You're in Sherlock (Sherlock × Reader)

A Scandal in Belgravia: Chapter 1

Sherlock's finger flickered over the trigger as Moriarty watched him, hands casually placed in his pockets. Fear coursed through your body, not only from your situation but mostly from the fear of dying at Moriarty's hands. John's eyes locked on yours as his hands stayed steady on your wound, that was bleeding faster than he could control. You could see the fear in him, but knowing he felt the same way you did, comforted you as the entire situation played out beside you. You focused on the feel of his shirt that your hand was hanging onto. The feeling kept you grounded, it reminded you that you were still alive.

You faintly heard someone's phone starting to ring... your body became more drowsy as you couldn't quite make out the words of what was happening. Someone was talking, you could hear Sherlock's muffled voice but you couldn't understand what was being said. Slowly, you could feel yourself losing consciousness. You were before, but now it was slipping away fast and you couldn't fight it.

"Sherlock..." You whispered, dark spots dancing in your vision, clouding him from view. Then as someone started yelling, you began to pass out despite John's hushed protests. You felt your head lean into the cold tile before everything went dark.

***

You'd never been shot before that day, so you had no idea how agonizing the recovery was. Nor did you realize how overprotective John and Sherlock were. They were like your hovering parents. For one, they forced you to stay at the hospital instead of leaving early to come home. All you wanted to do was get away from that horrible pace. But nooo, they had to watch you 24/7 to insure you wouldn't make your escape. They practically babysat you.

When you finally got discharged they both refused to let you stay in your own flat (which was literally beneath theirs) and insisted on you staying at their place. Sherlock even gave up his bedroom for you to have a more comfortable place to sleep, while he spent his nights on the couch, absolutely refusing your offer to share his bed (he'd blushed, taken one look at John's grin and quickly declined not ever bringing it up again). You and Sherlock had never talked about the night of the shooting, about the whole "I really like and care about you" situation. You'd basically admitted your feelings towards one another. You didn't plan on bringing it up, it was stupid of you to say. You'd been high on adrenaline. But somewhere deep down, you knew you meant what you'd said. You just didn't know if Sherlock had.

Somehow, with John and Sherlock hovering over you so much, they managed to even make your once peaceful showers a nightmare. You could never get away. It seemed like you would now forever be stuck under their supervision.

"Bloody hell!" You cursed as Sherlock knocked on the door for the third time since you'd stepped into the bathroom. He'd scared you so bad you ended up slipping and falling flat on your butt. "For god's sake, Sherlock!" You spat as you tried to pull yourself up, you heard the bathroom door creak open and you rolled your eyes. "I'm fine! Just give me a minute." You groaned as you peeked down at your healing wound that was sealed with a waterproof bandage.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? You didn't hit your wound, did you?" Questions flew out of Sherlock's mouth as you mentally face palmed and pulled the curtain aside the slightest bit to glare at him.

"Just get me a damn towel, Holmes." You frowned, turning off the shower. Sherlock nodded passing over a towel as you wrapped it around your body and stepped from the shower. "For a sociopath you seem to care a whole lot about my well being at the moment." He didn't say a word but gave you a once over before deciding you were okay and leaving the bathroom.

You sighed heavily and winced at the aching pain now settling its way into your body. You slowly got dressed, then left the bathroom to make yourself a hot cup of tea. You glanced around the living area and kitchen to see neither John nor Sherlock anywhere in sight. You shrugged, putting a pot on and leaning against the table as you waited for it to heat up. At least you'd get a small break away from them to enjoy your tea.

You sighed, running your fingers through your wet hair as you studied the kitchen. Leftover experiments of Sherlock's were scattered across the table. You sighed, cleaning up the experiments before reading through his results, not surprised by a lot of the outcomes, but finding them interesting all the same.

You jumped as the kettle went off, shaking your head at the panic that ran through your body at the loud sound. That had been happening often now... your doctors said you had PTSD, but you didn't believe that.

You turned back to the kettle to remove it from the stove and poured yourself a cup of the steaming water. As you were reaching for the tea bags, you heard ragged footsteps behind you and you whipped around seeing a larger man in the kitchen panting at you wide eyed. You cursed, knocking over your cup. He practically appeared out of nowhere! You cringed as some of the hot water spilled on your hand, but you were too worried about the man to focus on the burning pain.

"The door was... the door was..." He gestured towards the door before fainting and falling straight forward onto his face. Wide eyed you looked at the man on the floor before calling for John and Sherlock.

John and Sherlock had been taking in all sorts of clients in the past couple weeks you were recovering. They always updated you at the hospital letting you have a say in the cases, it was their way of making you feel included (plus, Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but he needed your assistance). It helped you survive through that horrid hospital they forced you to stay at, you always did hate hospitals (although you wouldn't ever tell that to the boys).

Seeing the man laying face down on the floor now didn't surprise you too much, as all the clients just showed up and told their stories. Sherlock decided if their stories were worth looking into, and John just tagged along for the ride. He always typed all the cases up in his blog, which had gone viral while you were in the hospital. You had to admit you enjoyed reading John's blogs when they wouldn't let you go out anywhere on 'Doctor's orders'. John never forgot to update his readers on how you were recovering, according to him they loved the three of you. And for some reason they worried about your wellbeing.

"Y/N! What is it? Are you-" John stopped cold as he saw the man laying on the floor his eyes widening in surprise.