His Dream (Sherlock x reader)

The Blind Banker 6

 It was only an hour later that Jacob decided to take Juliet and Oliver home. Jacob mumbled something along the lines of 'not wanting to leave his pregnant wife alone any more than he has to.' To which I understood. Annie was almost 7 months pregnant and her belly was bigger than a balloon. She always joked about wanting another set of twins, and I think Jacob almost fainted when he heard it.

As I walked my brother and his drowsy kids down the stairs, we were met with the most familiar face.

Sherlock.

"Where's John," I asked, looking behind him, in case he was hiding, "you didn't get bored of him already, did you?"

He looked down at me, "police station," then looked at what I dragged behind me. "Ah, you must be the detective," Jacob says, holding his hand out for Sherlock to take it.

Sherlock shakes his hand, with a normal face but I can clearly see that he can't read Jacob either. He's puzzled.

"And you must be the brother," Sherlock replies with a monotone voice.

Juliet and Oliver instantly come back to life when they see Sherlock. Both of their confused faces point toward him, both saying "This is him?"

They continue to look at him and then circle him, like hawks.

"He looks cute," she says.

"He looks like an emo," he says.

"You look like an emo."

"And you look like a monkey."

"He likes to smoke, but is trying to quit," she says.

"Better alternative to murder, I say," he jokes.

Sherlock stands there, not saying a single word. Nobody is. Clearing my throat, I led my brother and the twins out, leaving Sherlock on the platform.

After saying goodbye, I walk back up the stairs, picking at what's left of the red nail polish on my fingernails. I really need to get my nails done, professionally. I reached the top stair to see him still standing where I left him.

"What's new pussyca-,"

"They're exactly like you. I can't read them. Why is that?" Sherlock interrupted.

 My hand raised to my chest as I faked gasping, "Oh dear heavens, Sherlock Holmes couldn't read my brother. Oh lord, the world is coming to an end!" Ending with a laugh, I patted him on the shoulder and entered his flat.

"Oh don't worry Holmes, a family trait I guess," I groaned as I lay on the brown leather couch.

He continued to look at me from the doorway, unhinged from the situation that just happened. Then he took off his coat, threw it on his black armchair, and began to go back to work.

I watched as he wrote some things down on a piece of paper and then pinned it to the mirror along with the rest of the evidence. This case was eating him up. It was getting on his nerves. And yet he continued with more passion from when he began this case.

After a while, he broke the silence. "So what does your brother do," he asked slowly as if not wanting to seem like he was snooping into my personal life. To which I didn't mind. He can snoop all he wants, I highly doubt he'll find anything.

I opened a magazine that was sitting on the coffee table beside me, flipping through the pages, mindlessly. "He's a math and physics professor at one of the universities and a really good one I'll mentio-"

"How good," he interrupted, still looking at what was in front of him. 

Sherlock has made a collage, pages, and pages printed off the internet - language systems and archaic symbols. Egyptian hieroglyphics; the Greek alphabet; Hebrew letters; Arabic letters; Chinese words...