A Study in Pink [Reader Insert]

Sherlock Holmes

     You and John walked into the cold hospital room. "Bit different than in my day," John was commenting.

     You smiled. "Oh, you've no idea!"

     Then you noticed a tall well-dressed man with curly hair sitting at the microscope. He looked up at the two of you briefly, then back down at whatever he was doing.

     "Sorry, who are you?" You asked, taking off your coat and draping it over one arm. You were wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath. You noticed that the man's nails were in good condition, but from his awkward-looking position- presumably only made to look awkward my his lanky figure- this man didn't much care what others thought of him. The other signs of self-grooming were quite clear, but you forced yourself to focus on not that. 10/10 wording there. He quite obviously held himself high and yet did not value the opinion of others. He thought he was better than everyone else. Like you, a voice in your head growled. Shut up, you hissed back. The entire mental process took place in less than three seconds. "Uh, where's Molly?" 

   "She's getting coffee," The man muttered. "Friend of hers, are you? From out of town, too."

     "Yes, but you're her friend, too," you replied, deducing him as you spoke. "She likes you, actually. And you know it, but don't care much to humor her. I swear, if she gets hurt-"

     "Oh, emotions,"  he hissed, earning an bewildered look from John. "Who cares about those?"

     "Is he like you?" John asked you quietly. "All... smart and stuff? And insensitive?"

     "Insensitive?" you pretended to be offended. "I do make an effort, you know."

    Then the door opened, and you and John stepped away from the door as Molly came in. "Oh, and here's my friend, Molly Hooper," you said to John as the door closed slowly. Molly held out a hand awkwardly toward John, balancing two cups of coffee in a tray on her other hand. 

     "John Watson," your friend said as he shook it. "Pleasure to meet you."

     Molly nodded. "Do you need something, (Y/N)?" She asked as walked to where the other man was sitting. "You're usually only here when you need something." 

     "Yes, well, actually, I came to ask you about the man you mentioned needing a flat share, because-"

     "Oh, I see," the dark-haired man said, looking at the three of you. "That'd-" he stopped suddenly and gave Molly a cold stare. "You took off your lipstick."

     "Yeah, well, if wasn't working for me," she replied nervously.

     "Really? I-" he broke off as you cleared your throat and gave him a warning glare.

     The man drew in a sharp breath, turning his blue-eyed gaze to you as if to say, Like I said. Emotions.

     Your only response was a raised eyebrow.

     "Well, anyway, that'd be me. Sherlock Holmes. And I'm assuming this man here is another one needing a flatmate. So, Afghanistan or Iraq, you two?"

     You narrowed your eyes. So, this man- Sherlock- was intelligent, at least by most standards. But was he really as clever as you?

   "Sorry, what?" John asked. "How'd you know-"

     "You know, before I answer that, can I borrow your phone? I need to send a text."

     John looked at you and you nodded. He took his phone out of his pocket and reached over to give it to Sherlock, who flipped it in the air casually.

     "As I was saying," Sherlock muttered, "Afghanistan... or Iraq?"

     "Molly, did you mention Afghanistan to Mr. Holmes?" you asked slowly, still doubtful that Sherlock had figured it out on his own. Also, what kind of name is Sherlock?

     "Not a word," she replied.

     "How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked.

     Sherlock ignored him and said, "How do you feel about the violin?" He didn't wait for a reply and went on, "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." As Sherlock spoke, he threw on his coat while simultaneously typing on John's phone and walked toward the door. "We'll meet there tomorrow, 7:00. Sorry, got to dash- I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

     "Is that it?" John said, turning around to face him as Holmes opened the door to leave.

     "Is that what?" Sherlock closed the door and took a step back to look at Watson.

     "We've only just met, and we're going to look at a flat?"

     Sherlock's cold eyes looked you up and down, then back at John. "Problem?"

     John smiled with a look that said Is this guy serious? "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know who you are, and I've only just learned your name."

     "I know you're an army doctor, and you and your lovely friend have come from Afghanistan not long ago. I know you, Watson, have a brother who's worried about you-" You smirked, which threw Sherlock off. His confident voice faltered. You knew Harry was John's sister, not his brother, which is one reason you were amused, but you were also secretly excited to meet someone you knew was at least halfway clever, like you. "..but you won't go to him for help," Sherlock went on a bit less certainly," because you don't approve of him. Possibly because he's an alcoholic and more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, quite rightly, I'm afraid, and your friend knows it as well. I know that she is coming from Chelmsford and has actually visited London quite often, which is why she's a good friend to my colleague Molly Hooper, but now something's different; she might even be looking to move in somewhere in London." Sherlock took a deep breath. "That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

     He made his way back to the door once again- you noticed the color of his scarf for the first time, which matched your phone. Before he left, he leaned around the edge of the door. "The address is 221B Baker Street." Sherlock winked- you couldn't tell if it was aimed at you or John- (possibly both, you decided) and he left, uttering a goodbye on his way.