literature

Observers- BBC Sherlock x Reader Chpt. 66

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Sherlock fell quiet once you were asleep, just looking over you for a moment before reaching to erase the tear tracks from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. He should have insisted that you stay, it wouldn’t have been the first time he threw a fit to get what he wanted, or at least made you take John with you. At this moment, if he had it to do all over again, he even would have abandoned the case and gone with you himself if it saved you from this. He considered that for a moment- nothing had ever taken precedence over his cases before. It felt odd yet at the same time kind of right. Taking note of this new development, he carefully removed your fingers from his sleeve so he could get up and look around.

When his eyes fell on the little mountain of cards on your bedside table, he cocked a brow- he would never understand people’s need to give scraps of papers with cheesy sentiments printed on them when people were ill or injured. It certainly didn’t help with the healing process in any way, if anything it reminded one of the long road to recovery. Still, he was curious to see who had paid you a visit aside from those that were already obvious from other items around the room so he sat down in the chair and pulled the stack into his lap.

A few minutes later, John poked his head through the door just in time to see Sherlock nearly destroy what Gabriel had left you. It was a black and white photo of you sitting in a Parisian café with your sketchbook in your lap, obviously unaware he was taking it, and the print looked to be developed and exposed by hand. You would expect no less of a traditional film photographer like Gabe. Sherlock actually rather liked the photo, it captured you well, it was the message on the back that upset him, “Mi Querida, (F/n), I wish everyone could see you as I do- intelligent, beautiful, and terribly fuerte. Get well soon for more nights of salsa and fun. Besos, Gabe.”

John was quick to pull it from his hands, “That’s enough of that. You can’t ruin her things just because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous… I just dislike him. He punched me,” Sherlock huffed and John raised an eyebrow, “He punched you because you interrupted his date- I’m almost certain you deserved it- and you dislike him because you’re jealous. Honestly, Sherlock… It wouldn’t kill you to admit it.”

They began arguing until Sherlock paused when he heard you give a soft whimper, causing them both to look in your direction to find your face scrunched up and your hands fisted into the sheets. You shot up with a little gasp and were met with only black when your eyes opened, not exactly the best thing to wake up to after a nightmare. Your breathing was quick to shorten and become increasingly labored, something Sherlock had seen from you once before, and he calmly moved to sit on the bed, “You’re safe, (F/n). I need you to breathe.”

“John,” You hiccupped, trying to take in a deeper breath of air as you reached your hands out to find Sherlock’s arm. He took one of your hands and securely sandwiched it between his as he assured, “John’s here, too. Nothing’s happened to him. Breathe.”

Pushing the surprise and slight suspicion over how well Sherlock was handling this from his mind, John moved to sit on the other side of the bed, “I’m here, Squeak. Everyone is safe.”

Your fingers latched tightly to his jumper as your breathing started to calm slightly, “Nicolas-“

Sherlock’s grip on your hand tightened considerably as he firmly growled, “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, (F/n). He’s gone.”

You just nodded and clung to them both until your heart rate and breathing went back to even and your brother leaned forward to kiss your temple, “I’m going to go get you some water, okay?”

He moved to leave and your grip on him tightened for a moment before you hesitantly removed your fingers from his jumper and gave another small nod, letting him slip out of the room. When he came back a few minutes later, he found you sitting cross-legged next to Sherlock with your head on his shoulder and your fingers fiddling with his sleeve. He marveled at the two of you again for a moment and then noticed that your human pillow seemed a little absent and that he had pulled the stack of cards into his lap again.

Sherlock was intently staring down at a white card with a stiff red envelope that John didn’t recognize and, seeing that his friend was already in deep calculating thought, he pulled it from his hands. The swirly print read, “I’ve decided you’re interesting. Get well soon.- M”

He paled and brought Sherlock back to reality when he rushed, “This wasn’t here when I left.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion but before you could ask what he meant, Sherlock demanded, “Was there anyone in to see you between when John left and I arrived?”

You sat up when John placed the cup of water in your hands and offered, “Someone came in to check my chart. A guy with a bit of an accent… Irish, I think. I snapped at him and he said he’d leave me alone for a bit. It sounded like he might have been alluding to something but I’m not really sure. Why?”

Sherlock and John exchanged a glace before John started, “It’s noth-“

“John Hamish Watson- Don’t you dare lie to me,” you growled, sensing the tension in the room, and Sherlock cut in, “You’ve received a note and a visit from Moriarty.”

“Moriarty…” you repeated slowly, they’d never actually explained about him, “Read it to me.”

Sherlock did as you asked and it was your turn to pale, “Was it in a red envelope? Like a strong crimson?”

