𝐋𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 || 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ⵊⵊ

'*•.¸♡ Warehouse ♡¸.•*'
*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The ride to Mycroft's could have been more entertaining. Sherlock, lost in his 'mind palace,' stared off into the distance. You, with your cheek resting on your hand, watched London's ordinary people go about their day, as Sherlock would say. The scene was unremarkable until you spotted a man you had seen outside your flat. With his chocolate eyes, meticulously combed hair, and a Westwood suit, he was an average-looking man who would blend into the London crowd. What caught your attention was the knowing grin on his face when your eyes met.

He didn't scare you. He intrigued you. He seemed to want you to notice him. He followed the path of Mycroft's sleek car, positioning himself at an angle only you could see. But why? He couldn't possibly know who you were... but what if he did? Would it be such a terrible thing?

You had two more encounters with him before you arrived at an old warehouse.

Mycroft's 'assistant' looked up from the phone she'd been glued to the entire ride. "2nd floor back ri–"

"Corner, yes, I know," Sherlock interrupted, swinging open his door. "Let's go, Y/n." He slid out of the car, fixed his coat, and paused by the front of the car.

You rolled your eyes at the order, considering that's all he told you. You opened the door—carefully—before stepping out. A soft blanket of snow covered the road—beautiful to look at, not so much walk in it as you were wearing Sherlock's boots. You marched to Sherlock, the boots flopping with every step.

"Today, Y/n."

You snapped your head at him, your jaw clenched. "If I had the right size shoe, I could walk faster!" you retorted, your voice laced with frustration.

Sherlock scoffed, turning away from you. You rolled your eyes but continued trekking through the thick snow. Your hand clasped onto Sherlock's shoulder once you had reached him.

"Carry me."

Sherlock faced you with his eyebrows furrowed. "Pardon?"

"You heard me. I'm not stomping all the way there," you explained before whispering, "Plus, the longer we stand out here, the more likely it is that someone'll see me." You stepped back with a smirk, knowing he had to do what you asked.

Sherlock groaned, clenching his fists at the sky before turning to you. "Get on." He squatted to the ground, allowing you to latch onto his back. You hopped on, causing a grunt to leave his chest. "This was easier when you were still a child," he mumbled, pushing up from the ground.

"You're three years older...get over it."

"Mycroft is in for a real treat," Sherlock muttered as you approached the door. "Get off." He squatted down again, allowing you to jump off.

"Maybe I wouldn't be such a bloody burden if you let me live a normal life!" You snapped as your feet hit the cement. "I'm 29, for God's sake!" You shoved past Sherlock into the abandoned warehouse. It was dingy, rusted metal throughout; rats found a home in the pipes, and the floors were cracking under the weight of the failing architecture. You continued to venture further as you waited for Sherlock until a silhouette of a man, shrouded in mystery, came into your vision. It wasn't Mycroft. The man was of shorter stature, seemed to have more hair, and was not resting against a cane or umbrella.

You should've stopped; you should've turned back to find your brothers, but something was drawing you to the unknown man. You slowly approached him as he did the same, but when the light reflected off his face, you halted, now frozen in what you believed was fear. The tension in the air was palpable as the unknown man closed the distance between you.