A Scandal in Belgravia [Reader Insert]

Agent Blondie

      Dupe. So I figured I haven't told ya'll that this move is going to take place over several months. Hold on, let me check a calendar... Okay, so about four months. It is going to be torture. sssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhlet'sallignoretheirrelevantimageabovebcostheonlyreasonitsthereisbcosidon'thaveanythingelsesavestothesystemandi'mprettydarnlazy k here's the chapter.

     "I don't appreciate you following me," you said to Sherlock, keeping your voice stern despite your worry. You were really just trying to get a reaction out of him, but Sherlock's only response was a clenched jaw as the two of you made your way down Baker Street at a brisk pace.

     After you chased him down at the abandoned factory, he took off on foot instead of taking a cab, and for some reason, you followed him. You honestly didn't know why.

     So far, Sherlock hadn't spoken one word to you. He seemed... disoriented.

     "So, she's alive, then," you tried again. The flat was just up ahead. "How are we feeling about that?" You tried to catch his eye but Sherlock refused to take his gaze off of the door to the flat.

     "Sherlock-" you were going to press on, but broke off suddenly when you saw that the door was slightly ajar. On the doorframe, near the lock, were clear disturbances in the dark paint; scratch marks. There were bits of wood splintered off. Clear signs of a forced entry.

     You narrowed your eyes and opened the door slowly, immediately taking note of the bin of cleaning supplies on the floor beside the stairs, and especially of the knocked over Zil can. Mrs. Hudson had been here.

     "(Y/N), look," Sherlock said quietly. You looked over and saw dark scuff marks on the wall, leading up the stairs. The streaks were accompanied by nail marks. Signs of a struggle.

     You and Sherlock shared a look of pure hatred, but not for each other. For whoever had hurt Mrs. Hudson.

     You looked up to the door to the living room. Whoever had done this was still there, holding Mrs. Hudson captive, waiting for either you or Sherlock to come in. Unfortunately for them, it'd be both.

      You pushed the door open slowly. It creaked quietly.

     And on the left side of the room, you saw something that you hadn't not been expecting, but nonetheless, it made you want to do something not entirely legal. Sherlock understandably had a similar reaction. You felt him stiffen beside you when he saw Aunt Martha's state.

      She was trembling, bound to a chair by ropes and straps, a gun pointed at the back at her head. The man the other side of the barrel possessed a familiar face. It was Blondie.

      Blondie was flanked by two armed men in similar black three-piece suits. There was one man from before, at Irene's place, but the other was new. It was almost pleasing to remember that one of the agents had died. Apparently Blondie hadn't learned since then. It didn't take a genius to see that he intended to use Mrs. Hudson to get something from Sherlock and you. The phone, most likely. They would threaten to hurt, maybe even kill her. Well, you'd killed before, and as you were sure Blondie would soon learn, you weren't afraid of doing it again.

      "Don't snivel, Mrs. Hudson," said Sherlock coldly beside you. "It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet." He clenched his teeth and growled out of the corner of his mouth, "What a tender world that would be."

      "Why are you here?" You growled, glaring at the Americans, and trying your best not to let your fear for your Aunt show.

      "You have something that we need," coldly answered Blondie.