A Study in Pink [Reader Insert]

A Killer Conversation

     As soon as you entered the limousine next to Dr. Watson, you whipped out your phone and the car started moving. You saw the texts that had been sent.

     Come to 221B Baker Street if convenient.  -SH

     If inconvenient, come anyway.  -SH

     Could be dangerous.  -SH

     You smiled and texted back, On my way. 

     Then you pocketed your phone. The next few minutes were spent in silence, until you caught John looking your way. You looked at him with an expression that invited him to state his mind.

     "Were we technically just kidnapped?" he wondered.

     On the other side of the limo, 'Anthea' paused her typing and leaned forward to give John a little smirk. You shot her a look, but she just winked before sitting back. You didn't answer John's stupid question, though. And the rest of the ride was spent in silence.

     A while later, the limousine stopped by an unfamiliar building. "Where's this?" you asked.

     "My place," John replied. Anthea stepped out the door to let John through. He limped inside the building and returned in a few minutes.

     As he sat back down, you muttered, "Get your gun okay?"

   "Yep," he said, popping the p but not doing well to hide his discomfort at your ability to deduce that he'd gotten his gun.

     Anthea got in and the drive continued for a few more minutes. You didn't say a word, but John attempted to make small talk with Anthea. 

     Son enough, the limo pulled up at 221B Baker Street. "Any chance you could not tell your boss this is where we went?" John asked.

     Anthea looked up. "Sure."

     "She's already told him, John," you said. He just frowned and followed you out on your side of the car. The limo glided away.

     "She has a girlfriend, you know," you said, once it was gone. "Although the relationship isn't too serious yet, as evidenced by the way she winked at me."

     "She winked at you?" John asked, appalled. You frowned at him. "Sorry, that's not what I meant!" he exclaimed. "But... she's not straight?"

     "No, she's not heterosexual."

    John nodded slowly. "Yep. Just my luck."

     As the two of you walked into the flat, he questioned quietly, "Was it really that obvious that I was trying to-?"

     "Yes."

    "Okay."

     The two of you stepped into the room, which was dimly lit. Sherlock was sprawled out on the sofa with his eyes closed. His laptop lay on his chest.

     One of Sherlock's sleeves was rolled up. He fiddled at something that you couldn't see at his forearm.

     "What're you doing?" John asked.

     Sherlock glanced irritably at John, then pulled back his arm to reveal three nicotine patches. "Helps me think," he explained. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork!" 

     "Good news for breathing," John muttered.

     "Oh, breathing," scoffed Sherlock. "Who needs that?"