A Scandal in Belgravia [Reader Insert]

Progress

     "You stole an ashtray from Buckingham Palace!?"

     You, John, and Sherl were on your way from the palace to Irene's place when Sherlock had started giggling and pulled out the delicate object you were staring at now. It was the freakin' ashpan that Watson had been joking around with.

     "John wanted it," Sherlock defended himself, waving the glass ashtray around. He and John started laughing.
     You'd have liked to yell at them-particularly Sherl- but instead found holding back a laugh of your own. "I swear, if you get yourself arrested for this, I'm not bailing you out!" you sniggered, sending the two into another bout of it.

     "No, but seriously, we need to calm down," you said. "What's our plan? Just ring her doorbell?"

     "Exactly," Sherlock replied, still smiling. He leaned forward to the driver. "Here, please."

     "Why are we here?" you asked, stepping out of the cab and waiting by the door for everyone to step out. "This isn't the address."

     "Two streets away," Sherlock affirmed, stepping out of the cab. John came out behind him and you shut the door. (What a lady.) Sherlock walked a bit down the narrow street, pulled off his scarf, and balled it up. He spun around. "This'll do. It's time to add a splash of colour. Punch me in the face."

     John blinked. "...Sorry? Punch you?"

     "Yes. Someone, quick. Punch me in the face. Didn't you hear me?"

     "I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking," you replied. "But it's usually subtext."

     "Oh, for goodness sake." Sherlock turned and punched John, who stumbled backward and onto the floor.

     In an instant, you'd reacted diplomatically.... by welting Sherlock across the face. He reeled back and brought a hand to his cheek, while you shook out the pain in your hand. Stupid cheekbones.

     "Thank you," Sherlock said, a bit out of breath from the force of the blow. "That was-" but John, who had gotten up from the ground, practically tackled Sherlock and trapped him in a headlock.

     Sherlock grunted. "I really think we're done now, Joh-"

     "You want to remember, Sherlock," John seethed as the two struggled, "(Y/N) and I were soldiers. We killed people!"

     "You were a doctor!" Sherlock choked out.

     "I had bad days!"

(GAH. I was just eating yogurt and Apple Jacks and the apple jacks went down my throat and I almost breathed them in. I started choking. Stupid apple jacks.)

----

     "Hello?" A soft, feminine voice said through the speaker.

     Sherlock peered through the camera looking quite disheveled and anxious. The three of you were outside of Irene Adler's home, and Sherlock working to get the group in. You and John stayed to the right of the camera by the door, out of sight from whoever was on the other side.

     "Oh- um, sorry to disturb you," Sherlock stammered, "um- I-I've just been attacked(!) and I think they, they took my wallet and-and my phone, and- um-" Sherlock choked back tears. "Please, could you help me?"

     "I can phone the police if you want." Strangely, she didn't sound sympathetic.

     "Thank you, thank you- could you, please?" Sherlock whimpered. "Er- would you, would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come?" He didn't wait for her reply. "Thank you, thank you so much."

     As the door buzzed open, Sherlock began to sob pitifully. You rolled your eyes. A bit much, wasn't it? Still, it did the job. The door opened and Sherlock walked in, holding a cloth to his face now. He had a roman collar on that would normally be associated with a priest.

     You and John followed him in. "We saw the whole thing happen," you explained to the orange-haired woman standing there. She was the one who had answered the intercom.

     "It's okay," John said, "I'm a doctor. Have you got a first aid kit?"

     "In the kitchen," the lady answered, pointing to a room across the hall. John nodded and took off toward it. "Please, have a seat," the woman said, gesturing to the room behind her.

     "Oh, thank you!" Sherlock managed to say. The cloth he'd been dabbing on his cheek was now damp with blood and tears. He and you went to sit on a sofa at one end of the large, well-decorated room.

     Soon, you heard footsteps approach. Sherlock, who'd just begun to relax, sat up a little straighter and held the cloth back to his cheek.

     "Hello- Sorry to hear that you've been hurt!" a voice said at the door. "I don't think Kate caught your name."

     "So sorry," Sherlock mumbled, pulling the handkerchief away from his face and inspecting the amount of blood. There was actually quite a lot. He shot you an accusing glare. "I'm-"

     Sherlock looked up for the first time since the woman had spoken and found himself at a loss of words. You yourself were in a similar state. The source of the sudden silence?

     A smug Irene Adler standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a smile.