BBC Sherlock x Reader One-shot: A Long Night

“John! It’s me (y/n)! I got your text, can I come in?”, you lightly knocked.

“The door is open.”

Expecting to see a devastated John, what you now faced was even more dangerous: it was a pensive Sherlock. You were even willing to go as far as “perplexed”, and here he was, sat down in his sofa in a trance like state with his clasped hands below his chin.

“What have you done to the poor man?”

“I can assure you, John has nothing to do with my current condition.”

“Not you!”, you cut him short in what could potentially develop into an endless speech, “John, where is he?”

You rushed in the room as quickly as a tornado would swipe out bits of buildings and possibly tear off limbs in the process, but something made you stop in your tracks.

“Wait... John would never text if he was ever feeling down. He would think of it as tedious and unnecessary. ‘Why bother writing when you can directly speak to the person’.”

You stared straight into Sherlock’s eyes to give him one of your deadly glares. There was something in his eyes that indicated severe worry and... fear. These emotions dissipated as he looked up, putting on his usual smug expression.

“It was quite simple really to imitate his writing style; it perfectly conveyed the sense of urgency I was aiming for. Never mind the “texting versus calling” nuance, it still made you come. However, it took me longer than necessary because I found the most peculiar thing while going through his ph-“

“Holmes, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning. Have the decency to tell me what’s going on.”

He gestured with his head the armchair across him.

“Take a seat (y/n).”

You considered his words for a moment, but then finally gave in to his demand. With a heavy sigh, you sat down. Sherlock did not look like his usual pompous self; there was something in his current expression that could not be hidden by any trickery, what that something was, you did not know. His lips were pressed together sternly in a firm line, while his eyes began to speak for themselves.

“You are no idiot (y/n)... All uncertainty was removed after a few tests; one can never be too sure these days... Such a pity that John broke up with you.”

“More to the point Sherlock!”

“Yes!”, he enthusiastically replied, “I summoned you here for a sole purpose.” He got up from his seat and began pacing around the room.

“(y/n), I rarely admit myself beaten by intricacies brought by the world but people are decidedly complex. They are more than just meat and bones; their actions can often be unpredictable and... uncontrollable. With your psychological knowledge and my brilliant intellect, we could breach all predicaments that could arise in the analysis. Let’s start with an easy one... John of course!”

“Sherlock!”

“No, you’re right; too dull.”

“LISTEN TO ME!”, you had finally let your frustration take hold of you, “So little Sherly has brought me up in the middle of the night because he’s having an existential crisis?”, you sneered, “Perhaps you’re finally undergoing the process of puberty?”

“But then… why are you still here?”

No words left your mouth.

“You are fully aware that I’ve brought you here for trifles... Yet you remain.”

Your nails were already dug deep into the leather, when his pacing drew nearer to you. He began tracing the back of the armchair, its outline and various imperfections.

“So this is the true reason... I’m not overly fond of your games Sherlock, and I will not be a part of it.”

As you motioned to get up, Sherlock quickly pushed you back down. Hands still on your shoulders, he leaned in closer.

“Oh yes you will.”

His voice, perfectly composed, contrasted heavily with his trembling hands.

“Sherlock...”, you breathed heavily, “we both know how this will end.”

“Do we?”

He left your side to face you. Legs spread apart and arms dropping down his hips, he temptingly raised one of his hands to carefully undo his shirt.

“Dilated pupils, shortened breath... Not so immune to my charm then?”