Sherlock Imagines and Preferences 2

Sherlock's Apprentice

Did you miss me?

I'm so glad I was able to write again today. It was honestly quite tough to get back into it after not having done it for so long. Hopefully, I managed to create something worth your time.

I hope to start writing more again, but I can't guarantee anything.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one!

<♥>

Sirens echoed in Sherlock's ears. His head was pounding, and a dull ache rose in his leg. He frantically looked around, screaming your name at the top of his lungs, though barely any sound came out.

As he tried to stand up, he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He stumbled to the floor. His blurry vision began to clear up, and he could see the devastation around him. Flashes of what had just happened came back to him, only worsening the headache he had.

A figure approached him. Sherlock couldn't quite make out who the person was, but he was too weak to get away from them.

A hand touched his shoulder. ''Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?''

The detective tried to sit up and protest, but the hand pushed him down.

''You're injured. There was a bomb. An ambulance is going to take you to the hospital, okay?''

''Lestrade?'' Sherlock muttered, finally recognising the person. ''(Y/N). Where is she?''

The DI looked at his distressed friend with sympathy in his eyes. ''We haven't found her yet. We're still looking through the remains.''

~Earlier~

''So what you're saying is -'' you paused ''- he's not the killer because he has a limp?''

''No, I'm saying he has a limp because he's not the killer.''

''How does that make any sense?'' you exclaimed. ''You know what? I give up. I'll never get the hang of this deduction thing.''

Sherlock smiled. ''Of course, you will. You just need to practise more.''

''I doubt it,'' you mumbled, visibly agitated. 

You should join me next time I have a case. What we're doing now is all hypothetical. Perhaps a real case would be more educational.'' 

''I suppose I could try that.'' You shrugged. ''On one condition. I don't want that bloke Anderson anywhere near me.''

''I'll make sure of that.''

It took a while, but finally, a new case presented itself. Sherlock, who had become desperate and almost completely mad after two weeks of not having a case, was over the moon and would not shut up about how he would have murdered the victim. It made for an interesting conversation.

Once you both arrived at the crime scene, Sherlock's attitude switched entirely, and he became the stoic consulting detective he was known to be. He acted cold and distant now, but he wasn't always like that. He saved his softer side only for you to see. It made you feel special, and in truth, you were. You just didn't see why.

''Where's the body, Lestrade?''

''Starving, Sherlock? You haven't had a case in weeks. I'm surprised you haven't killed anyone yourself yet. Or have you?'' Donovan snickered. 

The detective rolled his eyes, but ignored her and followed Greg to where the body was located.

The flat was a mess. Books were scattered everywhere. Furniture laid upside down, only a few pieces remaining fully intact. There were bloody handprints on the wall, and in the middle of the room was the body, slowly decomposing in a puddle of blood. The stench was unbearable.