THE BAKER STREET TRIO (SHERLOCK X READER)

Chapter 8; The Great Game

A strong gust of cold evening wind breezed over Y/N’s body. Her red peacoat kept her torso sufficiently warm, but as her hair blew back away from her face, she felt a chill creep down her spine from the neck down. She picked up the pace, watching the light of day melting into the grey glow of early evening. Y/N felt a bit like she was racing the sun, trying to get to 221B before the last rays gave way to the dark night sky.

Sherlock had returned from Minsk earlier in the day, and Y/N was eager to hear if anything had come of the case he was after. The lack of murder in London had driven the blue-eyed detective to look elsewhere. Y/N on the other hand, had treated her case of boredom by reading John’s blog. His account of the Hope investigation, or as he had titled it, “A Study in Pink,” was wonderful. She especially enjoyed his honest portrayal of Sherlock, the genius who didn’t know primary school astronomy.

Y/N skipped up the steps of 221B Baker Street with a smile on her face. Letting herself in with her key, she called a quick hello to her mother before going upstairs to see her sociopathic friend.

Sherlock was sprawled across his chair like a moody adolescent, clad in pajamas and his blue dressing gown. He didn’t look over at her as she hung up her coat.

“Good evening Sherlock.” She greeted, walking into the kitchen.

“Not at all a good evening.” He replied, propelling himself into standing position and following her.

“Case was a bust then, I suppose?” She said, taking out two mugs and putting the kettle on for tea.

Sherlock confirmed her question without answering. Instead, he picked up the mug she always used when she came over, a white ceramic one with a design of black vines and thorns with a few roses going around it. He scowled at the cup as he turned it over in his hands a few times.

Y/N plucked it from his grasp and put it back on the counter.

“Oh cheer up, Sherlock. Some heinous criminal always emerges sooner or later.”

He groaned like a child just told to go take a bath and flopped back down in his chair. He pulled out a handgun and shot at the smiley face on the wall.

Y/N yelped in surprise, making Sherlock smirk.

She leant against the doorway separating the sitting room and the kitchen and folded her arms. “Mum is absolutely adding that to your rent.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his head back, looking up at the ceiling. Y/N poured the tea, leaving his cup on the table next to his chair. She selected a book off of the shelf and cuddled up with it in John’s chair.

Over the course of the first four chapters, Sherlock got up and paced, jumped on the couch, pestered her, chugged his tea, broke the mug, and pestered her some more. If Y/N had said she wasn’t entertained, she would’ve been lying.

John arrived home by the time Sherlock was shooting the wall again. Y/N didn’t even look up from her book as Sherlock shot the wall a few more times yelling “Bored!”

“Has he been like this the whole time?” John asked her, taking away the gun and unloading it.

“It’s been quite the show.” Y/N said, laughing.

“Don’t know what’s got into the criminal classes. Good job I’m not one of them.” Sherlock mused, moving to inspect his handiwork on the wall.

“So you take it out on the wall?” John asked, incredulous.

“Oh, the wall had it coming.” Sherlock replied passively, flopping onto the couch this time.