Work Text:
What's been happening in your world?
What have you been up to?
Both men sat in their armchairs, staring at you. Was this fate? It felt like the universe was playing tricks on you. Those weren't fun tricks, though. They were terrifying.
"I found this in my flat when I came back from my trip to the flower shop," you explained. With a trembling hand, you held up the object. It felt heavy. If that was because of the material it was made of or the fact you had never seen it before — you weren't quite sure.
"And it doesn't belong to you?" Sherlock confirmed. He barely needed to deduce it. That was just the most likely option, considering your words and just the situation in its whole.
You nodded slowly. With a shaky voice, you explained that you found it on the floor of your kitchen. It was a black coin made of metal, engraved with strange symbols.
"We should check it for fingerprints, no?" John asked.
"I highly doubt we find any," Sherlock replied. Someone who had broken into your flat without any visible traces — to you, at least — probably wouldn't make the mistake of not wearing gloves. Not to mention that you had already touched the coin, so the fingerprints were either smudged, completely gone, or maybe replaced by your own.
"What will you do then?" You asked.
"Check your flat."
"There weren't any traces of a break-in," you retorted.
"There weren't any that you could see."
So, with that, Sherlock stood up, grabbed his coat, and rushed ahead. He was about to get into a cab when he realised one thing. He turned around and saw both you and John approaching.
"Where do you live again?" he asked.
/////
Your flat was small. Sometimes, it did feel a little tight in there, like the ceiling was about to crash on your head any moment. That's when you liked to walk around London. Feeling the fresh air in your airways and the wind brush against your skin was calming.
Your short walks were most likely the moment the intruder stepped into your flat.
You quietly cursed yourself. If you had stayed the unsocial person you were, maybe this wouldn't have happened.
"So, any signs of a break-in?" you asked the detective, who just gestured for you to be quiet.
So this was Sherlock Holmes, huh?
He was a little confused. Not even he could find any traces. That's when he noticed an open window.
"It was already open when we got here," Sherlock muttered.
"I usually leave it open when I go outside because -"
Then, it clicked.
"God, I'm stupid," you said, rubbing your temples.
"At least someone who admits it," Sherlock replied.
John walked over to the window and looked at the rug underneath it.
"It's dirty. Someone must have stepped on it with dirty shoes," he told you.
"That's the how," Sherlock started.
"What's missing is the why," he continued.
"Or the who," John chimed in.
Sherlock just gave a quick nod. He grabbed the coin and took a closer look at it.
"I have no idea what those symbols mean," he grumbled.
"The great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know something?" John teased.
"You're looking for every opportunity to make jokes about me, don't you?" he retorted.
Sherlock put the coin back in his pocket.
"I know where to find out more about it," he said. "You two look for more clues while I'll find out what this coin is meant for."
"This reminds me of the blind banker — could it be some sort of repetition?" John asked.
"I would hope not, way too boring," Sherlock called out. With that, he was gone.
/////
I heard that you fell in love or near enough
I gotta tell you the truth, yeah
Seated in a cab, Sherlock stared out of the window. It took a lot of strength to fight the weird feeling in his chest when he saw you. Just what was going on? Sherlock Holmes did not do feelings. Romance? That was never in the picture to begin with.
So why did he feel like that?
He must have been too bored. Yes. That was probably it. All he needed was an interesting case. And once this was done, he wouldn't see you again. Then, these feelings would be over, and Sherlock could go back to the usual routine.
His brother would tease him if he knew about this. Maybe give him a lecture on needing to be sensible.
Who was he kidding, Mycroft had his eyes everywhere. Sherlock was just waiting for a text message from him, asking him about his feelings.
He sighed. If this coin was what he thought it was, Mycroft would most definitely become interested. He didn't need his brother interrupting one of his cases. Sherlock hoped he could keep not only the case — but also his feelings — a secret for now. Any inconvenience could make his feelings worse.
Sherlock had to keep telling himself what he thought was the truth. He wasn't in love. If anything, it was a little reaction of his brain to something he found aesthetically pleasing, which brought him to the next problem. Sherlock did not appreciate pretty things — or people, for that matter. Maybe it was connected to that damn song. Fate? That was still a childish concept to him. He just assumed he had picked up that song somewhere but deleted when he did. And once you hummed it, his brain recognised it and was happy to find something to associate it with. That was it. Nothing more. The case would bring him peace again.
He just had to snap out of it.
/////
I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby
Snap out of it (snap out of it)
Meanwhile, John made sure to get you a room in a hotel. He did pay it with Sherlock's money. It was his case after all, so why not let him pay for it? John figured it would be safer for you to stay in a hotel until you found out who the intruder was and what he wanted from you.
With that, John waited outside while you packed up your things.
You weren't sure what to feel. Of course, you were creeped out. You did not want to know what that intruder did in you flat while you were gone. Did he place cameras, look though your closet and your belongings? The thought sent shivers down your spine. By default, you guys assumed the intruder was a man. It was more likely, looking at the statistics.
Whilst feeling scared, there was a strange warm feeling inside you, too. The way Sherlock acted was actually red-flag-behaviour. So why did you feel that way when you saw him? You hoped he wouldn't notice your feelings. But how good was your masking in front of the best detective of London, maybe even Great Britain? You were sure if he found out, he would laugh at you. He might even say something mean to you. You hadn't had a crush on a guy since when? Teenager times?
Maybe that was just your body's reaction to not spending your time pining for someone in so long. So, you just took the first man you encountered, no matter how sociopathic he was. Wow. You really picked out the best guy. And even worse: you were 100% sure he wouldn't share your feelings.
"Fuck," you cursed as you held onto on of your shirts.
Your best friend would grab your shoulder, shaking you and telling you to snap out of it.
Maybe you should call her. Hopefully, she could beat some sense into you. Not only that, but you really needed some support in a situation like this. Support that wasn't from the duo that took on your case. Support that wasn't from a man. Hopefully, she would come down to London and help you.