This book may have Imagine, Preferences, and one shot.
Don't trust the tittle!
WARNING
SOME chapter might have : ANGST, SMUTT, FLUFF , DEATH, BLOOD, DEPRESSED, SELF HARM, FIGHTING. AND MORE!
Also, the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for Sherloc...
reader insert ‘The Great Game’ sherlock: BBC tv series 1 ep 3
genre: slight angst, fluff (very)
summary: Sherlock is boring AGAIN!
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221B Baker St. A couple of gunshots ring out as you walking inside the flat. First, you were panicked, moving a step faster to the living room. Mrs. Hudson hadn’t been back here, might go to the supermarket.
Next, you hear John yells out something likes, “What the hell are you doing?”, “Stop it!” You quickly know he snarls at Sherlock, your high-functioning psychopath boyfriend. And yes, he was BORED.
You walk into the room. Very discontent. “Satisfied now? Sherlock.” Placed your paper grocery bags in the kitchen. Unloaded some items from shopping bags to the fridge. No one helps, Ugh GOOD boys. “Huh? Shot the wall, unwashed yourself, not eat anything since morning.”
You step out “ Look at you.” You lean against the kitchen door. “What the hell you have done?”
“Because I AM BORED!” Sherlock shouts at you.
You frown. It’s was you who should be angry! Today you bring the case file to Greg’s office ALONE! On the way back to the flat you went to market buying the food ALONE! AND! Look at your boyfriend, he doesn’t do anything else, just shot the wall to vent out. BECAUSE HE WAS BORED?!
You yell back pointedly. “THEN WHY YOU SHOT THE GUN!!”
“Y/N, I said 'I’M BOR-’ ”
“Sorry. I’m better not be there.” John interrupts, stop you both. The flatmate walks towards the living room door, putting on his jacket, heads for the stairs, which Mrs. Hudson is just coming up.
Sherlock turns his face away from you, pulling the cushion under his head nearer to the back of the sofa and curling up even tighter.
“Tsk.” You roll your eyes. Straight to the bedroom, yanked the door open, and slam it loudly. “Fine. Go fuck yourself! Sherlock Holmes!”
Mrs. Hudson chuckles, knocking on the flat door. Talk to Sherlock. “ You two had a little domestic?”
Flailing to get himself upright, he grimaces and drags in a long breath. “Ah! God damn it.” Sherlock stands up off the sofa and
In the bedroom, you were standing nearly the dressing table, blow-drying your damp hair. Wearing Sherlock’s blue silk bathrobes, the top was a pink bunny headband. The Airpod in left ear playing your favorite songs.
Sherlock reaches inside the room, knows you didn’t hear him. He gazes quickly to your back, walks stealthily to hold you in his arm, laid his head on your shoulder. He hugs you tighter when you begin to sigh. “Darling, I’m sorry.”
