Sherlock x Reader - Concussions

“Teach me”

“I cannot teach such things”

“What have you got to lose?”

“My sanity”

“Come on! I’m not that simple minded!”

“That remains to be seen”

“*sighs*”

“Deduction is a stream of thoughts cascading down your tongue. It is the art of noticing trifles, and of not being mislead by evidence, the subtle process of eliminating the unnecessary and putting pieces together to form a cohesive conclusion... Still with me?”

“Continue”

“This corpse here. Looks fresh. What do you observe?”

“... Concussions”

“That’s a symptom not a cause. Look closer”

“...30-40 years old... Dark haired...”

“Married or divorced?”

“How is that related to-“

“Did he live in a flat or a house?”

“I-I... I don’t know”

“Why was he killed? How? By whom? Focus!”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“Pay attention!”

“I’m trying!”

“Not hard enough!”

He yanked you down, inches away from the cadaver’s face.

“How can you fail to notice the obvious?”

The neck was punctured with distinct holes. Blood had been flowing in abundance judging by the state of his clothes.

“His artery was sectioned, the angle of impact cannot possibly have been caused by himself thus indicating murder”

With a hand grabbing the back of your head, he pushed you even closer, the smell of formaldehyde gnawing at your senses.

He opened the corpse’s eyelid with his thumb and index.

“What do the pupils indicate?”

You looked away.

“Stop it”

“They’re dilated. He was using the night he was murdered, no apparent physical deterioration, it was his first time, willingly or unknowingly... What do you think (y/n)?

He released his grip.

“I think this is enough for today”

“No not yet, you’ll miss the best part”

He brought your attention to his laughter lines.

“And now? What do you see?”

“... He used to laugh. He enjoyed living”

“Ah, now that’s a common misconception. Laughter lines do indicate the use of smiling muscles, but not necessarily the genuine emotion. If faked, the same wrinkles are produced. However, crow’s feet wrinkles are harder to fake, he truly was happy though not for the right reasons. A fool, but a happy one”

“And what’s make you so sure that he was a fool?”

“Well he got himself killed didn’t he?”

“This is not a game”

“Oh is it not? You quite made it seem like so. Traces of chalk on the side of his trousers, further remains on his sleeves, teacher, but no high school teacher, university professor, distinct uniform. Well loved by his students, respected by his peers, out of fear. Desired by the other sex, but not married. PhD in cognitive sciences, attentive to detail, except for the obvious gush of blood that has been pooling out of his jugular, his clothes are well kept, meticulous in appearance and in method but something’s amiss...”

He sharply breathed in the air around the late professor’s neck.

“I smell woman’s perfume. He was seeing someone, someone in their 20s, a student. They saw each other the night of the murder, last night. They engaged in preliminaries, love bite under his jaw, but something stopped them. They fought, the argument became heated, his true nature was revealed, a psychopath, she sensed danger, slipped some GHB into his cup, but why would she have some on her? A friend, an addict with a hidden stash, unlikely that she would be a drug dealer. He noticed the change of taste and bashed her head with a blunt object, a snowball... (y/n), where were you last night?”

He approached you and noticed a fresh scar at the base of your hairline. He traced it over with his fingers.

“They suit the object’s shape.”

You pushed his hand away.

“And I can assume that this isn’t tomato sauce on your collar”

“Sherlock-”

“Though I don’t quite see how the neck stabbing part came in play”

You broke down. You let your weight fall onto the cold flesh of your lover. You just had to feel him again. You kept on rubbing his cheek with the back of your hand; maybe the heat would wake him up.

“He never started the fight”

You shifted yourself to straddle his waist, like you used to in the lecture hall after class. So many times.

“He was defending himself”

You rested your hands upon his chest. Just to feel his heartbeat again. You placed down your head under his chin. The warmth of his breath. Divine.

“I was wrong”

You pulled out a pencil from your inner pocket. A timeless souvenir. It still had little bits of him. Heavenly taste.

Come closer Sherlock, little Sherly.