(Sherlock Fanfic)
TW: mentions of self harm and planned suicide
You're walking quickly down the street, smack-dab in the middle of London, when you hear the yell, that unmistakable yell from that unmistakable man with that unmistakable voice. "Come on, John, Geoff is waiting for us; there's been a double murder!" You spin around, and there he is, the famous Sherlock Holmes. "You're Sherlock Holmes," you say, stating the obvious. He rolls his eyes and keeps walking, but you step in front of him. "Take me with you."
"Are you actually that stupid?" He looks at you like you're gum on the bottom of his shoe, or worse, like you're Anderson.
"Yes, I am. Now, I fully expect you to deduce me. Do your worst, come on, you can't really bring my self esteem much lower than it already is. Go ahead, I'm ready."
Barely skipping a beat, the great Sherlock Holmes begins to do as you asked. "You live on a farm with your mother, her boyfriend, and your younger brother. Your parents split up when you were young, and it was messy, causing you to hate your father, probably because he cheated on your mother with his oldest child's ex girlfriend. You're not straight, but you're not fully homosexual either. Pansexual, then. You're fairly inexperienced with romantic matters, which is evident from how obviously you blush when you look at me. You've been infatuated with me for a long time, but mostly used my story for a coping mechanism to stop self harming. Obviously, it didn't work, and things have gotten worse, because judging by the way you keep taking long, shaky breaths like you're emotionally preparing yourself for something, plus the way you keep turning that blade over in your hands, you're planning on killing yourself tonight..." He trails off, realising what he just said, and somehow turns paler than he was before. You can almost see the thoughts cross his mind - Oh no, I've just made it worse, I should make her change her mind, but she'll never listen to me now... Suddenly, John, who hasn't said a word this whole time, vocalises these exact thoughts.
"Sherlock, you arse! You do know what you've just done, right? Of course you do, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes, and you've just ripped apart a suicidal girl who never did anything to you!"
"Bit not good, then?" Sherlock asks, looking at John. At his flatmate's cold glare, he turns to you and mutters, "sorry."
"It's all good, after all, I was going to do it anyways. But seriously, take me with you. There's no way I'd rather spend my last day than to watch you solve a double murder."
"You can spend the day with us if you'd like, but it won't be your last," Sherlock decides. "I'll let you come, but only if you promise not to kill yourself."
You think for a moment, weighing your options, but you know there's really only one choice. "Fine," you say, watching John smile at Sherlock, and Sherlock look smugly back. Today's going to be a great day.
