His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 12: True Colors

(Your POV)

My brain hurt. Sherlock and John had explained everything on the cab ride over- from the mysterious phone call and Mycroft's texts to the shoes and the swimming accident. What a day. Questions swirled in my mind, and they were no doubt in John and Sherlock's as well. Who was the bomber? What did he want? What was the Carl Powers puzzle?

But for now, there was nothing I could do. John and I were no match for Sherlock- only he would be able to solve the puzzle. So I did the only thing I could, I kept quiet. I lay on my back on the sofa, throwing a black bouncy ball up into the air and catching it again. John, I could tell, was trying his best to stay silent. He paced back and forth, driving me crazy. But we continued to let Sherlock be- allowing him to study the pictures and newspapers he had spread all over the kitchen table.

I had changed since earlier. It was getting to be later in the day, so I had chosen something a bit cozier. I was barefoot, wearing just a pair of black leggings and a hunter green, hooded knit cardigan. John had joked about it earlier, saying I was adopting his style. I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that- his clothes make the poor guy look ancient.

John couldn't take it anymore. He stopped in front of the kitchen and addressed Sherlock. "Can I help?" There was no response. I continued fiddling with the ball, choosing to bounce it off the wall instead. It filled the silent apartment with a dull thudding noise. "I want to help." John continued. "There's only five hours left." Still no response from Sherlock. John's phone beeped, and he turned his attention from Sherlock to his phone. "It's your brother. He's texting me now." He frowned. "How does he know my number?"

I stopped bouncing the ball and sighed. "He is practically the British government, John."

"Must have been a root canal." Sherlock said, thoughtfully.

I sighed. Sherlock was being ridiculous again, per the usual. I was only on day two of living with him, but Sherlock's antics were about to push me over the edge. I made a mental note of John's high tolerance levels. Exasperated, John moved into the kitchen. I followed.

"Look." I said to Sherlock. He didn't look up from his work. "He did say national importance."

Sherlock simply snorted. "How quaint."

"What is?"

He looked up and gestured to myself and John. "You are. Queen and country."

John scoffed, and I narrowed my eyes. "Land of the free, bastard."

He gave a hum of amusement. "Yes, as if I could forget with you walking around, talking in that horrendously painful accent."

"I'm not the one with the accent, Sher."

It was his turn to narrow his eyes. "I thought I told you never to call me that a-"

"Ladies!" John interjected. We both whirled our heads to look at him. "You're both pretty. Back to the case, please?" He turned to address Sherlock, who was muttering under his breath. "You can't just ignore it."

Sherlock sighed. "I'm not ignoring it. I'm putting my best man onto it right now." A small smile crept onto my lips. Poor John.

"Right. Okay." John looked satisfied, and he crossed his arms. After a moment of silence, he looked puzzled. "Who's that?"

Sherlock and I looked at each other with the same amused expression, then back at John expectantly. Realization flashed across John's face and he let out a long breath. "Bloody hell." He turned away. "Fine." With one swift motion, he had grabbed his coat off the rack and slipped it on. He turned to me and Sherlock before leaving. "I'll bring something back- pizza okay?"