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From all the crime scenes you had been to with the boys, this had been the strangest one. Especially because it was so familiar. St. Bart’s Hospital.
At first glance, it seemed like it had been an accident, but when Sherlock had arrived, he was quick to deduce a murder. Whoever had committed the crime had been very narrow in the details, and you would have believed it too, if it weren’t for the strange outfit the man wore underneath his lab coat.
Then your eye fell to the strange thing the man had in clutched in his hand.
“Sherlock, his hand-“
“Not the weapon,“ he said, cutting you off.
“I know, but it’s empty, I think we’re missing details.“
“Such as?“ Sherlock was clearly not in his best mood today, regardless of the fact that he had a case.
“The body is said to be around 24 hours old, yet it shows signs of being older. The thing he holds in his hand should be filled, yet it is empty. And-“ You stopped yourself, realizing you were only stating the obvious to Sherlock, but he looked at you as if he wanted you to go on.
“Sorry. I’m, only stating the obvious,“ you muttered, not being able to look him in the eyes you began to fidget with the sleeve of your jacket. A tick you had when you were nervous or stressed.
Sherlock stood there a few seconds, unsure of what to do, before he went back to investigating the scene, leaving you at John’s side.
As the time went on, one of the agents came over and started to talk with you. You weren’t sure if he was flirting with you or if he was just being friendly, having never been that good with emotions and people you weren’t sure.
Sherlock had been gone for a while, investigating other parts of the scene, when the agent had seen his chance. You were sure he was flirting with you now, with the way his eyes lingered on your lips much longer than they had before. You didn’t exactly feel comfortable with it, but gave him a try instead of cutting him off like you usually did. He was nice and pretty good looking, despite his clearly, once broken nose.
From the corner of your eye, you glanced at John, who had a worried look on his face. Unfortunately for the man, Sherlock arrived when he tried to crack a joke.
Sherlock had never really been a man of feelings, but when he saw the cop trying to crack a joke to you, he felt his blood boil, rage started to cloud his vision, as he stared at you. At the same time he realized that he never stood a chance with you. He just wasn’t good enough for an angel. Bottling up his emotions he turned to John and with a sharp voice he said: “John, (Y/N), we’re going. I found the murderer.”
You nodded in slight relief and got out of the room as quick as possible. The flirting had made you quite uncomfortable and you were glad you could leave the man, but you couldn’t help to feel a bit sorry for him. He really seemed to be interested in you and had really tried to impress you.
“Who is it?“ You asked curiously, given that he said he had found the murderer.
Sherlocks jaw clenched for a moment before he answered: “I am not hundered procent sure yet but I think it was professor Hallward. They never liked eachother and did rather see one anther burn than that they would talk normally to eachother.“ It was pouring outside, the rain hammered on the cobblestones and splashed onto your shoes as Sherlock hailed a cab.
When you got in, You noticed that he was staring out of the window, tracing the paths the raindrops left on the glass.
Having always noticed smaller details -whether it was about something or someone- had always come in handy when trying tho figure something out, making you almost an equal to Sherlock.
“Sherlock, is there something wrong? You- you’re acting a bit odd.“
Sherlock kept staring out of the window, giving you no response. Well not verbally anyway. You saw the way his eyes would look at you for a second and then glance away. You also saw the way his jaw kept tensing as if he was debating something. Especially when you had asked the question.
“Sherlock,“ John said to him. “She asked you something, the least you can do is give her a proper answer.“ He knew that Sherlock was one of the very few people you could read like an open book, but there were times you would misinterpret him, which would lead to small miscomunication and somtimes fights. John had a vague idea what it was about, but he could barely imagine it.
When Sherlock had entered the scene again, John had seen a flicker of anger in the eyes of his friend when he saw the cop flirting with you, but he still didn’t understand why. Sherlock had said himself that he wasn’t the one to fall in love, so why had he seen the anger by his friend the way he did?
Minutes of silence passed when you finally mustered up the courage again to ask him something.
“Sherlock? Did I do something wrong?“ your hand reached for his, but he pulled away. You frowned. Why was he so upset?
