Observers- BBC Sherlock x Reader Chpt. 41

You let Sherlock take the envelope as John pulled you into his arms comfortingly, feeling yourself beginning to go numb from everything that had happened while Sherlock’s eyes scanned the letter. Lestrade burst through the door and the consulting detective waved a hand at him before he could say anything, “Other room. Get him out of my sight before he ‘falls’ again.”

The man didn’t question it, going to remove your attacker with a sigh, and Sherlock pursed his lips at the note. He couldn’t make any sense of it, it seemed to just be a regular letter with the occasional drawing, but he knew there had to be something to it, turning to offer it to you, “(F/n)… What do you see?”

You took it from him, quickly reading it over before softly breathing, “It’s a confession…

Pulling away from John’s arms, you continued in a hoarse yet firm voice, “If you pair the second-to-last sentence before each break to the drawing below it, the combination creates a new idea- it was a game a few of us used to play when there was nothing else to do and we wanted to challenge each other. ‘It’s been killing me that we haven’t seen each other in so long, it’s positively criminal!’ is paired with the three people below drinking tea as they discuss something- art history by the spine of the book one is holding. It means he killed the experts because they did something criminal… from the next few pairs they were probably the ones that falsely authenticated his fake.”

You paused to look at the next page of the note, tilting your head as you deciphered the next bit with a frown, “He owed a favor to someone powerful and they forced him to make the fake,” your voice dropped to a barely above a raspy whisper as you continued, “And then the guilt drove him mad. That explains the paintings in the other room…”

You got to the last set of sentences and the accompanying drawing, tracing your fingers over it before turning to go into the other room again. You pushed past Anderson and Donavan who were surveying the scene as Lestrade and a couple others lugged the unconscious man out, “This last one… ‘Do you remember how we used to lie on the roof and look up at the stars?’ with the drawing of a window…”

You stared at the drawing for a minute as Anderson sarcastically snickered behind you, “Figures she’d be crazy like her brother and a freak like Sherlock. The world sooo needed a combination of the two.”

“Yeah. You really dodged a bullet there,” Donavan hurled a little bitterly as the pair smirked at each other.

You turned to glare at them, fully intending to tell them off, but Sherlock simply slammed the door in their faces before turning back to you and giving a little nod for you to continue. You silently asked if you could punch them later and he gave a slight smirk but shook his head, John watching the little interaction with narrowed eyes as he worked his jaw.

“A window…This window.” You pointed to it and then shoved the note into John’s hands as you turned to grab a toppled stepladder. Sherlock had come to the same conclusion and was already holding it out to you and John stopped you as you set it next to the window, “Squeak… are you sure you want to be climbing that? You’ve just had a shock to your system, your balance-“

You shook your head, “I’ll be ok, Johnny,” and stepped onto it to move to the top, the boys below holding their breath as you wobbled slightly before reaching your hands up towards the ceiling only to find you were too short. You felt a hand on your hip and twisted to find Sherlock looking up at you, stretching his arms out to you as he offered, “I’m taller.”

“There you go stating the obvious again,” you teased, flashing him a smile as you raised an eyebrow, and his lips twitched upwards in an almost undetectable smirk. John was not at all happy about this… this… flirting. Is that was it was? He didn’t think Sherlock capable of flirting but you certainly were… He had to stop thinking about it as his head started to spin again.

Accepting his offer to help you down, you bent to wrap your arms around Sherlock’s neck and he tugged you tightly to his chest as he pulled you away from the ladder before gently setting you on the ground below. As soon as your feet hit the ground, John pried the two of you apart, glaring daggers at Sherlock as he tucked you behind him. Shooting the consulting detective an apologetic glance as he stepped up the ladder, you mumbled, “Thank you, Sherlock.”

You and John watched as Sherlock’s hand felt the ceiling until he found a loose panel, pushing it up and then pulling it down to reveal a thick book attached to the back of it. He hopped down and removed it from the panel, running his hands over it curiously before flipping it open. You stepped forward to make sure he held it in both hands as you explained, “Careful, Timmy and I share the habit of tucking things in our sketchbooks and if you drop something in this mess, we’ll never find it.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and turned his attention back to the sketchbook, finding that it was similar to yours and yet very different- there were sketches of an array of different things but more notes, almost like an illustrated journal, and every few pages there was some sort of loose paper tucked away. The first hint that something was wrong was a page that simply read ‘Was it worth it?’ with a slip that said I. O. U. Next, he came to some notes on the Monet and his process of creating it with a sketch of how to determine that it was a fake. Tucked in between the next pages were pictures of both paintings and an illustration of how they made the switch.

After that, it didn’t take him long to get to pages where the text turned crazed and shortly after that some very detailed sketches of the art experts both before and after they were murdered. Those segued into page after page of bloody paint-covered hands, rather like Lady Macbeth trying to wash the imaginary blood from her hands, the guilt slowly consuming him. The last page was just text that read, ‘I’m being hunted for what I’ve done. Hopefully, I’ve left enough for someone to figure it out. I’m so sorry. I should have never done business with Moriarty.’

Sherlock snapped it shut as John got a worried look on his face and you tilted your head, “Who’s Moriarty?”

They both looked at you with frowns before exchanging a glance and then John offered, “That’s something we can talk about later, Squeak.”

You felt like a child being kept in the dark by overbearing parents but didn’t push it and obediently trailed along behind them as they went to look for Lestrade, finding him talking with one of his forensics team. The first thing he noticed was your bruises, leaning in to look at them as he waved over a paramedic, “Christ! What the hell happened in there?”  

Offering him a weak grin, you simply supplied, “A lot,” and John grumbled, “That’s an understatement.”

They reluctantly let you go with a paramedic to take pictures for evidence and give a statement while they wrapped things up with Lestrade, handing over the sketchbook and note before coming to find you.

The cab ride home was the quietest ever and the air was tense as John shot a steady death glare at Sherlock, Sherlock studied you with concern, and you ignored them both to look pensively out the window. They were both fretting over you and you knew it, you’d just been strangled and lost an old friend- how could they not worry- but you were too numb to think about them or any of it. It felt like you could sleep for a decade.

Knowing you had to do something to keep them from tearing each other apart when you got back, you turned to them for a moment to quietly plead, “Can we please just get some rest and discuss everything in the morning? It’s been a long day.”

Sherlock nodded and John took your hand up in his, giving you a sympathetic smile, “Of course, Squeak.”

You sighed and looked back out the window- tomorrow was going to be a very long day.