The Reichenbach Fall [Reader Insert]

Off With His Head - Part 1

  "That's what love is like: mother of the greatest bliss, and stepmother of the most tragic misery."  -Stefanos Livos

    The workings of the common human mind would never cease to annoy you if not perplex you. 

     What was considered consciousness was a motley cumulation of instinct, pains, conversations, and emotions, things considered human by all aspects. Even love was often viewed as some external, uncontrollable force; and it was, but it couldn't be attributed to some magic mystic forces of the soul. It was the result of instinct affected by childhood impressions, role models, and hobbies, all compiling into one large heap of habituated neurons which led to chemicals which led to physical reactions. Love might have been uncontrollable to some, but it was prognosticable in all cases of--

     "I'll get it, shall I?" came the tetchy grumble of John, snapping you out of your rambling (you preferred the term philosophizing or researching, but I didn't, and I'm the writer) and back to reality. You and Sherlock were sitting at his chair, Sherlock sitting like a normal person and you adjacent to him on his lap, wearing a purple-button up shirt. Neither of you were doing anything beyond the realm of your minds-- Sherlock was in his mind palace, and you had been researching (efference copy) before you drifted into your own mind.

     "Get what?" you asked John. Sherlock beside/underneath (both) you tensed, though not in a tense way, just in an awake away that was just enough to let an attentive person (*ahem* YOU) know he had departed from his mind palace.

     "The phone???" John glared pointedly at the device where it lay on the table. "It's been going off." Right on cue, it beeped again. John huffed.

     A short silence progressed, but was shortly broken at the sound of a beep. Again.

     "Well?" said John.

     "I thought you said you were going to get it."

    He groaned and stood from his place by his computer, getting the phone. After taking a moment to read the lock screen notification, a frown crossed his face. John tossed it your way, which was unfortunate, because you were visiting your thoughts again and also happened to be facing the opposite way. Sherlock caught it with a flick of the wrist, unlocked your phone (it took him two tries; you laughed when he got it wrong the first time), and held it up so the two of you could see the contents:

Come and play.
Tower Hill.
Jim Moriarty x.

(A/N:

sis guess who got best actor award and stood frozen for fifty years and then slowly walked up and stood there mortified struggling to manage even a painful smile because social anxiety? this boiii. on the bright side there were three other ppl who won best actor so its not like i was standing up there alone because i wouldve started crying if i was