❛ I'M REACHING OUT AND I JUST CAN'T TELL YOU WHY ❜
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 an untouchable and a self-proclaimed consulting detective band together in the most unlikely of ways
[ bbc sherlock holmes x fem!oc ]
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JOHN HELD ONTO THE EDGE OF THE passenger seat with a tight grip that was turning his knuckles white, only occasionally braving the risk to let go and push the laptop screen back open, because it had closed due to a sharp direction change of the car Poppy was behind the wheel of. Now, despite joining the army and having to write a letter to his family each year incase he was killed in action, John Watson had never actually thought they would ever have to read it.
But that was until he'd willingly ( as she forced him through the door and clicked in his seatbelt for him — Poppy didn't trust John to not slip out and make a break for it as soon as the opportunity arose ) entered a car that had been hijacked by Poppy Rockefeller, who he'd just found out worked for the British Secret Service!
With a hand holding the laptop open and another over his pounding heart, he managed to splutter, "I'm trying not to conform you to a common stereotype, but you're so bad at driving."
As she shrugged and somehow managed to find time in the final journey of the blue death trap to adjust the rear-view mirror and fluff her hair up, John took a moment to reflect upon the last twenty four hours.
His day had gone from from ordinary when he'd picked up a coffee and a bacon sandwich from the cafe chain on the corner by his old studio flat, weird when he'd walked into a potentially new home with a potentially new flat-mate who had skulls dotted around on the mantle above the fireplace.
Absurd when he walked straight into the middle of a crime scene with the previously aforementioned and potentially new flat-mate who pissed people off as soon as he'd so much as opened his mouth to speak, surreal when a black town car had tailed him all through Brixton only to take him to an abandoned warehouse to meet with Sherlock Holmes's self-claimed arch nemesis, and completely and utterly unorthodox as he stared death in the face with an MI5 agent at his side.
When John had finally dared to crack one eye open to look at the map, he said with worry lacing his voice, "Take a left here, Poppy. And you might want to slow down, there's a red light—"
"Sorry John, not possible I'm afraid." She said as her foot pushed down harder on the acceleration peddle, forcing the car to run straight through a red light and into the on-flow of cars flooding out from either side of the cross roads. "Serial killers wait for no-one. And if everyone hates Sherlock as much as people keep saying, then we haven't got much time left."
His hand darted out to hold onto the area above the glovebox at another sharp turn into a lay-by, and Poppy and John lurched forwards in their seats at the quick cut out of the engine. John blinked. "Did you just break the car?"
She flicked the ignition switch on and off three times, and twisted the key in its place before turning to look at John sheepishly. "Um, I think so. Yes."
