Masters of Disguise 1: 40-Love (Sherlockx Reader)

Of course John had to be out on a date when he needed him. In the middle of the day too.

Annoying.

Though he supposed this solution was better in a way. You may not have been Sherlock's first choice but with you he didn’t have to worry about you getting flustered when people assumed you were a couple like he did with John.

You seemed smart enough and willing. Being amazed with his skills must run in the family. John had warned him that he’d have his head if he let anything happen to you- his baby sister. What an idiotic turn of phrase. You were hardly a baby.

Oh well.

At least you could play tennis decently enough to keep the cover he’d created from being blown. He abruptly ended the game when the couple he needed information from stepped on to the courts, moving towards the benches as he tried to come up with a way to engage in a conversation with them and tugged at the neck of his sweater vest.

What an infuriating article of clothing.

So itchy.

He let out a huff of annoyance and then went wide-eyed when you nonchalantly skipped over to their court, calling out, “Hello there! Fancy a doubles match?”

Well that was one way to do it.

Perhaps there was more to you than he’d originally thought.

The couple readily agreed, offering you a wide grin and exchanging pleasantries with both of you before he hummed, “It seems you enjoy setting us up to lose, dear. Your tennis playing is mediocre at best.”

You frowned up at him, giving his arm a light slap, “We’ll see about that.”

You turned back to you new ‘friend,’ “What do you say we show these boys what’s what?”

She offered you a smirk, looking over at her husband, “I’d love to.”

This was going better than he’d expected.

Definitely underestimated you.

Both on the court and off it seems as you easily beat them in the match.

Now came the important part- the information gathering. He chatted on the bench with the man while you gabbed away with the woman on your way to get some water together. Sherlock had barely drawn out any information from his target before you were calling his fake name, “James, dear, we’ve got to go or we’ll be late for lunch with my parents!”

You bounced over and took up his hand, “You didn’t really think you could get out of it that easily, did you?”

He let out an exasperated sigh for more reasons than one but still bid the man farewell and let you tug him off the courts. As soon as you were out of sight he angrily huffed, “I wasn’t finished, you know.”

“Doesn’t matter. The wife was more than willing to share.”

You relayed the information you’d gathered as you strolled out of the club hand in hand. Once Sherlock was satisfied you had gotten what he needed, he discovered something irrelevant but, for reasons he was unsure of, interesting- your hand fit perfectly in his and it was… comforting?

Was that what this tingling feeling in his chest was?