“Sherlock, distancing yourself won’t help either of us. Just say what is wrong.“
“Why were you flirting with that moron of a cop? He wasn’t even your type and you looked very uncomfortable. You were fidgeting with your sleeve the whole time and you barely looked at him while he was talking to you. Why didn’t you cut him off?“ His voice was irritated and you asked yourself if he was jealous, realizing too late you had said that out loud.
“I am not jealous!“ He shouted, suddenly turning to you.
“Then why do you act like you are?“ You shot back, your voice angry, but it was more a response in surprise. You always copied someone’s emotions if they suddenly snapped at you, mostly in anger or annoyance.
“I do not! Why do you even care?“ His expression was full of anger now and if you were honest, it scared you a little.
“Because I hate it when you’re upset!“ Your eyes darted across his angered face, as if you were looking for a sign that betrayed his emotions.
There was a short, uncomfortable silence before you spoke again, softer this time.“Sherlock, all I want to do is help, but I can’t if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.” He was still angry and upset, sulking and looking out the window. You figured everything would calm down if you left them and walked to Baker Street. You asked the cabbie to stop, payed for you part of the ride, and then stepped out into the deluge of rain that was refusing to stop.
You made it quickly to the other side of the street and started to follow an unknown path to the boys. You didn’t know London as well as Sherlock did, but you knew every library and knew how to get to each one of them at any given point in the city.
The rain quickly soaked you to the bone, but you didn’t really care. The white noise of the rain calmed the thoughts inside your head until you were blissfully ignorant of everything except the tempo of the water beating against your back. By the time you got to the closest library, you were shivering and quickly ran inside.
Behind the counter, there was a woman. She looked young and for some reason very familiar.
It was Mycrofts assistant.
You smiled at her once you realized who she was again, knowing she had already texted Mycroft about the fact that you were here and took your soaked jacket off. Not that it helped much because your clothes were as wet as the jacket, but you would dry a lot faster.
You knew it wouldn’t stop raining any time soon and you had planned to stay until you had dried anyway, so you grabbed a few books you liked and began to read, soon enough going completely up in the story.
In the cab, where you had left your friends hung a very uncomfortable silence.
Sherlock, on one hand wanted to talk to John about what he was feeling and that it cofused him, but a glance at his friend made him decide against it.
John would probably yell at him for the fact that he hadn’t told (Y/N), going off on the look on his face, the way his eyes darted across the car and the streets they passed and how he was playing with his fingers and the hem of his blouse.
The silence was dreadful and both wanted to break it but neither of them wanted to be the first. The noise outside the car made Sherlock wonder where you were. If you were upset, you could have gone anywhere in London. That was your way of coping with things, but you would always end up in one of the many libraries, St. Barts. Hospital or 221B Baker Street. But who knew how long that was gonna take?
You were half way your second book when someone tapped you on your shoulder. It was the librarian, offering you a cup of tea which you gladly took.
When they left, you noticed the feeling of being watched and casually looked across the room, seeing Mycroft in a glance. Or was it Moriarty?
Through the shelves it was hard to see. Both of them were pale, wear expensive suits and had piercing eyes. Although, you guessed it was Mycroft, given that it was his assistant behind the counter. You returned yourself to the story again, but this time you did not get completely swallowed in it.
“What happend?“ Mycroft’s voice made you look up from your book, staring at him before you could form a proper answer.
“We had a fight.“ You knew you didn’t have to mention Sherlock’s name to Mycroft. “He was acting strange and then we got into a fight.“
The man tilted his head as if he didn’t understand. “How do you mean ‘strange‘? People often say that about him.“ He took the seat that was opposite of you and made himself as comfortable as he could be.
“Strange as in upset. For some reason, he was already in a bad mood, despite the fact that he got a case and-“ You stopped in the middle of your sentence, not knowing if you should tell him what you thought it was and looked around, beginning to fidget with the sleeve of your shirt.
“And what?“ Mycroft asked. There was no presuring tone in his voice, but you could see it in his eyes, placing his lower arms on the table, leaning slightly forward as someone who tries to intimidate the other.
