No Strings Attached: Doctor Strange x GN Reader (Marvel and Sherlock Crossover)

Chapter Fourteen: Wake Up Call

AN: Guys istg idk what happened because on here this was the chapter but for some reason Wattpad duplicated the last one and gave it this one's name? Anyways just gonna go crawl in my hole and die, this with finals is killing me

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"I can deduce you," Sherlock stated simply, the man and woman looking confused, "During the time you've been in here I've gathered information about your past week and your past history, as well as some of hers."

"Give me your name first," the redhead commanded him calmly, she was interesting, you couldn't deduce much about her.

"Sherlock Holmes." "Y/N Moriarty."

"Full ones," she told you before you sighed.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." "Y/N Calyx Moriarty."

"They aren't lying, Tony," she muttered, as she stared at you as if trying to figure out what was going on in your head, you smirked at her, making her smile as she saw you had figured her out. "Go on then, deduce us."

"I'll start with the annoying man," Sherlock told them, you just knew he was about to say something offensive, but you weren't one to stop him when the person he was deducing was being an asshole, "You suffer from PTSD, as well as an anxiety condition that leads to you experiencing anxiety attacks on an almost daily basis as well as nightmares, leading to your insomnia. You're an inventor, judging by the grease stains on your pants and calloused hands, as well as the wrench in your back pocket. You're wealthy, extremely wealthy, but you try not to show it too much only treating yourself to lavish things in some cases, in this one, it's your glasses and shoes. Shall I continue on?"

Tony, apparently the name of the man, was shocked, stuttering a little before he left the room in a hurry, the woman didn't seem to care, "Do me now."

"You're much harder to deduce, however, I can gain a little. You've been trained for most of your life, very athletic, you did ballet judging by your posture and the position of your feet, although that is a more wild guess. You know how to use weapons and are trained in self-defense, judging by that minuscule arsenal you have on your belt. Also, a sufferer of PTSD but you don't suffer from insomnia or anxiety attacks, instead, it makes you more closed off than others, to the point where they call you cold."

"I believe you," the woman walked over, unlocking the cuffs from Sherlock's hands, "But, how do I know that they aren't lying?"

"I'm right here, you know," you huffed, blowing a piece of hair from your face. "I can prove my knowledge of forensics, maybe? Or you can bring in someone else for me to deduce, although I'm not nearly as good as him."

"If you're Sherlock Holmes and Y/N Moriarty shouldn't you be evil?" She directed that question at you, "In the novels, you're normally on your brother's side."

You were shocked, novels? Did you exist as a fictional piece of media in this universe? "I'm sorry, did you say novels?"

"Yes, you're a fictional character, created by Arthur Conan Doyle."

"That rings a bell," you admitted, pondering where you had heard that name before, then you realized, "Sherlock! That's the man that came to us for help because he believed Jim was after him! The one with the funny mustache!"

Sherlock remembered the man, connecting the dots between his disappearance, "Your brother must have shot him as well, he was his test subject."

"Guys, I hate to break this up but he died centuries ago." the redhead pulled out her phone, showing you both the wikepedia page on the famous author, "Why did he go to that time and you came here?"