Sherlock x Reader Fanfiction
Moving back to your hometown is all fun and games until you realise that annoying neighbours are something you'll have to deal with from then on. But it might not be as bad as it seems after finding out you have quite a...
When the phone call ended, Sherlock took the sneakers and stormed out.
"(Y/n), John, St. Bart's. Now!" He said and slammed the door.
"Wait, Sherlock! Those are evidence!" Greg shouted as he and John ran after Sherlock.
I stayed in my living room and just stared at the floor. Why my flat? I wondered. Whoever this is, they're playing with Sherlock, not me. So why break in here?
I quickly checked the door. No signs of force entry, so the person must be a good lock picker. No footprints, no mud, no traces at all. The intruder is very careful. I looked around. No drawers we open, my empty cup of tea from a few nights ago was still in its place. The book I was reading was... out of place. I left it in the centre of the coffee table, now it was in the left corner. I slowly picked it up and as soon as I did, a piece of paper fell out of it. I took it and examined it. The text was printed, not handwritten which didn't help much.
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I felt my blood run cold, my knees weakening and I collapsed onto the floor.
It can't be. No. No, no, no, no, NO! This can't be happening. I deleted every single information about myself when I left America. I basically disappeared! It has to be someone else.
But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. No one else was this careful, no one else paid so much attention to details, no one else knew me so well. No one else was so lethal.
Earlier, it was dangerous for me to be alone, but now, alone, I'm as good as dead.
I folded the note and put it in my pocket, got up and ran outside to hail a cab which led me to St. Bart's. I eventually found the lab Sherlock and John were in - John aimlessly pacing around the room, while Sherlock was microscoping.
"Hey guys, any news?" I asked.
"You took your time." Sherlock said, not paying me a single glance.
"I'm doing good thanks for asking." I muttered sitting in one of very few free chairs in the room and fixing my gaze at the floor.
"So, who do you suppose it was?" John asked Sherlock.
"Hmm?"
"Woman on the phone - the crying woman."
"Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage." Sherlock waved it off. "No lead there."
"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking abput leads." John said.
"You're not going to be much use to her."
"Are they trying to trace it - trace the call?" John asked.
"The bomber's too smart for that."
Their conversation was interrupted by Sherlock's text alert.