“He- Sherlock told me that he was not one to fall in love, but why does he act like someone who’s jealous?“
“Jealous of what?“
“Someone was flirting with me.“
Mycrofts expression became surprised and you wondered why that was. Deep down you knew that it was because that Sherlock had shown jealousy rather than that a guy was attracted to you. But you couldn’t help it.
You finished your tea and wanted to return to your book, but Mycrofts eyes withheld you from it.
The cab arrived at the adress where they needed to be and they both got out.
Sherlock mumbled to himself, not thinking as loud as usual. He blamed himself for getting so mad over something that small and wondered where you were now. A library? Baker Street? Those two seemed the most logical options since it had been pouring when you left the cab.
“Sherlock?“ John’s voice made him snap from his thoughts, letting him focus on the case again.
“What?“
“You said something about (Y/N)…“
His face became surprised, but then quickly turned normal again. “Come on John, we have to turn in professor Hallward,“ and he started to walk towards the frontdoor.
Knowing he wouldn’t get anything else out of his friend, John followed him.
It was Hallwards maid who opened the door. She was clearly in her mid twenties, regulary did her nails, recently showered, hair dishelved but she hadn’t just woken up so she had been up to other activities with someone, probably the secretary. She was shaking a little, what confirmed Sherlock’s deduction. She smiled, showing her slight yellow teeth. He saw immediately that she brushed often, yet they were yellow. Smoker, he concluded and the professor had clearly two french buldogs, given the hairs on her leging.
“Hello gentlemen,“ she greeted them, her voice a bit hoarse. “What can I do for you?“
“Is professor Hallward here?“ John asked quickly before Sherlock could do it. “He is a suspect on the murder of professor Vilewood, who was working on a formula to cure the symptoms of Polio.“
She was taken aback by the sudden accusement and it took her a second to form a response. “Yes he is here… Murder you say? I know him, he would never do that.“
“We’ll see,“ Sherlock said and they walked past her.
The mansion was not relly big and they found the professor quickly. He was sitting in his collegerobes, reading a book, or better, he was pretending that he was reading because his eyes were perfectly still.
“Professor Hallward?“
The man placed the book in his lap and looked at the two men who had just walked into the saloon. The look on his face was questioning, yet his eyes flew across the room as if the were looking for an escape.
“You are arrested for second degree muder on your colleague, professor Vilewood.“
“Murder? I murdered my own colleague? Who do you think you are?“ Hallward stood up in anger, the book falling on the floor, but none of them cared about it.
“My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague Doctor John Watson. All evidence is there. If you come with us now it will probably make things easier for you.“
“So, you think my brother fell in love?“ Mycroft didn’t specify the question with ‘you‘ because neither of you knew for sure of that.
“Well, if I look at his actions and how he reacted, possibly, but I don’t want to make anything hard yet. Maybe my head is just playing games.“
You liked talking to Mycroft. Sherlock should not know it but the two of you got along pretty well. Mycroft held you very dear and loved you as a sister.
“Maybe, or you should listen to what your mind tells you. I know I have said that love is a weakness, but it can also be a strength. You are the strength Sherlock doesn’t know he needs.“ Mycroft took your hands in his and looked you right in the eye now.
“His strenght?“ You asked, not understanding what he meant.”What do you mean Mycroft?“ The look on your face was puzzled and you tried your hardest to understand what he just said to you.
“Yes his strength. He might not know it, but you are the one he relies on. If someone would take you away, his whole world would crumble. (Y/N), maybe you don’t know how, but trust me if I say you are the fundament he stands on. You understand?“
Nodding slowly, you took your hands out of his, returning them to your book. “I think I do.“ The book before you had become uninteresting and you close it, laying it back on the other two.
“Shall I bring you home?“ He asked, but you shook your head.
“No thanks. I’ll take a cab when I am done here. I will get home don’t worry about that.“
He gave you a short nod and stood up from his chair. “Keep him out of trouble, for us all.“
You gave him a half smile. “Will try, not gonna say I will succeed.“
Mycroft gave you one of his rare smiles and then left, leaving you alone between the books.
