are you offering me a job or asking me out on a date? Your words say job but your eyes favour the later option” You smirked at him as he leaned back in. 

“Why not both?” There was something so captivating about him. When he got close you could smell his cologne and see just how much was hiding in his eyes. You had no doubt that he was a complete mad man, then again, so were you.

“Alright. Drinks first, then tell me a bit more about your operation.” Jim smiled,

“After you, love.”

[asgards-princess-of-mischief]

Last Updated: 2024-04-03

Main

James 'Jim' Moriarty x Reader

See Also: Navigation || Private T.B.R.

[iamsherlocked1479]

That's not how I'd do it

A Sherlock x Reader Masterlist

I have began to write a chaptered fic of YN as Mrs Hudson's niece and she lives with Sherlock and John. Chaos ensues, naturally. Extra info NOT BASED ON THE TIMELINE OF THE SERIES

The Detective platylist

Chapter One |

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Forteen

Chapter Fifteen

[mysteriouslover1516]

Sherlock Holmes (Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cross your arms in annoyance and frown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What does he do?" You ask curiously.

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

You cringe, "It sounds bad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the heck is that?!” You scream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Some beggar guy off the street."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The book store," Molly grins.

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

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

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

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

"He is." You smile back.

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

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

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

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

“And what about you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fallenangellinwonderland]

I have this little Sherlock x reader idea in my head I would like to share. I’m not a writer so I’ll just type how it goes in my head. Inspired on seven by Taylor swift.

Okay so Sherlock is having a cup of tea in his living room and there's something different about it, familiar yet odd, and he has these flashes..

"Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern" he ignores it, or at least he tries to.

Reader is all nice and somehow meets Moriarty, he is using her of course, he pretends to be charming and sweet. Reader's friend knows she is in danger with Jim because she knows he is being fake, one day reader disappears and her friend goes to Scotland yard, talks to Lestrade who ignores her at first, until she mentions Moriarty. He calls Sherlock immediately, they go to her department to see if they can find anything to solve this and that's when Sherlock sees a picture of three kids, it's a red hair kid and he realizes he is the other boy, it's him dressed like a pirate and the little girl they are with is the reader. They used to be good friends and he gets flashes of them playing" In the swing Over the creek where she was too scared to jump in" and now he really wants to find her. He couldn't remember her, he had forgotten about her until now. He knows Jim did it on purpose bring her back to his life to take her away, he had brought him that sweet tea from his childhood on purpose, but why? What is he planning?. He grabs the picture and hates to see those flashes of lost memories now coming back "And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet"

[distinguishedkryptonitecreator]

𝕸𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖞'𝖘 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖒

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Series: Sherlock BBC

MASTERLIST

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.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈

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The Christmas season had arrived ahead of schedule. Shopping centers began to clog due to the large number of people who preferred to buy gifts at special discounts in stores and toy stores. Something you never understood, since the prices went up since the middle of the year and when the expected day arrived, they only discounted a couple of tickets, nothing fancy, however you never complained when Molly dragged you through the aisles of the shops with lights excessively bright colors.

But this time, you couldn't tune in to her holiday cheer because of all the onslaught of situations you hadn't sought and now had to endure. After all, guilt doesn't dissolve so easily.

Earlier, she had called you in the hope that you would join her in choosing a dress for the little gathering that Mrs. Hudson and John were organizing in Baker Street. And you probably would have said no, except for the bouncy voice in which she prattled on about the fruit punch the kind landlady would make and the color of wrapping paper she planned to buy. It was a breath of fresh air to feel her so vibrant and excited, after all, every day of the year she locked herself in a morgue with depressing white walls, with a large number of scalpels and open corpses on the plate, making reports, enduring the Pine smell from products the place was cleaned with. It was definitely not something she would put up with, at least not willingly. Or sober.

