Sherlock's Love Interest (BBC Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"What is it?" asked Sherlock as they breezed into the police station.

"This," said Detective Inspector Lestrade, leading the group of four back into his office.

Sally Donovan rolled her eyes. "Freak," she greeted Sherlock.

He glanced up at her for a fleeting moment. "Lovely to see you, as always."

"Here," Greg broke in.

Six pairs of eyes turned to the screen in front of them, where a picture of Moriarty appeared. "Miss me?" he asked. Sherlock's fist clenched again and his lips pursed. "I have two lovely girls in my possession, perhaps you know them?"

The video flashed a photo just bright enough to make out Molly and Amelia's faces and the wall behind them, but it remained only a second. Greg paused the video and looked up at Sherlock when he heard huffing.

"Uh..." he said.

With dilated eyes, pursed lips, clenched fists, and flaring nostrils, Sherlock appeared to be a picture of fury and rage incarnate. "Continue," he growled out.

Afraid of his reaction if the video wasn't instantly played, Greg clicked the button again.

It switched back to Moriarty, who smiled. "I have a very special challenge for you, Sherlock. Find these two in five hours, or I'll shoot them both."

The video ended, but Sherlock couldn't tear his eyes from the screen. The only thing that distracted him from theorizing thousands of different ways to kill Moriarty was Mary's sobs.

"It's okay, Mary," soothed John.

She nodded. "I know. Along with Amelia," she said with a glint in her eye, "Sherlock's girlfriend is-"

"GOOD GOD!" Sherlock screamed so loud he was red in the face. "SHE IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!"

The whole station fell silent, and John had to bite back a laugh. His friend's face flared bright red in rage and embarrassment.

Donovan scoffed, "Like he's capable of liking anyone."

Without another word Sherlock left. John knew he had seconds to get outside, but he also wanted to stay and defend Sherlock. He quickly decided to simply say, "You're wrong," and walk out. He only just made it inside.

While in the cab, John opened his mouth to speak, but a hand gesture stopped him. "Stay quiet, I need to think." Sherlock was obviously in more control of his temper now.

Noticing his mate's flat collar and exposed neck, John disobeyed his instructions. "Sherlock, are you feeling alright?"

"Fine," he said, then mumbled almost incoherently, "concrete. That's it."

Later, they both stood in their living room while Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson spoke in hushed voices in the kitchen. Sherlock was pacing, not unusual, but he still had his coat on. John found this a strange break of habit, but anxious thoughts of his daughter kept him from reading the reason behind it.

Thirty minutes passed in this way, both becoming more bald by the second. Finally John spoke up from his chair, which Mrs. Hudson had coaxed him into just before she left. "Well?"

"Well what?" he snapped.

John stirred his lukewarm tea. "What do you know?"

Sherlock sat down and rested his head in his hands. With a defeated sigh he lifted his head and slowly said, "Nothing. I know nothing."