[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...
"We have you booked in, thankfully prioritized because of your little radio debut," Lestrade informs. "The main point is we need information and the owner is always busy guarding it. He always watches the performers but a 3 minutes song isn't enough so we need you to engage enough for him to talk for an extra 5-8 minutes,"
"If he touches me then you'll have an extra 20 minutes," you stand up, throwing away an empty packet of crisps. "At least the bar will be classy, not some shitty pub,"
"Did you practice the song?" Lestrade asks as you take out the outfit hung inside a bag.
"Of course I did," unzipping it to catch sight of the sleek material and time, getting ready would take a fair bit: shower, hair, makeup, dress, warming up. "Alright, get out, I need to get ready if we want to be on time,"
~~~
"Well, don't you boys look handsome," stepping down the last step, they were waiting with murmurs.
"Oh, wow," John clears his throat, as Lestrade slowly lifts his phone to snap a photo of Sherlock's hung open mouth. "Send that to me," the blogger whispers.
"That was a given," Lestrade grins. "Looking great, Y/n,"
"Thanks, Greg," eyeing the all black suit Sherlock wore, less than respectfully, the sleek fabric against him never got old. "Looking decent," you hum, wiping a piece of white flint from his shoulder, fixing the lapels with a smirk before strutting to the door, following Greg as John nudges Sherlock back to reality.
~~~
Sherlock sat in the crowd as John and Lestrade went around the back. His help would be useful but the detective had already given exact spots where the man would have placed such information after visiting the bar earlier.
(As the world caves in (cover by Sarah Cothran))
"My feet are aching and your back is pretty tired, and we've drunk a couple bottles, babe..." your voice caught his attention from the drink in hand.
Sherlock wasn't one to drink, hating how it slows his brain down. A simple mocktail would do instead. Sweet and kept his mind sober, alert, attentive.
"And set our grief aside, the papers say it's doomsday, the button has been pressed, we're gonna nuke each other up boys 'til old Satan stands impressed," your voice, soft and entrancing, was one to make time stop.
Sherlock made sure to state it so in the past, your voice put him under a love spell the moment you started singing. When you sang to him, either late at night or on stage, he would always feel like the only person on earth. Never alone, no, when you sang to him and despite the world fading away he didn't feel alone. He felt important. He felt loved.
"And here it is, our final night alive... and as the earth runs to the ground, oh boy it's you~" your eyes land on him for a second before they close, "that I lie with... as the atom bomb locks in!" Ringing against the walls with every note, light yet powerful to not only move the crowd but yourself. "Oh boy it's you... I watch TV with! As the world..." a single tear pricks down the side of your cheek while you continue the song.
"As the world caves in," Sherlock murmurs out softly.
~~~
"Mr Lefora," you smile at the man who ran the bar.
Large build, short height with patches of sweat over his discolored shirt held against him with suspenders which clung to the baggy trousers. Hair greying and bald spots in the most awkward places he combed over as best to his ability. "Darling!" He opens his arms.
"Oh, I'm not a hugger," you back up with an awkward cough. "Thank you so much for letting me sing, I find it great to travel and sing like I used to and not in city clubs,"
"Ah, yes, yes, always a difference," he huffs, "I must go-"
"Already? I do have s few questions about this all, I mean best speakeasy in Cardiff, why not go to the city?"
"Cardiff is my home, all my family is here," he chuckles whole-heartedly.
"Family? Are you married?"
"Yes- well, actually, divorced as of 5 years ago,"
"7, dad," a young man, just around your age, exits a small room with files in hand. "He isn't the best with time," the pushed back hair, black with blue streaks, along with the brightest blue eyes, utterly breath taking.
"Neither am I, was nearly late getting here," fiddling with your accessories, you felt slightly nervous under his observing look. "I'm Y/n,"
"Chase," he held a hand out.
"So... dad, huh?"
"Adopted," he shrugs, turning to the readers, smirking slightly. "On vacation alone?"
"No, I'm here with three friends, the other two were too tired to come so only one tagged along," you chuckle while Mr Lefora peers down the hall and sees Sherlock walking in.
"Hey, hey! Whatch doing back here, boy?"
"Oh, Mr Lefora, this is my friend William," you cough, confusion shooting to him which he easily ignores. "I told him to wait out front but apparently he hates to listen,"
"I got bored, wondering what was holding you up," Sherlock eyes Chase with dark jealousy.
"Hm, well, I hope to see you again, Y/n," Chase held a hand out to take yours but Sherlock quickly pulls you away.
"Yes, very good, have a nice night," there wasn't much choice given, he was practically pushing you like a trolley down the hall. Trying to gain back some sense of self, you were out the door by then.
"Sherlock, what the hell??"
"Get in the car."
~~~
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