Lost and Found (Sherlock x Reader)

A Scandal In Belgravia (Part 4)

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He was confused, disoriented, and frankly quite dizzy. It took him a moment to realize that he was at the crime scene of his last case—the hiker and the backfire. He sat in the broken-down car. A figure suddenly appeared on his right.

"I've got it!"

When he looked over, you stood there, smiling in delight for having figured out the answer. But before you could continue talking, something—or someone—struck you in the face. Sherlock blinked in surprise and when his eyes reopened, Irene Adler had taken your place. Sherlock leaned forward wanting to see what happened to you, but Irene held her hand up.

"Oh, shush now," She said. "Don't get up. I'll do the talking."

Irene walked towards the boot and knelt down to watch the explosive bang.

"So, the car's about to backfire..." As she stood up, both she and Sherlock were transported down into the field beside the hiker. "...and the hiker," Irene continued, "he's staring at the sky. Now, you said that he could be watching the birds, but he wasn't, was he?"

Sherlock followed Irene as she walked in front of the hiker. "He was watching another kind of flying thing. The car backfires and the hiker turns to look..."

At the same time as the words left her mouth, the events happened. The car backfired. The hiker turned. An object flew into the scene and struck the hiker in the back of the head.

"...which was his big mistake." Irene finished, staring down at the hiker. "By the time the driver looks up, the hiker's already dead. What he doesn't see is what killed him because it's already being washed downstream."

In the stream sat the murder weapon—a boomerang.

"An accomplished sportsman recently returned from foreign travel with...a boomerang," Irene continued to explain. "You got that from one look? Definitely the new sexy."

Sherlock looked over at Irene who had turned and smiled at him.

"I..."

Sherlock's mind was not cooperating with him, seeing as he could not complete one sentence—or one thought for that matter.
But then, suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder.

"Sherlock?"

He turned to find you standing there, staring at him concerned. He began to teeter back and forth. You grabbed hold of his arms.

"You're all right, Sherlock," You said softly. "I've got you."

Sherlock fell back slowly, the impact with his bed was softened by your hold. Just out of the corner of his eye, he could see your blurry image lift his blanket and cover him up to his neck. Your figure was then replaced again by Irene.

"Hush now," Irene said, seductively. "It's okay. I'm only returning your coat."

What felt like a moment later, Sherlock gasped awake. His mind was still fuzzy from the drug. He tried to shake it off, but it didn't do him any good. He sat up in bed, finding himself still fully clothed. The most recent memories came to him in quick succession. Instinctively, he called out for his friend.

"Y/n?" No response came. Sherlock sat up farther. "Y/n!" He said louder.

He pushed himself up onto his knees and tumbled right over the edge of his bed. The door opened and Sherlock looked round, expecting to see you. It was not. Instead, his flat mate, John Watson, stood there.

"You okay?" John asked.

Sherlock finally took notice of where he was—his bedroom. "How did I get here?"