Imagines. Reader Insert

Sherlock: You're a Junky

"She's quite capable, Mr. Holmes," Athena said to Mycroft. If I hadn't known better, it sounded like the kidnapped me for a fucking job. "Excuse me, I have a job and I'm in Uni. I don't need another job." Clearly my accent jolted them into remembering I was here. "Ah, it's all handled, don't you worry," Mycroft gave a cold fake smile that was meant to comfort but only pissed me off. "What do you mean 'handled', you arrogant piece of--" "Your position at the rehabilitation center has been removed and replaced. With a large donation in your name as well." I stood up and reached for the door when Athena grabbed my arm. "Am I under arrest?" I glared at her. "No, we just-" I snatch my arm from her grip. "Then Have a Shitty fucking day. Ruining people's lives like this. I should've stayed in America." I opened the door and stormed out. I asked a security guard how to get out of the building and he guided me to the front door.

"Thank you....Munez," I said softly after reading his tag. "He has all your information, he'll 'ask' for you again." Munez said quietly with understanding in his eyes. "Than I guess I'll see you next time." I smiled at his chuckle and walked out. I thought about hailing a cab but I knew with out a job I couldn't carelessly spend money anymore. I head down the street to the nearest bus stop. I boarded the one to Baker Street and put in my headphones listening to my maths lecture. It took a while for me to get used to calling it maths.

After half an hour, I'd finally got off at my stop. I live in a townhouse apartment, 222B. It's a cute little place and I love whoever played violin in the building next to mine. They also shot guns and yelled alot but it was all entertaining. "I probably should let Mr. Johnson that I was forcibly removed from my job and give him next months rent in advance." I took the keys out of my side bag. I opened my door and sighed as I dumped my shit down. I jogged down the stairs and knocked on Mr. Johnson's door. "Oh, Y/N. What's the occasion, dear?" He was an adorable English gent in his 60s and a widow. "I came to tell you that a bigwig removed me from my job position to force me into a job I don't know or care about. So here is next months rent while I look for a new job." His thin long fingers wrapped around my hands, "Keep it, child. You can pay me by cooking me dinner twice a week." He chuckled and patted my head. "You remind me of my Hazel. We never had kids but I wanted a daughter, you know?" I smiled brightly.

Mr. Eugene Johnson and I had grown close when I had gained my citizenship and moved in. He was like a father and I brought him meals and helped him with things. "Oh, Mr. Johnson. Of course!" I hugged him and smiled. "Ack Get out of my doorway now," he laughed, "You've got exams to study for." I nodded and made my way up the stairs, "Goodnight Eugene!" "Goodnight, Y/N." The door closed with a click and I continued to my own apartment.

As I was studying my phone buzzed with a text message.
Unknown number (8:39p.m.):
Apparently this is the number to which I'm supposed to send the list.
Cocaine (seven-percent solution injected)
Heroin (1/2 oz injected)
MDMA (1 pill swallowed)
That's all.

"WHAT?! Who is this?" I quickly replied.
Me(8:41 p.m.):
Where are you and what's your name?
This is Y/N, I don't know who you are but I'll come get you.

I waited nervous wanting to go and get this clearly high functioning drug user.
Unknown number (8:50p.m):
This isn't Athena or Mycroft? Of course they'd put me off to an intern or something.
I'm at 183 Wright drive, blue house. Bathroom...I think. I'm Sherlock Holmes.

I ran down the stairs, "I'm taking the truck, Eugene!" "That's fine, dear! Be safe!" I grab the keys from behind the coat and jumped in the pick up truck. I put the address in to the GPS and sped off in the direction. My fingers tapped against the steering wheel anxiously. "Please be okay, Sherlock." I didn't know this man but he seemed too smart to let waste into this problem. I lost too many people to addiction. It's why I loved working at the rehab center. Watching the people be restored to themselves only stronger was rewarding and filled me with happiness. I spot the house and pull in the driveway locking the doors of the truck.

I speed into the house not bothering to talk to anyone. I head upstairs to the bathroom, surprised as it's the cleanest place in this house. Sherlock is sitting on the floor eyes closed not moving. "S-sherlock? Sherlock Holmes? I'm Y/N." He waves his hand dismissing me. I take a seat on the edge of the bathtub and wait patiently.

"You've lost a lot of people to addiction. I'm not addicted. It's boredom." He says bluntly and unfeeling. "Yep, when you're ready, we will leave." He opens his eyes and turns towards me. He's wildly handsome and my breathing stops slightly. "You find me attractive. You're decent. An American, clearly. You're a university student."
"Handsome."
"What?"
"I find you handsome, not attractive. Now let's go. " I stand up without ceremony and held out my hand. He took it and stood to his full height. He was tall, but he was so excessively lean that he seemed to be giant. I held on to his hand, grabbed his bags and pulled him out of the house. "Get in," I throw his stuff behind the seats. He sits in the passenger side. "What's your address, Sherlock?" I wasn't going to talk to him like I do with most high druggies, he seemed fully functional and irritating. "221B Baker Street." My eyes widened with surprise. "You wouldn't happen to play violin would you?" He's closed his eyes again, "Occasionally. Can you stop talking?"
"Why?"
"You're giving me a headache."
"No the drugs are causing you sensitivity. Nothing to do with me, you just don't like me. "
He chuckled, "I like that you're not an idiot. But then again you work for my brother dearest. "
"I don't work for anyone now thanks to some asshat."
"Mycroft gave me your number."
"Who?"
"My brother, the British government." I chuckled, "British Government huh?" I think for a moment. "He forced me out of a job, that piece of," Sherlock gave a harsh laugh. "I suspect that the offer was denied." "Damn right, I dont know what it was but I want nothing to do with him."
Sherlock didn't seem to be listening so I stop talking. "What if I offered you a job?" He said suddenly, I looked at him briefly. "Keep talking." "Well, I'm a consulting Detective. I could use someone to help me with cases, life, the works." I thought for a moment, "Like a Personal Assistant?" Sherlock smiled softly, "Yeah. Or a wife." "Not for you," I said unphased. "Oh? Why not?" "You're a junky." He chuckled again, "Fair enough."

That's how I became Sherlock's personal assistant. A regrettable choice indeed.