When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
That voice. Your voice. It sent his mind to conclude two plans: either attack or be ready to do so.
Sherlock reached for his gun as you did yours. Both weapons raised to one another, but your head tilted to the left, malice on your lips, "didn't expect to see me so soon, did you?"
"Hoped I wouldn't,"
"Aw, you sure know how to make me melt," lowering it, you step forward, noticing him tensing, the gun still up to stand his ground. "We both know you won't," until your forehead was pressed against the gun, the shake of his hand increased. "Put it down."
Sherlock couldn't argue, so he did as told with reluctance in the form of a request, "your gun, hand it over,"
"No fun," you grab him by his belt, stuffing it in his back pocket, "Is that what you wanted?"
"What do you want?" he switches focus, "what are you doing back here?"
"I was bored, and you seemed a little lost," pushing away to wander around the room, you drag your heel against the plastic covers with a smirk. "I mean... are you? Coming up here to see if I so graciously left you help?"
"Help?" he scoffs. "I don't need help- and least of all from you," he follows you in, shutting the door behind him, "now back to the first question,"
"Wanted to see your little mind get stuck," you spin around, leaning against one window sill, "Moriarty was right, you are funnier to watch when you're confused,"
"Oh, so you work with Moriarty now?" he rolls his eyes, pacing the room with both hands clasped behind him. "Typical, mindless, boring,"
"All perfect synonyms to describe your current pattern," crossing one leg over the other, you take out your phone, "you are right... about me taking the diamond, William,"
"Sherlock."
"Scott?" you suggest. "You know, you'll get there eventually," flipping a small knife just as he got closer, he seemed almost unphased but that glint of fear did pass for a moment. "Fulfill that... fantasy," your words dragged on as he got closer.
"And what would that be?" he narrows, hand grabbing the wrist with the blade.
"That the great Sherlock Holmes put a world-class criminal behind bars... since he failed the first time," you taunt, watching his eyes narrow. Your words were the fuel to the burning anger within him, and he needed to dowse it out before he did something rash.
But a reasonable and easily explainable course of action is out of character for Sherlock.
So, your smugness rubbed off as soon as Sherlock pulled you closer, kissing you in such a rough manner, you could have been speechless for a week.
The knife pressed to his throat, but your push to his chest was what got him off you. You land one strike across his face with heated cheeks and a heavy breath. Blood boiling, you weren't sure why you pulled the next move. The weapon fell to the ground, your fingers curling around his collar to pull him back in.
It was long and deep kiss, hands gripping tight. "You're right about that," he says between the now short kisses, "I can't wait to see you trialled,"
"Is that so?" you chuckle against him, eyes closed and body focusing on his hand against your hips, "you'll get bored,"
"I know you won't stay behind those bars for so long," he trails his hands lower, one brow raised while you chuckle.
"Then you'll have to keep on catching me, won't you, William?"
"Fuck you," he mutters, lifting one of your legs as his lips left love-bites down your neck.
"Oh, I'm sure you would-" shutting your mouth, you feel Sherlock stop his kisses as well. All focus went from breathless banter to the confused, silent and shocked figure in the now open doorway.
"I- should I go?" John looks around, "I'll uhm- I'll go?"
You push Sherlock off you permanently, "nice to see you again, John," you wipe your lips and fix up any messes with a compact mirror, "how's work?"
"Uh- fine... what's-" he points back and forth between you and a stoic yet flustered Sherlock.
"Nothing to worry your little mind with," fixing your clothing and hair, soon you walk past him, "have fun with the case... unlike Moriarty, I tend to spice things up a little,"
"I'm sure..." John peers down the hall to see your small wave. "You have a lot of explaining to do,"
"I really don't," Sherlock lifts up a phone in his hand; your phone. "Let's solve that case, shall we?"
John stared blank at him before muttering frustrations with an eye roll. "Fine, yeah, okay,"
~~~
Hailing down your car, which rolled up to show Anna in the drivers side, their smug look said it all. "Say a word and I'm burning all your collectibles," you glare.
They frown, taking a notepad which soon showed the words 'The whore was too stunned to speak'.
"Good, now I need to get to the tailor, I have a dress to finalise," you click your fingers which sent them off. "Idiot," you take out your real phone; you see, the one he took was a replica with information to throw him off. "Hopefully he figures it out soon,"
Anna glances to the readers, mocking your words a little before focusing back on the road.
~~~
"What do you mean fake??" Lestrade looks at the information.
"She let me take it to throw us off," he takes the name of each document and note, using the first letter of each one to spell out a sentence: Poor Sherlock is stuck.
John couldn't help but laugh a little, "sorry, it's a little funny,"
"How did you even get her phone?" Anderson leans against one of the walls with Donovan.
"They made out," John mutters behind his fist, still stifling amusement while Sherlock was met with shock.
"Oh grow up," he grumbles, storming out the room.
~~~
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