A Study in Pink [Reader Insert]

On the Move

     Sherlock slammed the pink case shut and rushed to grab a lapel. "Shouldn't we call the police?" asked John.  

     "Four people are dead- there's no time to speak to police," replied Sherlock.

     "So... why are you talking to me?" 

     Sherlock paused and glanced at the mantle across the room sadly. "Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

     "Pity," you muttered sarcastically. "So we're basically filling in for your skull?"

     "Don't worry, you're doing a fabulous job." Sherlock threw on his coat. "Well?"

    "Well, what?" John grumbled.

     "Well, you could just sit there and watch the telly while (Y/N) went down to help Mrs. Hudson with her midnight soothers, or...." He raised his eyebrows at both you and John. "I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. Skull just attracts attention, so...."

     "I usually work alone," you admitted hesitantly.

     John stood up and nodded. "I'll come," he said. 

     You looked at him with sudden decisiveness. You'd rather be divisive than indecisive. (Hamilton reference.) "Right then, I'll come too." 

      Sherlock frowned at you, (possibly disappointed that your decision to come had been based upon whether or not John did,) but his eyes twinkled. He was getting quite excited for what lay ahead: a wonderful compelling adventure about the serial murders that had puzzled Scotland Yard for so long? Brilliant. 

     You'd never taken off your coat in the first place, so you were ready to go. John smiled to himself. 

     "Sergeant Donovan said... said you get off on this sort of thing. You and (Y/N) do, actually. You two enjoy it."

     Sherlock smirked. "Well, I said dangerous.... and here you are." He went out.

     The three of you emerged from 221B. Sherlock was striding ahead, while you hung back with John, who was hurrying to catch up.  "Northumberland Street is five minutes walk from here!" Sherlock called back at the two of you. 

     "He thinks the murder is stupid enough to go there," John remarked snidely. 

     "No, he's not stupid enough, but brilliant enough," you told him. "Love the brilliant ones. So desperate to get caught!"

     "Oh, you're sick. I can't believe you enjoy this. Why would the murderer show up?"

 "Appreciation! Applause!" you shouted, spreading your arms theatrically. "At long last, the spotlight! You turned to face John, walking backwards now. "That's the frailty of genius, John. It needs an audience."

John smiled cynically. "Yeah. I can see that."

You gave him an amused knowing smile, and turned back around to face the direction you were walking to find that Sherlock was staring right at you. He quickly looked away.

     Sherlock looked over at the two of you. "Haven't the faintest. Hungry?"

     The trio was walking into a humble Italian restaurant. You were reiterating, "Y'know, I keep telling you. It makes perfect sense. The one who can hunt in the middle of a crowd without anyone being bothered, though, is a cab drive-"