The Art Of Deduction ➢ Sherlock x Reader

Falling ill [14]

Y/N POV

It had been a week since John got married. Sherlock was filled with sorrow upon watching John leave with his wife, and since the baby news, he has been quite busy.

His things have been replaced with mine. Sherlock insisted on me moving in with him, and after great cajoling from his part, I reluctantly agreed.

"So we can solve crimes easier this way." He explained to me, while I rolled my eyes. Sure Sherlock that's the reason alright.

"I feel horrid, Y/N." Sherlock groaned in pain, as he plopped himself on the couch. He coughed and sneezed, and groaned again.

"Am I dying? Yes. Yes I think I'm dying." Sherlock bawled, and let out another loud sneeze.

"No Sherlock. It's called being sick. More specifically, the flu." I informed him with a laugh.

"Are you a doctor now?" Sherlock questioned hoarsely. His eyes were red and tired, and I frowned seeing him like this. Poor Sherlock.

"You inhabit all the symptoms. Fever. Sore throat.. Coughing and a runny nose." I said gently.

"Oh woe me. Shall never live long enough to see thou magnificent bum." Sherlock cried melodramatically, and clutched his chest, with fake hurt.

"Okay, well something is definitely wrong. I'll go make you some soup and tea, alright? Here, have this flu remedy." I giggled, pressing a gentle kiss on his burning, feverish forehead.

"But in all seriousness, you really do have a nice bum. It's really firm and —." I cut him off, and smacked his head hard. "Sherlock that's enough of that!"

"Don't fuss, Y/N. I've seen you naked more than once." He wagged his eyebrows, and to which I blushed tomato red.

"Drink your medicine, already." I scold, as I give him a glass of lukewarm water. He scrunches nose, but then takes the pill and sets the glass down.

"Well, I'm off to make some broth." I sing, and Sherlock only nods and his eyes flutter shut with exhaustion.

About 15 minutes later, the kettle finishes boiling the soup and I carefully place the yellow liquid inside a bowl.

"Sherlock. I have some soup and a nice cuppa, just for you." I call out, and Sherlock only mumbles in response, and heads towards the table with a yawn.

Sherlock beams at me, despite that he is ill, and his pale face looks paler than usual. Quickly, he begins to take small slips of the soup and I smile at him.

My phone buzzes and I frown a little, who could it be? I check my phone thinking it's probably John or Molly buts it's someone who'd I never thought it would be. It's James Moriarty. With trembling hands, I see the message and gasp.

I told you, Y/N. The time to play the game would come. The time has come. Meet me at the old abandoned toy factory. Don't think of not coming. I have snipers who won't hesitate to kill a pregnant woman, John or your beau, Sherlock. :)
~ JM xx

My heart lurches, as I take a glance at Sherlock whose on the couch, and watching the telly. I smile and pretend like nothing is the matter. When in reality, this is perhaps my last time with the detective.

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OmG so :( yeah Sherlock got sick and ya'll made him bum - I mean chicken soup but anyhow hope ur all excited as am I for the sexy Irish lad EHEHHE so yeah comment and vote.

What do you think the sexy psychopath has in store for u??