[CONTAINS SMUT] ‼️18+‼️
WARNINGS: This is a Sherlock book so obviously mentions of drug use
~~~
A simple tune is all it takes. A flood of memories returning to haunt- to plague every thought with regret and/or longing.
For you, a violin composition...
"This is a turn of events isn't it?" Greg glances to John who hurried after his friend.
"Who would have thought?" John chuckles breathlessly.
"Come on, Y/n," Sherlock persisted after you, following down the crowded hall and to your dressing room. "For gods sake, please listen for once-"
"Listen?! I always listen to you! I did what you told me- and I never listened to those who warned me about you," shoving your finger into his chest, he stumbled slightly. "Because all I heard was your voice- I was listening to your voice telling me to ignore them,"
"Would you stop being so damn stubborn??" Sherlock leans forward in annoyance. "This has nothing to do with you or me, and certainly not what we had then," he follows you in, "so would you stop running away like a child-"
"Call me a child again," you snap your eyes at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I dare you,"
"Alright, alright," Greg pushed you both apart, taking out his badge. "Detective inspector Lestrade,"
"Working with the 'incompetent morons', are we?"
"Trust me, he doesn't let us forget it," Lestrade sits down on the chair you gesture for him to take. "Help us, and by us I mean Scotland Yard, for the sake of the case," he reasons.
"Why should I? What do I get?" You comb back your hair, tussling it a little to fix the volume.
"It's a simple favour-"
Sherlock holds out £50 to you, rolling his eyes when you snatch it, stuffing the note in your pocket and grabbing your things. "Let's go, ladies," you nod your head.
"That's how you get her attention," the detective watched with a look of distaste as you venture down the hall with Greg.
~~~
"Nice flat," you drop your bag at the door, eyeing the stacks of paper, messy decor and other items. Moving around to inspect it all, you spot a leather chair and sit in it, kicking your legs up and relaxing.
"That's-" Lestrade starts only for Sherlock to cut him off.
"I just need your help with these bands, night life isn't my... scene," he holds a file to you.
"Would have never guessed," you sneer, flipping through mindlessly. Each victim obviously had a connection: Neon paints- no, not actual paint, it was a name of an elite lounge for singers meaning drugs and many unlawful activities.
"So... how did you two... you know," John broke the silence as Sherlock closed his eyes, sighing.
"We dated for 2 years back in university..." shuffling through papers, you refuse to meet his eye. "Met in the library because I needed help which he pointed out quite condescendingly,"
"I didn't," Sherlock counters.
"Sounded condescending," typing on your phone a little, you did a quick research in... MI6's little filing system. "Also, how is it Mikey is still unable to upgrade the MI6 security?" The boys snap their heads up to you. "You're the babysitter right? Tell him considering he won't listen to William," You look to Lestrade.
"How... did you- wait, I'm not his babysitter-"
"Just because I'm in a band doesn't mean I'm an idiot,"
"You can do the whole...?" John laughs in disbelief, flailing his hands around a bit.
"He taught me how to deduce and I taught him about pop culture, he was really shit at remembering most of it," you laugh as he rolls his eyes. "You really were, let's be honest. He even vowed to never read another magazine,"
John and Lestrade look to each other in shock as Sherlock stands up. "Can you help-"
"Never really liked Spice girls or Michael Jackson, but he did really like Bowie and Wild Cherry not matter how much he denied," you hum absently. "Real 80s lover, not one for the 90s or 70s, always 80s-"
"For heaven's sake, Y/n," he snaps at you harshly. "Can you help?"
"Why should I? You always need me for something, don't you?" Boots hit the floor with a slam as you stood to meet his height best you could. "You needed a distraction for two years, a little heart to play with until you got bored,"
"I didn't mean to- I didn't play with your heart,"
"Really? So why did you say that I was nothing but a game? Something to ease your mind from stress??" Grabbing a pen and paper, you scribble down your clue for his little case and crumple it up, shoving it into his chest. "You say 'I love you' so well, I believed it for so long,"
"Who's fault was that?"
Glaring up at him, your tongue clicked in annoyance. "Apparently mine," bag strap in your hand, you sling it over your shoulder. "Neon Paints is the most exclusive lounge for elite singers. I sent Mycroft the right file, but if you ever contact me again I'll do worse than write some stupid love song,"
Sherlock watched as you left quickly, his heart shattering instantly, regret lacing his every being until a light tear threatened to slip down his face yet every feature stayed stoic per-usual.
"That was something," Lestrade looks down at his phone while John rests a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, the sudden contact causing the Holmes to instinctively wipe away any signs of how he felt.
"Are you alright?" John asks softly.
"Hm? Oh, yes, don't worry, just annoyed is all," Sherlock mutters, walking to his room.
~~~
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