Sherlock : The Great Game

Sherlock : The Great Game Imagine
Imagine if the little boy from the great game was replaced by the reader (Sherlock's girlfriend who solves cases alongside both him and Watson) and Sherlock finds a way to save her.
Word count: 2998
Trigger warning: mention of gun shot inflicted wound
The pink phone rang in Sherlock's pocket.
"Hello?" He spoke with impatience as it interrupted.

He was at the gallery, confronting the curator. He was confident the painting was a fake.

At the other end of the phone was the voice of a female. What was unusual was that she wasn't crying, only trembling.

"Have you solved my puzzle?" You spoke into the phone, repeating after the voice from ear piece placed in your ear.

You told Sherlock and John you'd stay behind at 221B while they went to the gallery. Somehow you were knocked out cold and woke up wearing a bomb. You weren't whimpering or sobbing, it was as if you weren't afraid...or maybe you just had a lot of confidence in Sherlock.

Sherlock realised what was happening at once. "Y/N?" he spoke with a sense of urgency. Sherlock was obviously alarmed, he hadn't expected this to happen.

Lestrade's eyes widened in horror when he finally understood.

" It's Y/N, oh god".

John was at a loss of what to do.

Sherlock knew he had to do something. He couldn't lose you. He just couldn't.

"The painting is a fake! It's a fake! That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed. Oh come on, proving it's just a detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it, I've figured it out. It's a fake—that's the answer, that's why they were killed."

There was no reply in the ear piece.
Naturally, you didn't speak either. Any wrong move could get you and anyone near by killed and you couldn't risk anything like that.
Sherlock was getting nervous. The Great Sherlock Holmes was worried over you. He cared. He cared about you.

"Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?" The voice in the year piece started the count down. "Ten" you said slowly, starting to doubt you'd make it.

Please, Sherlock, please help me.

"Ten. It's a countdown. He's giving me time."

But was ten seconds enough?

"Jesus!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How? " Sherlock needed to get this right.

He needed to save you.

"Nine...Eight ..."

Come on, Sherlock, come on! You were starting to lose hope.

"Y/N will die. I can't let that happen. She will die because of me. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me! " Sherlock raised voice. He was worried. He was angry.

"Seven ..." You started to count slower.

You can do this, Sherlock.

"No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out." He gestured for the curator to shut up. Sherlock turned back to the painting. He thought hard. He needed this. He couldn't lose you. He was determined to prove the painting was fake, frustrated that he just couldn't figure it out. Unable to stand the tension, John began to pace around. The thought of losing you was frightening. He tried to block it out, so did Lestrade.

"Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face."

"Six ... "

Shit, Sherlock hurry up!