His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 3: The Consulting Detective

(Your POV)

Murdered. Three men murdered right before my eyes. But why not me? I sat on the steps of the apartment building, staring at the ground in shock. I hardly registered the police and paramedics buzzing around me. A pair gentle hands wrapped a bright orange blanket around me. I flinched at the touch, shrugging the blanket off. I needed to think- a shock blanket would only mess with my thoughts. As much as I tried to focus on something else, the same question ran through my mind over and over, never relenting. Haunting me. Why not me?

"(Y/n)? (Y/n), can you hear me?"

The voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I jerked my head up to look at the man standing before me. A quick glance was enough to tell me that this man was the Detective Inspector. He slowly sat down next to me, his graying hair reflecting the pale moonlight. "(Y/n)," he continued, "my name is Detective Inspector Lestrade, and I need you to answer a few questions." His voice was soft and sympathetic. "Can you do that? You don't have to just now if you don't feel up to it."

No. I thought. The last thing I want to do is answer more questions. I had already been asked a few basic identification questions by a woman called Donovan, who was relaying the information to other nearby officers. She had seemed rather nice, but something about her was off. You squinted at her, but you couldn't pinpoint what it was. Lestrade, however, seemed genuine enough. I sighed. Just a few questions, then. I softened my features after I realized I had been full-out scowling at the woman.

"Yeah, that's fine," I said, giving Lestrade an unconvincing smile.

"Brilliant." He said. He was clearly worried that I was going to refuse, which made me feel all the more better about accepting the questioning. "First thing's first, then. Are you, in fact, (full name)?"

Simple enough. "Yes."

"Age and birthdate, please."

I had already given this information to Donovan, but I supposed he was just double-checking. I sighed, answering. "June 4th, (y/age) years old."" (If you're a teenager, use 19 because I'm not about to make Sherlock Holmes a pedophile. Carry on.)

"And you aren't from England?"

"No sir, I'm an American citizen."

Lestrade closed his notebook, where he had been reading my information to make sure it matched. He seemed satisfied. "Well then, Miss (L/n), sit tight while I make a call. Someone will be over to ask you some more questions in a few minutes." With that, he turned and walked away, pulling out his mobile phone and dialing a number. "Hey," you could hear him say as he walked off, "I've got a weird one for you... Yes, I know it's late. Just..." He turned and looked back at me, a concerned look on his face. "...Just come quickly." He hung up and walked over to the Anderson fellow who was inspecting the bodies.

Another pair of hands picked up the shock blanket behind me and placed it over me again. "Keep this on, miss." A woman's voice said. I didn't bother turning around to see who it was. Instead, I waited until she had walked off and removed the blanket again. I didn't want the blanket, no matter how cold I was or how much shock I was in.

I had shed my hoodie earlier, after realizing it was covered in blood. I had decided that I didn't appreciate the strange looks coming from the policemen. Now, I was left in a tank top, which I had been wearing underneath. I shivered in the chilly air- this was far colder than I had been with my hoodie. I decided to suck it up and wait for the mystery questioner. Where was he, anyways?

No sooner had the question crossed my mind, a cab pulled up to the crime scene. A man stepped out, about 5 foot 6 with blonde hair and... gray eyes? It was hard to tell at this distance. So this is the mysterious questioner. He wore a collared, plaid button-down and a gray cardigan, sporting jeans and a pair of black oxfords. Probably mid-thirties. At least he didn't seem intimidating. This will be easy, I thought, as he began to walk over to Lestrade.