The Hounds of Baskerville [Reader Insert]

Fallen

ahaha IRONY

The moment you've been waiting for, I suppose. Note: some things may not be scientifically accurate. this is because and why I am not a scientist.

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i'm absolutely not satisfied but lololol this is a fanfic sooo

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I LOST ONE OF MY NOTES 

I write little plans, y'know, skeletons of the story, and one of them was for this chapter, but I lost it. I think I may have written it somewhere below and forgotten to delete it when I rewrote it in more detail. If you find it... uhh can u point it out so i can delete it thanks bye

I just nearly put a very immature joke about buts (yes, one t) (except no, not one t). Be glad I refrained.

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gosh let's just pretend y/n is culturally dumb enough to not see how cliche that line is

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oh wait we could have them acknowledge it wouldn't that be lit *dabs*

my motto: get it out and over with so you're too busy to cringe

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How much of a failure do you have to be to type Marry Bajormore instead of Major Barrymore

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I'm rereading over this and crrriiiIINNNNGGGEEEE but I made it a little less cringe but believe me it's still cringe sooooo take that as a warning

  You accompanied John on a walk the next day- he said he needed to get "fresh air" or something equally farcical. It wasn't as if there was no air inside.

   John didn't speak much more than necessary, which was a bit of a clue of his anxiousness. It wasn't hard to suppose the cause. Sherlock had not returned last night.

   It wasn't entirely unlikely that John was a slight suspicion that you'd done something terrible to the missing detective. He didn't mention it more than once, though. You thought that was because John was too frightened to ask.

   Or, perhaps, and maybe what you hoped to be true, John knew you well enough to know that you wouldn't murder Sherlock. Not after so obviously going to confront him. Only an idiot would commit such a severe crime so obviously.

   You two stopped at a church graveyard. John sat upon the steps of a war memorial, looking through his notebook. Proofreading a blog entry, perhaps. Or maybe looking through carefully taken but ultimately redundant notes regarding the case.

   You were much less worried about Sherlock than John seemed to be, although the dark-haired detective still lingered in your mind. Just for different reasons. Reasons that you were trying to ignore for a moment. At least you were no longer shoving them down. 

   Anyway, Sherlock had probably been out all night researching and investigating obsessively. You yourself had been doing something of the sort; only from the comfort of your bed. John no doubt believed you'd gotten sleep last night. How adorably naive. 

   The noise of footsteps sounded from the other side of the kissing gate make you and John look up at the same time.

   Sherlock looked hesitant, uneasy, unsure, and altogether undeserving of the indecipherable spike of emotion you felt when he stared at you. His stormy gray eyes flicked to John just as soon, as if grateful for a distraction. John was pocketing his notebook with a barely visible grimace and walking past Sherlock. Oh, sure. Spend your morning pining after him and when he shows up, get angry and walk away.