Sherlock Reader Insert Collection

Mending, John

Amber liquid dripped down her arm but she didn't wipe it away. She watched, mesmerized, as the beads of rum raced towards her elbow. It wasn't until a drop hit the hardwood below that she even blinked, setting the frozen bottle on the counter and grabbing the towel from the oven handle. She stepped to replace the bottle in the freezer but jumped back with a swear and noticed her glass had also found its way to the floor sometime in her hyperfixation. A few shards glistened in the dim light of the kitchen, sticking out from the pad of her foot. With another string of choice words, she yanked them out and stormed from her apartment and upstairs.

"Jesus, (Y/n)! You do realize it's four in the morning, right?" John opened the door, clearly having been asleep. (Y/n) leaned her weight onto her good foot.

"Sorry, you're right. It's nothing, sorry to have woken you, John." She apologized, turning and waving him goodnight as she went back downstairs.

"Wait." John crouched down and inspected where she had been standing before. "You're bleeding. Come back up and let me have a look." He ushered her into the door and guided her to the couch. Sherlock padded into the kitchen and flipped on the kettle for himself, nosey as to who had woken them so late. When he locked eyes with (Y/n)'s, he hesitated. She had a look about her, daring him to say something aloud about her current state.

"We've had enough blood on the rugs this week, let's not add yours to the mix." He settled on a quick remark, earning a small nod of approval in return before she turned her attention back to John as he opened his first aid kit.

"Sure you don't want to collect a sample?" Her tone was enough to fool John but Sherlock just ignored it as she had so silently demanded.

"He's more on a stomach bile kick at the moment." John chuckled, missing the entire conversation his two friends had just exchanged. "What the hell happened to your foot?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I was making myself a small drink to help and it slipped out of my hand." She watched as the doctor tweezed a few more slivers from her skin. "I hadn't realized it was so late when I knocked, I really am sorry."

"Nonsense. I hadn't meant to sound so grumpy about it, clearly you came up for a good reason." He grabbed some antiseptic wipes and cleaned the cuts. "At least you had some help keeping the wounds clean." He joked, looking up at her. For a split second he saw something there in her eyes but she recovered quickly, as if she hadn't been prepared for him to look.

"Only the best spirits for my floor, I always say." (Y/n) laughed. John wrapped a bit of gauze around her foot with some cohesive bandaging.

"There, all set!" He helped her to stand. "I'll come down and help you clean up the glass so we don't have a repeat with your left one."

"Nothing I can't take care of in the morning." (Y/n) was quick to shut him down but smiled at him and then flashed a small one to Sherlock. "Sorry again to have bothered you both. Have a good night." She waved goodbye and hobbled back down to her apartment. John shut the door and tidied up his first aid kit.

"You should go help her clean up what's broken." Sherlock leaned in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Do you think so? She sounded pretty certain." He looked at the door, missing the detective's eye roll. With a shrug, he went down and noticed the door to her flat slightly ajar. He pushed it open but saw nothing in the dark other than the glow from the kitchen. "(Y/n)?"

There was no answer so he turned to leave, figuring she had gone to bed. All of a sudden there was an audible sob and John quickly shut the door behind him, rushing to the source of the noise. (Y/n) sat on the floor against the kitchen island, face in her hands and knees to her chest. She didn't even look up as he rushed to her side, instead she pulled herself in away from him.

"What can I do to help?" (Y/n) shook her head, unable to speak.

John sat beside her and let her cry. He felt helpless, his expertise was the physical health of the body, not the intangible health of the mind. He tried to distract her from her panic attack by telling her little tidbits of trivia about Sherlock, embarrassing things in hopes he could get her to laugh. John noticed the first hints of dawn peaking into the window about the time (Y/n) dozed off, leaning into him. He stood carefully as to not wake her and scooped her up into his arms, stepping over the broken glass shards to carry her to her room. There were papers scattered all over her bedroom floor, bills, rejection letters, crumpled up sketches. He tucked her into bed and sat on the edge, picking up a few of the discarded charcoal drawings.

"(Y/n), these are incredible." John muttered to himself.

They were detailed figure drawings of Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson going about their normal routines. He picked up another and smiled. She must have drawn this one night after a rough case. It was of him, sleeping on his laptop with a gentle, peaceful smile on his lips. Across the room he noticed a large sketch pad on an easel with a dark figure in a curled up position. He walked over to inspect it and realized it was a self portrait of (Y/n). A paper crunched beneath his feet and he grabbed it. (Y/n) had gone on and on about an opening at a fledgling game company for character artists and then suddenly she never mentioned it again. John frowned as he read the rejection letter, understanding a bit better what had set off her breakdown. How could he have missed the signs?

John set the letter on her desk and sat back down on the bed, leaning over and brushing the hair out of her face. (Y/n) had been working herself to the bone and dealing with so much by herself and never let on how bad it was. The dark circles under her eyes and how gaunt she looked in the dim light. Perhaps he could reach out to Greg about getting her a job as a police sketch artist until something she was really passionate about came up.

"I'm sorry, John." Her soft voice startled him. "I didn't mean to let it get this bad. I didn't want to worry anyone."

"It's alright, (Y/n)." He smiled warmly. "I get it more than you know." She looked at him closer and noticed the same subtle exhaustion in his eyes. (Y/n) pulled him down to lay beside her, snuggling into his chest.

"Then let's mend our broken bits, together." John wrapped his arms around her as she drifted off again.

"Let's do that, (Y/n)."