John frowned at you, “How did you know that, (F/n)?”

“Is my sketchbook here?”

John quickly switched the water for your sketchbook and you ran your fingers over it for a moment before flipping open the cover and counting the page corners as you mumbled what drawings were on each page as if you could see them. When you reached the set of drawings you wanted, you pulled the book fully open to reveal an identical crimson envelope tucked in the crease, groping for it to hold it out in Sherlock’s direction, “When I went back to work after they found Timmy’s body, I found this in my storage space. I assumed it was from Mycroft…”

Sherlock opened the envelope to look it over as you shut your sketchbook and then searched for a place to put it that wasn’t the bed, John quickly taking it from you, “I’ve got it, Squeak.”

Sherlock fingered the note and then stated, “He believes you’ve crossed him in some way, likely by solving your friend’s riddles to find the sketchbook that implicated him and then identifying the body when he took pains to delay its discovery so it would remain unidentified. He is responsible for that man being set free in retaliation and was probably the one that informed him that you were in London in the first place… but it seems you’ve piqued his interest in some way and he will hold off on getting even until you cease to be interesting.”

“Oh… That’s good I guess,” you murmured, rubbing at one of your eyes.

John was almost glad you couldn’t see them, as he knew his own face was filled with fear and Sherlock had gone even paler than normal, if that was possible. You had no way of knowing or understanding the gravity of the situation and the meds were making you tired and a little needy, so the extended silence put you a bit on edge. You fidgeted while they both lost themselves in their minds, pulling them back to reality when you decided you couldn’t stand it anymore and slumped to rest your cheek on Sherlock’s arm, “When can I go home?”

“Not until tomorrow,” John sighed, having anticipated your desire to get away from this place and back to the comforting familiarity of Baker St. and your face fell into a dejected pout.

“As a doctor, you could sign her out now,” Sherlock suggested and John shot him a glare, “No, Sherlock. She needs to be under observation for at least twenty-four hours for the head injury… Not to mention it’s a good idea to keep her on the pain medication for a while longer.”

“She is more than capable of handling the pain and you could observe her from home.”

They quickly began bickering, completely losing track of the original point as things started to get ridiculous and they ended up making jabs at each other over how each drank their tea. All you could do was stifle a giggle every now and then as you waited for it to be over… or that’s what you would have done had you not been connected to an IV of pain meds. They made your mood dip up and down and halfway through the argument you began to feel something between frustrated and insecure with a bit of exhaustion in the mix.

You reached towards John’s voice, feeling a slight sense of relief when your hand found his jumper, and tugged him to you. The action took him by surprise and he stumbled slightly but it effectively shut both of them up as you wound your arms around John in a hug, ignoring the throbbing pain that doing so caused. He hesitantly returned it, trying not to hurt you but not reject you either, as you huffed, “If you say I need to stay, Johnny, then I’ll stay… but only if you go home.”

You felt him tense under your hands as he firmly insisted, “I’m not leaving you, Squeak.”

“Yes, you are.” You ordered in an equally firm tone, “Go home. Get some sleep, eat something, and take a shower… I love you, John, but you stink.”

He chuckled and you nuzzled your nose into his shoulder as you added, “Please?”

“Alright,” he agreed, pulling away from you to gently cup your cheek, “I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Sherlock can stay with you until then. Right, Sherlock?”

You didn’t have to see it to know your brother was shooting the man next to you a demanding glare but it was unwarranted as Sherlock quickly responded, “Of course. Really, John… I thought we had gotten past you pointing out the obvious.”

John opened his mouth to retaliate but you gave his sleeve a sharp tug, “There will be time for that later. Go.”

Pulling a face, he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, “Get some rest, Squeak,” and you hummed, “I will if you will,” as he turned to Sherlock, “You call me right away if something happens, Understood?”

He nodded and your brother gave one last glance at you before pacing out the door, leaving you alone with Sherlock as he hoped to God nothing else would happen while he was gone.
INFO DUMP! Because I can. I'm not bringing Moriarty in anytime soon. Just so you all know... Thing are going to calm down for a while... aside from you being blind. The uber drama haas passed and now... ROMANCE IS IN THE AIR. Also on another note... I was going to post this chapter this morning but my computer shut down and I hadn't saved. Good thing I'd read over it enough that I remembered it almost word for word.

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AbbySpK's avatar

“When his eyes fell on the little mountain of cards on your bedside table, he cocked a brow- he would never understand people’s need to give scraps of papers with cheesy sentiments printed on them when people were ill or injured“

I never really understood that either, I mean it’s a waste of money and paper. Also the trees aren’t likely to be very happy with it.