It had been a long arrest, but they had finally turned in professor Hallward with proof that he was guitly on the murder of professor Vilewood.
None of the agents had asked about you until everyone was packing up. It was the same guy who had been flirting with you at the hospital.
Sherlock was already annoyed by the guy as soon as he spotted him, but a look from John was enough to keep him where he was.
The cop walked up to the two men who were ready to leave when he asked about you.
John, who saw the reaction of Sherlock’s body, was quick to take the question before there would be anymore problems.
“(Y/N) needed a break. She was very tired. It happens sometimes.“
The guy was taken aback by John’s short answer, having expected the tall detective to answer. “Oh- ehm, okay, hope she gets enough rest.“ He quickly retreated and left them alone.
They took a cab back to Baker Street where mrs Hudson was very surprised to see only the two of them.
“Where is (Y/N)?“ she asked worriedly. “I thought she was with you two.“
“She is still not home?“ Sherlock asked, his coat halfway down his arms.
“What happend? You didn’t have a fight, did you?“
The coat was already back on Sherlocks shoulders and he was running downstairs, closing the buttons and left John and mrs Hudson confused behind.
It was still pouring, but to Sherlock, it didn’t really matter anymore. He hailed a cab and gave them the adress of the nearest library.
During the ride, he tried to figure out where you could be. There had only been one library close enough to the point where you had gotten out of the cab, but from there, you could’ve taken another and there were to many options.
They reached the library and he told the cabbie to wait, running into the library, hoping to find you there.
He ran between the bookshelves, looking for a sign that you were there, but you weren’t.
Three libraries later, he began to grow hopelss. You had to be somewhere. But where. He thought of texting Molly if she had seen you. The two of you got along pretty well, so maybe you were there.
The hospital wasn’t that far from where he was now, so he decided to walk there himself.
He knew the hospital ike the back of his hand and rushed through the hallways almost running into Molly.
“Sherlock! What are you doing here?“ she was clearly surprised to see him at this time.
“Molly, have you seen (Y/N)? She’s not home, neither in a library from a 5 mile radius.“
“She’s not in the labs anyway. I will look downstairs if you want,“ Molly said, still in shock from his sudden appearance.
“That would be great,“ and he ran back outside.
He decided to try his luck and got into a cab again, off to the Kingston Library.
Halfway on the ride he got a text from Molly.
She’s not here
Of course she wasn’t. Now he was hoping his guess had been right.
It had stopped raining and the only sound in the car was that from tires running over the asphalt and bypassing cars. To distarct himself, he got his phone out of his pocket, but instead of turning it on, he began to fidget with it, deducing the buildings they passed.
After what seemed ages to Sherlock, the cab finally arrived. He quickly paid the cabbie and took two stairs at once.
Once in the building, it didn’t take him long to find you. You were emerged in the story you were reading and he hesitated.
What if you were still mad? What if- He cut off his own thoughts. He didn’t want to think about the what if’s. It took him a couple more seconds to gain enough confidence to walk over to you.
“(Y/N)?“ His voice was uncertain, but clear and you looked up from your book.
“Hey Sherlock.“ You looked at him, seeing that he wanted to get something of his chest.
He inhaled deep and finally got the words out he wanted to say.
“I am sorry about earlier. You were right.“ His hand traveled to yours and stayed there. “I was jealous, but I didn’t know why. Until now.“
Your hand turned under his, so your palms would touch and you caressed the back of his hand with your thumb. “It’s okay Sherlock,“ and you smiled.
“I am sorry that I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have done that, that was not fair to you.“
“Sherlock, it’s alright. I was the one who was pushing you. Your reaction was logical.“
The two of you sat there for a few moments. Enjoying the silence before Sherlock spoke up again.
“Are you hungry? I know a good Chinese not far from here.“
“Let me guess,“ you said grinning. “The one with the dragon as a doorknob?“
“The best I know in London.“
“I am starving. Let me return the books and then we can go.“ You stood up, returned the books to their place and smiled. He finally had accepted it. He was in love with you and you with him as well.