SOCIOPATH'S ROMANCE // Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Chapter 12 - Issue with my computer

A.N: Another filler chapter because why not ☝😌

Y/n's phone vibrated against her thigh, pulling her out of the strong lull of sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open but took a little while to adapt themselves once more to her surroundings. Looking up from the couch where she had collapsed previously for a nap, she saw the bright fire orange and red hue of the sky which could only mean the sun was setting.

Her phone kept ringing beside her; she picked it up and placed it her ear, praying it wasn't Lestrade with an assignment. 

"Hello?" she mumbled, wiping her face with her hands in an attempt to shake the drowsiness from her sleep away. 

"Y/n Baxter." Mycroft's voice reeled through the phone. Even when he answered the phone, he sounded expensive and arrogant as if you were peasants to speak to the one who had tea with the Queen regularly. 

"Microsoft help center." Y/n curtly answered, standing up to stretch out her muscles. Pins and needles uncomfortably ran through her body, pricking her in some parts. 

"Don't call me that." he said firmly. 

"Let me guess, a car is waiting outside?" 

"Yes." he finished, hanging up immediately after. Y/n groaned, her feet heavy like cement. Why did Mycroft need to see her at this particular moment? Sure it wasn't that late but honestly, she had a life and her life didn't revolve around Sherlock Holmes. 

She slammed the door to 221 Baker Street, caught surprised by the considerable change in temperature since she came home. As per usual when Mycroft metaphorically dragged her out of her flat, the black car with tinted windows was waiting right in front of the porch. It amazed her how the car always shone and never seemed dirty, despite the unforgiving London weather, the flocks of birds and just the hazards of urban living. Y/n slid in the car and as soon as her seatbelt was buckled, the car drove off to another uncanny location. 

His umbrella tapped regularly against the cemented flooring of the warehouse with every stride he took. 

"Y/n Baxter. How are you?" he smiled pleasantly, not thrown off by Y/n's tired and slightly frustrated expression. 

"Fine." 

"How is my dear brother going?" 

"Sherlock is doing okay. Finished other small cases here and there, nothing major. He still hasn't sunk back, not that I've seen. Nearly killed John for messing up his sock index though. Started a project on blood cells and salt."

"Well, he's been quite the busy little bee. It does reassure me, to some extent of course, that you do keep an eye on him." Mycroft admitted with honesty in his voice. Except if that was regret. He exhaled and started walking again. 

"Sherlock isn't that irresponsible." 

"My brother is impulsive and even though he doesn't show it or is probably unaware, he does feel emotions. "

Y/n was in disbelief. The cold, calculating Holmes who always preaches about how sentiments cloud our vision and judgement was subject to them? It would make sense, that its only a facade. But Sherlock Holmes was so hard to understand, Y/n never was truly sure about anything concerning him. He was everything at once. 

"Hmm. Isn't he the one that hates sentiments and all that stuff?" 

"Ah, but do you think that is true?" questionned Mycroft to the young woman. She didn't believe him or was unsure, it was strickingly clear. But Mycroft knew. He knew that Sherlock could feel. Somehow, somewhat, somewhere there was a scrap or maybe more of sentiment.