Dark Secrets (Sherlock x Reader)

A Great Game

Two short pips

One long one

The Connie Prince case; solved in eleven hours.

Killed by her houseboy. Botox injections.

''His voice,'' the older woman's voice trembled as she spoke. ''He was so... so...''

''No,'' Sherlock called out. ''Don't describe him. Don't tell me anything about him, just tell me where you are!''

''He sounded so... soft,'' she croaked.

The sound of a shotgun firing echoed through the phone before the line went dead once more.

''Hello?'' Sherlock's voice faltered. He lowered the phone, staring at the wall with a blank expression on his face.

You gripped the back of his chair tightly, steadying yourself as you felt dizzy. ''He killed her,'' you whispered. ''She started to describe him and he killed her.''

Twelve people died by the bomb going off and ripping through multiple floors.

It was blamed on a gas leak.

One short pip

One long one

Another photo. This time of the Thames.

A body had washed up, a security guard that was linked to a lost painting that had been recovered and put on display at the Hickman Gallery. He was killed by a well-known assassin by the name of The Golem because he had figured out the painting was a fake.

''It's a fake. It has to be!'' Sherlock grunted, standing in front of the Vermeer painting.

You had been looking through information online, trying to desperately find a possible clue to prove it, but you had no such luck.

''That painting has been subjected to every test known to science,'' the curator, Miss Wenceslas, argued.

''It's a very good fake, then,'' you seethed.

''You know about this, don't you?'' Sherlock confronted her. ''This is you, isn't it?!''

''Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?''

The pink phone rang.

Sherlock lurched for it, answering the call. ''It's a fake! The painting is fake. That's why Woodbridge and the professor were killed.''

The phone remained silent.

''Oh, come on. Proving it is just the detail. The painting is fake, we've solved it!''

''Time, Sherlock, we need time,'' you fretted.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. ''Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?''

It was silent for another moment before the trembling voice of a young boy cut through the phone. ''Ten...''

''It's a kid,'' you breathed. ''Oh, God, it's a kid!'' You were rendered speechless. You started pacing in front of the painting, pulling at your hair, trying anything you could to think of the solution to save the boy.

''Nine...''

You were at a loss. You gripped your hair tighter, tears brimming your eyes. You were running a blank. You couldn't think, you couldn't breathe. You felt the room closing in on you as your eyes rapidly scanned the painting up and down.

''Eight...''

A child's life was at stake. Moriarty had taken a child and strapped him to a bomb just to play a game with you. To make you prove to him you were a worthy opponent. But you weren't. Not now, not with the life of a young boy at stake.