His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 13: Chin Up

(A/N: First of all, over 1K? Wow, y'all are amazing. Thanks for all the love <3 Secondly, so sorry for the short chapter. I promise to get another one in before June. Lastly, I'm pretty sure this is the first John POV I've actually decided to use and not cut out. His POVs are a little harder to write- so let me know what you think for future chapters. Thanks, and enjoy.)

(John's POV)

Two hours after I had left, I returned back to Baker Street with a pizza in hand. The meeting with Mycroft had gone well, I supposed. I walked into 221B to find Mrs. Hudson scurrying out the door and Sherlock yelling something.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" Sherlock exclaimed as I rounded the corner. What the hell? I gave him a blank stare. What is he going on about? Sherlock looked exasperated. "Carl Powers!"

I put together the puzzle pieces before responding. "Oh, are you saying he was murdered?" Sherlock stood up and walked over to the shoelaces, which he had strung up under the light.

"Remember the shoelaces?"

"Mhm." I was only vaguely interested in his speech. I knew it was going to be a long spiel of otherworldly deduction skills. I was more interested in the delicious smell coming from the pizza I was holding. Good thing Sherlock didn't want any. More for me and (y/n)... Wait... Where is she?

"The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

"What- how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it." He leaned over and started typing something onto his website. "But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put cream on his feet. That's why they had to go."

I nodded in vague understanding. "So how do we let the bomber know...?"

Sherlock cut off my question with the answer. "Get his attention..."

"Mhm."

He glanced at his watch. "Stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years." It was a statement, but it sounded rather like a question.

"Yes." Sherlock glanced over at me, waiting for me to work it out for myself. "Meaning..."

"He's our bomber." Sherlock gave a smile of approval. I sighed and looked around for (y/n). "Look, that's great and everything, but where's-"

The phone rang, and Sherlock held up a finger for silence. He put the phone on speaker, and the endangered woman's voice rang out through the flat. Sherlock started talking, but I tuned the both of them out. I knew there'd be a bomb squad dispatched to help her- I wasn't worried. I was more concerned with the whereabouts of our guest. I set the pizza on the table and hung up my coat.

"Um, Sherlock?" Having finished with the woman, Sherlock ended the call. Still no answer. I tried again. "Sherlock." He was typing in a new number into his phone. More silence. I let out a long breath, thoroughly annoyed. "Right, okay." I mumbled, then said clearly. "Sherlock." Was he ignoring me on purpose? This was a legitimate problem. For all I knew, (Y/n) was missing.

He started talking into the phone. "Yes, Lestrade, she's in her car. She said we can come get-"

That's it, I've just about had it with him. "SHERLOCK!" He froze, and silence hung in the air. His shocked expression soon turned to annoyance. Glaring at me, he hung up. "Where's (Y/n)?"