(Sherlock x Reader) Never trust those who are never truthful

Chapter 4 - Murderer?

It wasn't that you didn't like dead bodies, well I mean who would? It was just, a little odd seeing them again. After so long of leaving them behind.

This is what you felt when you arrived on the crime scene. Your stomache churned, you weren't sure if it were nerves or something else but you had never been too fond of the sensation and it certainly wasn't helping the situation at hand. You had to keep your cool, look unbothered. Just so the man next to you wouldn't 1. suspect anything or 2. think you were weird. You were more worried about the latter as you were intrigued about these sorts of things, what it was like on the other side of a crime. What it was like to figure out how someone's mind works from facts of the past.

These thoughts had made you have an unnaturally happy smile on your face, it was so exciting. But at the same time you bashed yourself for looking so goofy when you were trying to look normal. You'd never done anything like this before so what did people expect? New experiences were something to look forward to, unless they were meeting a new teacher or boss. Those experiences were never pleasant, but other than that you were pretty sure that new things were fun. So it still puzzled you why all of the butterflies in your stomach wouldn't settle. Surely you shouldn't be so nervous about something so mundane, but then again it could just be excitement. You decided to put those thoughts aside and actually try and retain some information from the ever so silent consulting detective beside you, it seemed the best way to break the ice, asking about the case, it seemed on topic which was good at least.

"So what crime are we going to investigate?" You asked, turning to him as you walked down a street. It was still dark outside so his height silhouetted him in the street lights but you could still see the cheekbones that defined his face so nicely.

"A murder." He stated simply, not bothering to look down the couple of inches between you and him in height as he kept staring staight ahead as he walked. He was overly aware however of your presence next to him. It seemed that having you and not John as a roommate was having an odd affect on him. He couldn't simply walk into your room like he could John or use the bathroom when you were having a shower. It obviously wasn't normal to walk in on your roommate doing things, gender disregarded. However Sherlock felt that because you were a woman you deserved a lot more privacy, even he felt that something so stupid as privacy shouldn't exist. This concequently had made him all the more curious as to what you were doing when you were in the bathroom or bedroom. He didn't exactly want to immediately assume things but you did make a lot of noise when you were alone so his mind coudn't help but jump to conclusions. This made him blush a little at the thought and he was now thankful for the fact that you had turned away from looking at him, it stopped a lot of questions being asked if you were actually looking at him. That would be a minor inconvenience as he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be abe to keep his mouth shut from asking questions about your actions on your own.

It was at that moment that you both had finally arrived at the crime scene which welcomed you with a very sour faced looking Donovan judging you both very harshly with her brown eyes. Sherlock knew it was because of him and being a 'freak' but you on the other hand thought that she had something against you personally. Your eyes squinted at her and your jaw set, "Have you got a problem?"

She ignored you and turned to the man beside you, holding her walkie talkie up, "Sir? He's here," her eyes then flicked to you, with even more disgust in her them than before, "and it seems he has a new mouthy little assistant. Do you want me to send them in?" She waited for the reply, nodded and lifted the tape, "nice to see you too, freak." She called after you both, your fists clenched. How dare she talk like-

"There's no need to get so angry," his voice cut off your thoughts, instantly calming you down, "she was talking about me." It was that last sentence that hit you. Hard. It kind of knocked you back a little at how his words were so solemn and yet they seemed as if he'd used that sentence so much in his life that they seemed overused to him. It then hit you, he was bullied in his past. Badly. You felt like you should say something at least, just so he knew that you were there for him.