Simple reasons that made him consider the little coroner one of the most interesting people he would have hoped to meet. Her character, the kindness that appeared in his eyes every time he tried to explain something, kindness and shyness, characteristics so predictable but at the same time so contrary that no one would think of finding in a person who lives daily with the remains of death. . Molly was special, you knew that. She had shown you that there was much more goodness and value than you expected to find in your soul. That's why she decided to bite her tongue and refrain from any stupidity that might come out of her mouth on occasions like this, when she could brighten her life a little.

But again you couldn't help feeling hypocritical to see her walk between shelves and sideboards, browsing silky and satin fabrics, waiting for Molly to decide for the fifth time between the dress on the sideboard or the black one that she was hers. She was supposed to shop, though you really stopped caring about the extra time she was taking when you walked out of the store together with a few bags and a smile on her face.

"So?" she asked as they walked through the door of a coffee shop and lined up to place her orders. "Do you already know what to wear?"

"What are you talking about?"

An almost obvious look crossed her features before he punctuated her question.

"The Christmas party, it's in a couple of weeks, in case you forgot that John invited you too"

The line was not advancing and you felt the gears in your head grow stronger as the answer slipped from your tongue.

"I don't know, actually, I'm not sure if I can go, I have a lot of work, the website that I'm redesigning is taking longer than I thought"

Liar.

"Indeed? I thought the customer you were supporting was okay with the changes you made.

"Yes, me too, but then again, he is one of the most important and influential clients the company has," you shrugged at Molly's suspicious look, "it's just a meeting anyway."

Sure, and that's why you're avoiding her.

Molly looked at you for a few more seconds before she was called from the counter and ordered again, a sigh of relief flowing from your lips at the tension that formed in your shoulders, you had so many things to say and at the same time you felt Prey to them, guilt swirled like autumn leaves in your conscience and you didn't know how to escape it.

If only she knew that the only reason you didn't want to come back to Baker Street is the same reason she went to all the trouble to show up and look stunning.

Sherlock Holmes had definitely started to be not only a sleeping problem for Molly, but also a psychosis that followed you every step you took, although you know that it wasn't all his fault and you frankly didn't have time to think about it when in one of their cases Sherlock and you kissed.

If only you had thought through the consequences before allowing the act, maybe you wouldn't be sitting across from your best friend with a broken heart, hoping none of your expressions would give you away. Because yes, the only truth why you hadn't returned to Baker Street since that rainy afternoon is that you didn't even know what had happened, or maybe you did, just that you had gotten into other things that you hadn't realized until you were already stuck in the mud.

You had fallen in love with the man behind the trench coat and blue scarf, the same man who could look at you and tell you that you had an Americano with the queen or held up a real estate agency after eating a sandwich, the man with whom you had formed a strange relationship . connection, one that had become quite clear in the eyes of the little army medic who lived with the consulting detective.

You had fallen in love with the man your friend loved.

And fuck, you felt bad.

"I know it's probably none of my business, but are you okay? I mean, you've been acting a little weird the last few weeks, I'm a little worried." You didn't say anything until they sat down, Molly's words beginning to sour each sip. of coffee, if she only knew.

"Honestly, there's nothing wrong with me, I'm completely fine," you assured her, hoping that somehow everything you said was convincing enough for Molly to put aside that catty curiosity that characterized her so much. You didn't want to think that for now.

  To your dismay, Molly was overly observant and intelligent and you had no doubt that she would not have believed one iota of those words that came out of your mouth, yet she was always a good person and friend, you knew she would never do anything to pressure you or push you, because that was Molly, and you were so ashamed of the fact, because after all she was the only true friend you had in so long, as well as being loyal and supportive and even if she didn't owe you anything.

You try to stay positive and not ruin Molly's evening, after all, she took the time to ask you out and she actually looked really excited. Guilty or not, who were you to take that away from him?

So they put the matter aside, spent the entire afternoon talking and shopping for the latest products on the list.

However, when you got to your apartment, the memories flooded you again, you started to miss the afternoons in Baker Street, with John, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock...

