His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 11: One More Chance

(Your POV)

At first, I wasn't sure which room to go to, but the sound of voices led me straight to the boys. I walked in through the double doors and crinkled my nose. The whole place smelled of chemicals, which was normal for a lab, I supposed. Every surface was stark white, and bottles of colorful chemicals littered the shelves on the walls. I looked to Sherlock, who had shed his coat and was looking intensely into a microscope. He didn't exactly seem as if he was in the middle of a crisis to me. This had better be good.

"The bomber's too smart for that." Sherlock said, addressing John, not looking away from his microscope. His phone trilled a text alert. Bomber? My curiosity peaked. Perhaps there really was a legit reason for my presence.

I cleared my throat, and they both immediately looked to me. "So." I said, spreading my hands in front of me and dropping them. "What's the emergency?"

"Ah, (Y/n). Excellent." Sherlock sounded mildly disinterested and went back to studying... whatever it was. "Pass me my phone."

I hesitated, a look of disbelief on my face. I looked to John and saw he was just as confused as I was. "Sorry, what?"

"Pass me my phone. Am I speaking a different language?" He said sarcastically.

"That's the emergency? Sherlock, I was in the middle of something!" I was genuinely annoyed and on the verge of angry. I threw my hands up in exasperation. I was getting increasingly tired with Sherlock's antics. Forget waiting for him to kick me out- at this rate, I'd be moving out of 221B of my own accord.

He turned his head to face me slightly and gave me a quick once-over with his eyes. "Yes, a coffee date with someone you're not really interested in. Needless to say, there won't be a second date as he hopes. You should be thanking me." He hesitated before continuing. "What are you wearing?"

My fists had been clenched and were sitting on my head. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. John looked on with pity, not really knowing what to do. Upon hearing Sherlock's question, I lowered my hands and looked down at my clothes, then back up at him. "A trench coat."

His eyes narrowed. "Why? I wear a trench coat." It wasn't so much a question as it was a demand for an answer. I stood there flustered and confused for a moment- was this a real question?

I sighed, exasperated. "This may come as a surprise to you, Sherlock, but you're not the only person on the face of this Earth who wears a bloody trench coat."

"Hmm." He turned back to look into the microscope once again. "My phone."

I rolled my eyes. "Where is it?"

"Jacket."

"Bloody hell..." I mumbled, hands clutching my hand. "Your jacket?!? That's it, I can't do it anymore." My hands were flailing around now, and I was spinning in circles. I stopped spinning, arms still waving wildly, and yelled at Sherlock. "What the hell, Sherlock? You had John call me, and had me rush halfway across London IN THE MIDDLE OF A DATE to get your phone that has been INSIDE YOUR JACKET this WHOLE time?!?" My face was burning hot, and I knew I was a touch pink, but I didn't care. I was too upset.

Sherlock didn't move, didn't flinch, nothing. "Precisely." He said evenly.

I allowed myself a quick cry of anguish before I composed myself, steadying my breaths. "That's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard..." I mumbled, and then turned to him and spoke clearly. "I need some water." I nodded in John's direction. He had been standing there throughout the whole conversation, watching in shock with wide eyes. "Excuse me for just a moment." And with that, I turned dramatically and stormed out the doors in search of a water fountain.