Consulting Forensic Psychologist - Sherlock x Reader

To The Crime Scene - Chapter 2

“Now who was it?” Sherlock cut to the chase.

“Who was what?”

“Kidnapped. Mother or father.”

“Both, how did you-“

“Is there something I’m missing?” Watson chimed in.

"Your scattered disposition and how rushed you were when you stepped foot into 221b Baker Street, along with the little nervous marks on your right hand, say serious case and no buffoonery, but your quiet, reserved, and serious manner, shown -of course- by how straight your posture and ability to question, says not overly serious. So naturally, not shaken enough to be murder as you are not a nervous mess, but not calm enough to be the usual case; has to be kidnapping.” Everything about you stopped, as though you were a clock and one of the gears had been pulled out by Sherlock’s hand. You shook her head to get rid of the feeling and set the gear back in place. “Besides, you hadn’t stalled very much at the door. Had you, I would’ve known it was a love affair.”

“That. Was. Stupendous! Amazing.”

"Yes, I know. John has told me. Where was I?” John didn’t even catch a word before the detective continued. "Ah, yes! Now, if you'd please explain what happened to your parents. When you found out they were gone, where, the whole lot." 

 “I went over to my parent's last night, at 7 though I was supposed to be there at 6 as soon as work ended-“

“And they were nowhere to be seen.” John finished the sentence. “Odd.” At that moment, Ms. Hudson came in with some tea, peppermint.

“Oh thank you,” You had to stop your story and were a bit in the daze, but had to accept the tea. There was no way on earth you were not going to say thank you to Ms. Hudson. A strand of your (h/colored) hair just barely toppled into your tea when you instantly, and almost skillfully pulled it away before smoothly passing it back around your ear, along with the rest of your let down hair. 

“You’re welcome,”  The senior set down one cup for Sherlock and another for Dr. Watson, but of English breakfast, you could tell from the smell. “I’ll be back with some biscuits and sugar for you.” The old woman was going for the kitchen once again, something about you having caught her attention. 

“Oh no, don’t worry, no. I’m not particularly hungry and I don’t really have sugar.” An imperceptible eyebrow raised on Sherlocks forehead. 

“Really, you must have something to sweeten the tea.” The landlady insisted, “After all, I only do this so often.”

“Unless you have some honey, then I wouldn’t want to bother you.”  You took the liberty of shaking your head slightly and slowly as you said the line.

 “I’ll be right back.” Ms. Hudson shuffled for the kitchen at alarming pace, and maybe, just maybe, gave Sherlock’s client- need I remind you that's you- a wink.

“Thank you!” the person just mentioned above replied back, smiling softly.

“What do you do for a living?” The detective took a seat in a large chair, across the sofa you were sitting on. As though he needed to prove his intellect he added on “because the way you don’t ask questions suggests high intellect, your struggling eyes suggest blogger, the look in your air says artist, I’d say author by the way you talk and the previously mentioned, but you don’t seem the type to sit on the computer constantly all day everyday, though your complexion suggests inside work.”

Your smile broadened, teeth showing and gleaming as though you’d just beat the genius. “Psychologist, degree in psychiatry, but you did come very close.” Just as John took a seat in another armchair, next to Sherlock’s, Sherlock stomped his foot into the carpet and leant backwards, seeping into the cushion slightly.