You had gotten so used to being there that you even spent more time in that place and on the streets running with the dynamic duo than in your apartment. No doubt the change affected you. But you were sure that you were rational, proud and strong enough not to lose your mind, or so you thought.

Three weeks had already passed since that event, John had sent you several text messages trying to find out your whereabouts, so you decided to reassure him with the same excuse that you had given to Molly, assuring him that once you were free you would take a walk. Lucky for you, he didn't ask any more and you were more than grateful.

For now you want to clear your head, because that fact had completely scrambled your ideas, maybe the situation wouldn't have affected you so much if you weren't in love with him, but there was still the fact that you weren't sure what you felt, not even you understood what had happened and the random text messages he received from Sherlock didn't help much. He wasn't affected at all?

You refused to believe that he wasn't, but a part of you knew that maybe you had thought things too much, maybe you just exaggerated the situation a little.

What's more, it probably wasn't that important to Sherlock, after all you already knew him and you knew perfectly well that the only thing that had happened that day was something they had to do to prevent his alibi from being discovered, but that didn't alleviate or silence the voices. in your head.

And as much as you tried to appear independent and strong, you could still feel that nervous feeling that always stings you. Your history of past intrapersonal relationships has given you an extremely accurate prediction and you will most likely end up giving yourself away or stuttering like a high school girl or doing anything that causes you utter humiliation and embarrassment, in short, something you would not want to happen. at least not again.

You needed to coolly calculate the situation and not lose your head trying.

And for now, as childish as it sounds, avoiding was your best option, you need to gather your courage because you were sure that sooner or later you will have to face the coming storm.

You just hoped you had enough time.

Although probably the prayers you prayed to heaven were not heard or so you thought when one afternoon when it was extremely difficult for you to return to your apartment due to the amount of snow that covered the streets, you felt a familiar aura wrap around the gloomy walls of your apartment. Any hint of concern or doubt began to grow as soon as you heard seemingly familiar voices coming from your living room, and as soon as you crossed the threshold of your apartment you saw it clearly, the shadows had turned into perfectly structured figures. John and surprisingly Mycroft were sitting in your living room apparently discussing something important, however their conversation ended as soon as they noticed your presence. They turned to you.

Your look of confusion did not wait.

What the hell are they doing here?

You didn't even have a moment to think about the situation because a British voice interrupted you.

"Miss, it is a great pleasure to have your company, we were wondering about you."

You raised an eyebrow at the sharp-tongued comment from the man wearing the suit, you weren't in the mood to play at the moment and as much as you needed a distraction, you wanted to rest, you had spent the whole day walking and solving things that when you found yourself stuck in traffic you couldn't help but feel irritated.

John greeted you kindly from his seat..

"As much as I appreciate meetings, surprises overwhelm me." You earned a quizzical look from the perfectly seated government man as if he was about to have a chat with the queen.

"I thought my presence was pleasing to you, miss."

A small giggle escaped your lips, but you silenced it before resuming a neutral expression.

  "How did they get in?" you corrected "forget it, that doesn't matter, the real question is why?"

The two looked debutatively at each other for a couple of seconds before John spoke.

"We're sorry to show up at your apartment like this, actually, we didn't mean to intrude like this, but we needed your help."

My help? How the hell am I going to help the queen's secret service?

John seemed to see the doubt on your face. "Yes, I know these are not the right conditions, but we need information."

"And you seem best suited for the task," Mycroft interjected.

The gears of his brain began to rattle before a possible answer slipped across his tongue: "And what kind of information could I have?"

"Well, let's start with...

"How much do you know about Thomas Beckett?" This voice. You'd know that voice anywhere and you wouldn't have to turn around to see Sherlock coming out of your kitchen with a cup of tea in hand. He sat down in one of your lonely chairs and looked at you expectantly.

You did everything you could not to lose your composure. It was obvious, Mycroft and John wouldn't be here without him, you were so foolish not to assume. However, your only concern vanished as soon as your gaze collided with his electric blue eyes.

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