The Hounds of Baskerville [Reader Insert]

Client

      You bit down on your tongue and looked over to the mantelpiece uncomfortably, if only to avoid Sherlock's gaze. You only realized your mistake when you looked back at him and saw the look of victory there on his face.

     Sherlock's head whipped 'round to the mantelpiece, a smug smile on his face. "Gotchya," he whispered, taking a step away from you to move toward where your eyes had only momentarily rested.

     John sighed. "Don't worry, I moved it."

     Sherlock turned and stared at John incredulously. "You moved it?" he practically howled in animal-like need. "It's just a smoke! I just need a smoke!"

    John sighed. "How about a cup of tea instead, Sherlock? Surely-"

     "I need something stronger than tea, John!" Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Seven percent stronger."

     "Nope." You knew exactly what he was referencing when he said that. Back when he used, he'd inject himself with a 7% cocaine solution. His withdrawal after his promise to stop using had been bad enough, but now he was going through it all over again because Sherlock had somehow found himself in a position in which he'd found it necessary to pledge to John that he'd try to stop smoking. "That is not happening. What you need is a case, but you're not going to get one by obsessing and screaming like a child!"

     "The only case-" Sherlock growled and went to the desk, lifting his laptop and practically throwing it into your arms. "Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he recited, "I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please, can you help?" Sherlock huffed.

     "Bluebell?"

     "A rabbit, (Y/N)!"

     "Oh."

     "Ah, but there's more!" Sherlock announced, changing his tone to mimic excitement and childlike wonder. As he spoke, you read through the matching words on the screen. "Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous! Like a fairy, according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked! No sign of a forced entry-" Sherlock stopped, realization dawning on his face. "What am I saying? This is brilliant. Phone Lestrade, tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

     "Are you being serious?" John scoffed.

     "It's either this," Sherlock answered grimly, "or Cluedo."

     "Uh, no. We are never playing that again."

     "Why not?" you asked.

     "The last time Sherlock played Cluedo, he insisted that the victim had done it. At the end of the game, the board was stuck in the wall!"

      "It was the only possible solution!" Sherlock objected defensively.

     "It's not in the rules!"

     "WELL THEN THE RULES ARE WRONG!" Sherlock clenched his jaw and glared at you. "What about you? You're not solving any cases, yet you seem to be absolutely fine. So tell me, (Y/N), how is it that you're staying sane?"

     "I've been experimenting," you answered, folding your arms.

     And Sherlock's eyes lit up. He picked up the harpoon in his in his right hand, tossed it to his left, and pointed it at you. "Yes, yes you have." Sherlock began to rattle off deductions at an alarming rate. "You're wearing your coat so you've been out somewhere yet your phone isn't in your coat pocket, which means that you had to take it off at some point, which means that whoever was wherever you were cares and knows about your previous unfortunate habit. Molly? No, you've been avoiding her like the plague since, when was it, Christmas?  Doctor Adam Spencer or whatever his name was, that's who. But clearly that wasn't the only thing the visit for, if not evidenced by the fact that you, by your own words, were 'experimenting' or that you simply are not the type to go places for psychological health reasons, then the fact that your hair is slightly less kept, but not in a way that suggests lack of care- in a way that suggests physical activity or wind. The first choice would be wind; however, anyone who monitors these sorts of things knows that there's been no atmospheric activity of the sort, therefore we conclude that physical activity was the cause- yet obviously not too heavy because the rest of you is in perfectly fine condition. The only obvious action in which you'd've recently engaged is-"

     Sherlock stopped and went pale, only to go pink. He opened his mouth to ask a tentative question when the bell buzzed.

     All three of you snapped your eyes to the door.

     "A single ring," John said.

     "Maximum pressure," you added.

    "Just under a half-second," whispered Sherlock.

     The three of you, all at once, grinned widely and said together, "Client."