The Science of Sentiment (BBC Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 4: Brilliant.

Sherlock had dragged you out of the flat in a mere two minutes, and you were still trying to pull on a pair of shoes while you slid into the cab across from him. The cold air bit into your skin with only the protection of your sweater, but you hadn't had much time to grab a coat, or even your bag for that matter.
"Scotland Yard," Sherlock said breathlessly to the cabbie.
The car bounded down the road, heading for the police headquarters. The ride was mostly silent. You stared out the window, while Sherlock stared at you. You squirmed slightly, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.
Finally, you turned to look at him. "What is it?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again, carefully contemplating his word choice. "You're...brilliant."
"Hmm?" You hummed, giving him a confused look. "What's with this all of a sudden?"
"Why do you act ignorant all the time, (y/n)? You may have everyone else fooled, but you can't trick me. I know you're much smarter than you try to seem, so why?" He demanded.
You continued to stare at him quizzically. "I don't know what you mean," you stated flatly, forcing the emotion out of your voice.
Sherlock merely chuckled in response, but there was no joy in his eyes. "(Y/n), I want a straight answer," he snapped.
Now it was your turn to be angry.
"And why the hell should I tell you? You don't know me. I know we have a lot in common, but we were raised in completely different environments. So," you sucked in a breath and continued. "-don't try to act like you have me all figured out, Mister Holmes."
The man seemed completely taken aback. After a moment, he hissed, "And what exactly is that answer supposed to mean? I may be smart, but I'm no mind reader."
You locked eyes with the detective. You were angry at the sudden memories this man was bringing up, but your expression softened when you saw the curious look in his eyes. Always curious, just like you.
You took a deep breath before answering. "Look- I'm only going to say this once. It's not in my nature to spill out my life story to strange men. But, since it's you, I'll make an exception."
Intrigued, Sherlock leaned in closer to you.
You continued, "What I mean is- when you were raised, you were obviously praised for your intelligence. I, however, was not. My observations have only given me grief throughout my life, so, excuse me Sherlock for trying to hide my intelligence from the world."
He seemed to understand then, you could practically see the pieces falling together in his mind.
"And that's why you became a therapist in America?" He asked.
You stared at the floor of the cab. "Yeah...Over the years I had become very depressed. I thought that maybe trying to help people sort through their problems could help me to forget about my own, in a way. I know it's stupid-"
"It's not stupid." He mumbled.
Just then, the cab pulled to a stop in front of the police headquarters. Sherlock paid the cabbie, and the two of you made your way towards the building.
Before you entered the door, Sherlock said, "I find you quite interesting, (y/n). You'll have to tell me more about yourself some other time."
You smirked at the detective. "My, my, are you flirting with me, Sherlock?"
The man only laughed, holding the door open for you.

The police headquarters was in crisis. Everyone seemed to be rushing around, frantically. The room was filled with shouting and paper shuffling from all directions. One woman across the room made eye contact with Sherlock and immediately rushed over. Her dark curls bounced around her distraught face as she pulled to a stop in front of you both.
"There you are, freak. Lestrade has been trying to call you."
"What's going on?" He demanded.
The woman gave a frustrated sigh and started towards a separate room. You and Sherlock followed in close pursuit.
Upon entering, the grey-haired man sitting at the desk quickly stood up, looking over Sherlock and then you.
"Who's this?" He asked breathlessly.
"A friend."
The man reached out his hand to shake yours. "And does this friend have a name?" He directed his question at you.
"Ah, (y-y/f/n)."
"Detective Inspector Lestrade. Nice to meet you."
You nodded, and he turned back to Sherlock. "There's been a kidnapping," he said.
"By our blackmailer?"
"Yes. We don't know exactly what he wants," the DI answered, sifting through photographs on his desk. He picked one up to hand to Sherlock. "-but we found this in the woman's flat with his signature message."
You peered over Sherlock's shoulder at the photo. It was a shot of the woman's bedroom. The room was a complete mess- the bed sheets were torn and clothes and papers littered the floor. Even with the mess, though, the room seemed oddly familiar. In the center of the bed were four red roses.
"Roses?" You asked.
"Yes, the blackmailer- er, Daniel West, he dropped a package off here a week ago with a note and four red roses."
"And what did that note say?"
"It just said that he 'would find us if it killed him'. No idea what that means though. He's been a big nuisance in Germany for a while, so imagine our surprise when he just drops a package at our headquarters, out of the blue. And now he's kidnapped this woman."
Sherlock continued staring at the photo. "It just doesn't add up..." He mumbled.
"Hmm?"
"This man has been blackmailing people in Germany for a year, and now he suddenly drops this mysterious package off at Scotland Yard? And now he's kidnapped someone? It just doesn't make any sense." Suddenly, something in his eyes clicked.
"What was the woman's name?"
"Why, what is it?" Lestrade shot back.
Sherlock smirked in amusement. "What if Daniel West was using this as another form of blackmail? Isn't is possible that he's kidnapped this girl to get to someone else?"
Lestrade's eyes widened. "Of course- I think the woman's name was Lillian. Lillian Marrow."