A Study in Pink [Reader Insert]

College Sucks.

     "Where are we?" Sherlock's voice asked through the phone. 

     The taxi driver's quiet voice replied, "You know where we are. You know every street in London."

     "Roland-Kerr Further Education College." You and John exchanged a look. It was where you'd told your own taxi driver- hopefully not also a serial killer- to drive, so at least you knew you were headed in the right direction. "Why here?"

     "It's a quiet spot for a murder. Us cabbies know things like that- surprised more of us haven't branched out," the voice said in a mockingly wistful voice. The man driving your and John's cab looked at the two of you uncomfortably through the mirror.

     "You just walk your victims in? How?" Sherlock asked. There was no sound for a few seconds, but then came his voice again: "Oh, dull!"

     "Don't worry," the serial killer taxi driver's assured maliciously. "It gets better... But I don't need this with you, cos you'll just follow me in anyway."

     A car door opening. Closing. The noise of Sherlock taking a deep breath- he was hesitating. Go, you urged mentally. Follow him. 

     And he did.

-Sherlock's POV-

     They were in a dark an empty classroom at the top floor. "What'd'you think? Up to you- you're the one who's going to die here," The taxi driver said, moving to one of the middle tables in the room. 

     "No, I'm not," Sherlock replied confidently, though inwardly not so sure. 

     The taxi driver only looked amused, which put Sherlock more on edge. "That's what they all say."  He gestured for Sherlock to take a seat. 

-Your POV- 

     The cab pulled up at the college as the taxi driver's voice said through the phone, "Your pretty friend was on my track- she was quicker than you. Is quicker than you."

     You grinned. John glared daggers at you, annoyed at your prideful smile when Sherlock's life was on the line. He rushed out of the taxi on the left side, while you exited on the right. Before the two of you stood two buildings. "One each," you murmured. John nodded with a sense of duty. "I'll take the one on the left."

      "I like this bit. Cos you don't get it yet, do you?" The taxi driver said through your phone. You looked at John. "But you will. I just have to do... this."

     "Okay, go," you ordered John. He entered his selected building, and you yours.

     -Sherlock's POV-

    Sherlock sat tensely in front of the taxi driver, eyeing the two containers in front of him uneasily. "Okay, two bottles. Explain."

     The small old man leaned forward. "There's a good bottle an' a bad bottle. Take a pill form the good bottle an' you live. Take a pill from the bad bottle... an' you die."

     "The bottles are, of course, identical?"

     "In every way," the serial killer replied. "And I know which is which, of course."

     "But I don't."

     The man laughed and sat back. He took off his glasses, pulled out a cloth and wiped them down. "Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."

     "Why should I? I've got nothing to go on! What's in it for me?"

     The taxi driver grinned. "I haven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one. And then together, we take the medicine."

     Sherlock stared, genuinely surprised.

     "I'll take whatever pill you don't," the taxi driver serial killer reiterated, malevolently. "Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. Holmes?"

     Sherlock certainly didn't expect that, no. He leaned forward in deep concentration. "This is what you did, to all of them? You gave them a choice?"

     The cabbie nodded. "And now, I'm giving it to you. Give yourself a moment to get it together- I want you on your best game." 

      "It's not a game, it's chance!" Sherlock scoffed.    The cabbie raised an eyebrow. "I've played four times. I'm still alive. It's not chance. It's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and only one survivor. And this-" he slid one bottle toward Sherlock- "is the first move. Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."

     -John's POV-

     John was racing up a flight of stairs to the third floor. He'd just searched the two bottom floors extensively, but Sherlock was nowhere to be found. He could only hope that (Y/N) was having better luck, but John had no idea what was happening, because she was the one with the phone; with access to what was happening between Sherlock and the cabbie. John was in the dark on this one, and was getting desperate. 

     He decided to pull out his phone as he searched, and dialed for the police. No good. He called Anderson's mobile. Nope. Donovan's.

     She picked up. "It's John!" The doctor shouted into the phone. "Ye-no- Listen, I don't have time for this. No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I need to speak with him, it's important, it's an emergency!"

     -Your POV-

     You were only on the second floor- possibly because you were searching more thoroughly than John, but more likely because he was much more panicked than you were. Mycroft was right; John- strangely- trusted Sherlock. 

     You'd placed your phone in the inner pocket of your trench coat. Although it made the audio from the microphone/tracker you'd placed on Sherlock a little muffled, you could still make out what was being said. You carefully opened one door and peeked in, then swung it open more. No Sherlock. No murderer. No other doors, leading out of that room, so there was no reason for you to continue searching in that room. You moved on to a second part of the second floor.                                                                                                                                                                                                            "Are you ready to play yet, Mr. Holmes?"                                                                                                                "Play what? It's a fifty - fifty chance."               

Next room. done. Nothing. Moving on.

    "You're not playing the numbers- you're playing me. Did I give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff, a double bluff, a triple bluff...?"                                                                                                           "It's still chance," Sherlock insisted, to which the murderer replied, "Four people in a row? It's not chance."

     Still nothing. Moving on to the next room. You continued to decipher the muffled voices coming from the speaker of your mobile while also searching every room.  "It's genius," the taxi driver was saying. "I know how people think. I can see it in my head- like a map. Everyone's so stupid... even you."

    This room had a door in the back. You heard the taxi driver say, "Maybe God just loves me" as you opened the door. Nothing- and now time to go to the third floor. "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie," Sherlock stated as your foot hit the first step. Then, suddenly, the speaker buzzed out a static sound, as if the signal was being jammed. It probably was, actually, you realized, picking up the pace. You pushed against the door at the top of the stairs to continue your search.

     It was locked.