Where to begin with the detective?
You started out as just a girl who lived in the flat above him and John Watson.
One day, he found you and John getting coffee. Or tea in John’s case.
He couldn’t read you.
He wanted to know more.
And that’s when your adventures began.
Sherlock began to take you on cases and you became his little partner in crime.
You even helped him with his plan to fake his death, reluctantly of course.
However, when Sherlock came back two years later, you had no idea.
You were simply called downstairs by John one random day.
So you went, only to be met by an angry John and a returned Sherlock.
“So you knew about this?” John asked, glaring at you.
“Knew about what?” You asked, innocently.
“Sherlock being alive!” John exclaimed.
“Who?” you asked, confused, “And for that matter, who are you?”
John and Sherlock shared a confused glance.
What neither man knew was that two months ago you were in a serious accident and couldn’t recall any memories.
Mrs. Hudson had claimed you and was trying to help you remember your past.
Mrs. Hudson appeared and looked from both men to you.
“Y/N, why don’t you go make some tea upstairs and bring it down,” Mrs. Hudson suggested.
You smiled and did as you were told.
“Mrs. Hudson, what’s wrong with Y/N?” John asked.
“Y/N was in an accident about two months back. Can’t remember anything, the poor thing,” Mrs. Hudson sighed.
Sherlock whisked up the stairs to your side.
You gasped as you turned to find him staring at you.
“Forget the tea, we’re going to help you remember,” Sherlock said, handing you your coat.
You put it on.
“But the doctors said my memory may never return,” you told him.
Sherlock simply grabbed your hand and began running, you having no choice but to follow.
Sherlock took you all over London, trying to knock something loose.
Most of your conversations consisted of:
“Do you remember anything?”
“No! Who are you?!”
And then you would be running off again to a new place.
You ended up back in front of your flat.
You had tears falling by then and Sherlock looked like a kicked puppy.
“You really don’t remember,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry,” you cried softly.
Sherlock lifted your chin up and kissed you hungrily, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close while his other hand was on the back of your neck.
Your arms flailed a bit before you wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tangled the other in his hair.
“Sherlock…”
