Suddenly the cloth is jerked from your face as the man's grip on you loosens. You drop to the pavement and everything is blurry. Wincing you look up and see a dark outline attacking your potential kidnapper.
What in the nine realms?
You try to crawl away but there's no strength left in your muscles. The chloroform is seeping through your body at a rapid speed.
"Get up," someone says lowly in your ear, "(YN) get up."
"Get away," you mutter trying to brush off the hands, "Leave me be."
"(YN), I am not carrying your fat arse back to the flat," the deep baritone voice mutters, "Now get up."
You let out a low moan that slowly fades away as your vision starts to darken.
"(YN)!" Sherlock calls but his voice is far away. Almost as if he's on the other end of a tunnel.
A long sigh echoes in your mind and you feel yourself being pulled upwards into strong arms before the darkness claims you.
When you reawaken your head is pounding severely and your mind is sluggish. Objects and forms start to slowly develop as your vision clears. You let out a groan as you recognize your surroundings.
The spray painted smiley face on the wall above you. The cluttered room with barely enough room to walk around. The homey armchair. And finally the leather arm chair is occupied by a man in a form fitting black suit with his finger steepled beneath his chin. His blue irises find your (EC) ones and fill with amusement.
"Took you long enough."
You scoff and try to sit up.
"I wouldn't-" Sherlock warns but you manage to wobbly get to your feet.
"Ha," you smirk at him taking a step forward.
Your ankle gives way and you fly forward onto the carpet.
"I did warn you," a cool voice says above you.
"Yeah thanks for catching me," you snarl propping yourself up on your elbows, "Oh wait. YOU DIDN'T."
"You neglected to heed my advice therefore this is upon your head," Sherlock smirks from his seat.
You roll your eyes and sit up; leaning heavily on the arm chair.
"Why did you save me last night?" You mutter up at the tall man.
His expression becomes guarded and he claps his hands together quickly.
"So Moriarty wouldn't use you against me," he replies simply walking away from you towards the couch you had been lying on.
You narrow your eyes suspiciously.
The detective stops in front of the paper covered wall and you notice red strings connecting different pictures and notes. He gently traces on of the lines; refusing to look at you.
"Really?" you question doubtfully, "There wasn't some other reason?"
Sherlock's body stiffens and he peers at you out of the corner of his eye.
"No. What other reason would there be?" he asked coldly looking back around at the wall.
A small proud smirk makes its way across your lips as you cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the side of John's armchair.
"Moriarty mentioned sentiment."
"I doubt you even know what sentiment is," he insults turning towards a pile of documents and rooting through them before holding up a photograph. Without looking at you he takes it over to the wall and pins it in place.
"A judgement, thought or attitude prompted by emotion," you smirk.
Sherlock rolls his eyes.
"I do not have emotions," he states firmly pinning another paper to the wall with more force than necessary.
"Uh huh," You grin standing wobbly upright, "Sure."
Sherlock whips around to face you with an ugly look on his face.
"It is true. I do not like emotions. They're messy and lead to rash and illogical actions."
You frown walking over to him.
"Like what?" you ask peering up at him.
Sherlock stares at you unblinkingly. His sudden silent stare starts to make you uncomfortable and you wave a hand in front of his face.
"Like what?" You repeat.
"Like this," he mutters his eyes flicking down to your lips.
Your mouth parts in surprise as he leans down and places a quick yet firm kiss against your lips. You blink as he pulls away and quickly walks away.
"Holmes," you say in shock.
He keeps walking down a hallway out of your sight.
"HOLMES, GET YOUR ARSE BACK HERE NOW!"
Sherlock peeks his head around the corner of the tiny hallway with an irritated look on his face.
"I would prefer if you didn't shout in my flat, (YN)," he says stiffly.
"Get. In. Here. Right. Now," you mutter darkly.
Sherlock sighs but walks in.
"What was that?" you ask slowly.
"What was what?" he replies nonchalantly.
You send him an icy glare.
"You know exactly what, Mister."
"John dared me to."
You raise an eyebrow.
"Nice try," you state sarcastically.
Sherlock mumbles something under his breath; raising a hand and beginning to scratch the back of his neck.
"Fine, John and Molly dared me to," he mutters.
Your eyes narrow into slits.
"Three strikes you're out, Buddy."
Sherlock bites his lip; looking anywhere but at you. Finally out of frustration you grab him by his jacket and drag his face down to your level.
"Tell me the bloody truth, Holmes," you hiss; your face inches from his own.
His blue eyes are flecked with green that you had never seen before. A solitary curl of hair falls onto his forehead as he stares back at you mouth slightly agape. In the end he manages to rasp out a reply.
Your eyebrows skyrocket upwards.
"You what now?"
Sherlock's cheeks tinge with rose.
"Say it," You prompt still holding the front of his jacket tightly in your clenched fingers.
"I love you," he whispers.
You smirk and pull him closer; smashing his lips to yours. An explosion of fireworks go off in your chest as you smile in the kiss. Eventually, due to lack of oxygen you pull away smirking up at the detective.
"I think I like you too."
Welp...that's it. Little too rushed at the end I think but hey I thought it would wrap things up nicely. This is the end and I don't have a sequel planned.
Live Long and Prosper,