You and Sherlock

We All Make Enemies

You made it just outside the doors and were about to try and hail down a cab when Sherlock grabbed your arm and pushed it down.

"What are you doing?"

"Wha- Sherlock. I have things to do." You frowned and then pushed forward when Sherlock opened his mouth to say something. "That don't involve me breaking into some dead man's flat."

"Technically, I did the breaking and entering. You were really just an accomplice."

"Lovely, Sherlock, thanks." You snorted and rolled your eyes. "But seriously, I told Molly yesterday I would come in and file a few things."

"Then go later. Right now, Y/N, the game is on." Sherlock frantically hailed down a cab and stuffed you in it, quickly squeezing in beside you.

"Where are we going?" You asked as Sherlock leaned back from the cab driver, having evidently been kind enough to clue him in as to where your destination was.

"Lunch." 

"Oh." You paused, looking at Sherlock more carefully. "I thought you didn't eat when 'the game is on.'" 

Sherlock sent you a bland look.

"We're not eating."

"You may not be, but I certainly am. Sherlock, eating is ---"

"Boring. It's boring." Sherlock cut you off impatiently, waving his hand in your general direction. 

"Right," you muttered, dragging your eyes down to his hand where it now lay between you two. "Providing sufficient nutrients to your body so that you can function is boring."

"Oh for -- Y/N, if you're going to talk the whole time I'm kicking you out of the cab." 

"Yeah, that'd make a nice headline," you shot back. "Internet detective pushes neighbor into traffic. It'd do wonders for your image," you snorted softly but then actually shut up, watching as the tightly-wound traffic of London passed by. 

Sometime later, you pulled up at an upscale restaurant. You crinkled your nose getting out of the cab. Sherlock was a lot of things, but he wasn't really one to go to restaurants like these. You'd gone out with him to a place like this before -- before John moved in when Sherlock didn't have a case and you'd had a free evening. Sherlock had irritated the waiter and chef so much that the police had been called and there was very nearly a riot at the bar. You hadn't tried to going out to dinner again at a place like that since then. 

It took you less than a second to figure out why you'd come once you walked inside, because Sherlock, being the subtle and understated character he was, immediately and dramatically strode toward a table, eyes narrowed and face wrought with determination. You followed behind, less enthusiastically, to the table where several men in suits sat, their attention glued to a laughing Sebastian. 

"... and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!"

"It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant."

You watched in both horror and amusement as the faces of the diners went from amused to baffled and then to mildly horrified. Sebastian looked like he'd just been hit in the face with a cricket bat and you were definitely silently enjoying his discomfort and panic.

"I'm kind of in a meeting." Sebastian cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, shooting his eyes over to his companions who now all looked very intrigued. "Can you make an appointment with my secretary?" 

Sherlock shook his head.

"I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed."

"What?" Sebastian looked aghast. The man next to him looked enthralled. 

"Yes," you deadpanned. "right in front of your salad." 

Nobody laughed, so you sighed and explained further since it looked like Sherlock wasn't going to.

"Van Coon. The police are at his flat."

"Killed?" 

You had to admit, Sebastian's shock was a little comical. 

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion. Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?" Sherlock interjected sarcastically.

Sebastian cleared his throat, setting down his glass of water and running his fingers inside his shirt collar.

"Would you gentlemen," Sebastian turned to his tablemates, "Excuse me for a moment?"

Without waiting for a reply, Sebastian stood up and hastily made his way to the men's restroom. Sherlock whirled to follow him and you trailed behind, feeling a lot like a duckling. Sherlock barged in immediately after Sebastian but you paused. After a few seconds, Sherlock popped his head back out into the hall.

"Y/N? Come on. The game, Y/N."

"Yes, yes," you huffed, walking into the men's bathroom. "It's on. I know."

The two of you waited in a somewhat awkward silence as Sebastian took care of his business. In your defense, you politely avoided his eyes and hung around the door until he started washing his hands, at which point you stepped up beside Sherlock. 

"Right so... Van Coon?" 

"What about him?" Sebastian frowned, turning to face you, and you threw your hands up in the air. 

"I don't know! Information -- why would someone want to kill him? Where was he educated? Anything. Give us some insight, if that is at all possible for you." You huffed out.

"Ignore Y/N, Sebastian. She's just hungry." Sherlock put a placating hand o your arm and you glared up at him. 

"Right," Sebastian narrowed his eyes and looked at Sherlock, drying his hands with a towel. "From Harrow. Went to Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so ..." he trailed off.

"So... you gave him the Hong Kong accounts."

"Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had." There was something akin to admiration floating in Sebastian's tone.

"Who would want to kill him?" You were still confused about that bit. 

"We all make enemies."

"You all make enemies?" You echoed in disbelief. "Really? Are you doing some things that would warrant a bullet in your temple -- besides being a class-A dick?"

"Not usually." Sebastian gave you a sickly sweet grin and his phone beeped. "Excuse me," he looked down at his phone and then back up at Sherlock, his expression much calmer now.  "It's my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently, they're telling him it was a suicide." 

Sherlock shook his head decisively. 

"Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian. He was murdered."

Sebastian shrugged. "Well, I'm afraid they don't see it like that."

"Seb," Sherlock said sternly at Sebastian who shrugged again. 

"And neither does my boss. I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked." With that, he brushed past both you and Sherlock to leave the room. You waited for a beat until he was gone before chuckling humourlessly to yourself and reaching out to soothe Sherlock, who looked like he might indeed cause another riot at the bar.

"And here I was thinking that bankers were these heartless bastards."