His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 26: The 'Cold' Truth

(Your POV)

"(Y/n)?" Sherlock's distinct voice cut through the blanket of sleep surrounding me.

"What?" I grumbled rather grouchily from the sofa, keeping my eyes closed.

"It's time to go." I opened one eye slowly to see the detective standing over me. He had his arms crossed expectantly, waiting for me to get up. I gave him a once-over. He had changed his dress shirt to a black one as opposed to his navy blue one from earlier today. Every piece of clothing he wore was black (except the scarf), making him look like a well-dressed ninja. I suppressed a chuckle.

"Five more minutes." I rolled over so my back was to him, smiling to myself. I could feel his gaze boring holes into my back, but I didn't care. I was tired as hell. We were supposed to go break into the butcher's now, but sleep was so much more favorable.

"(Y/n)." Sherlock warned condescendingly. "Last chance." When he received nothing in reply, he sighed. "You leave me no choice."

A yelp escaped my lips as I tumbled to the floor. I looked up at Sherlock, pouting. Did he really just push me off the couch?? "Rude." He just smirked.

"It's time to go."

I waved him off. "Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute to change." I stood and started to head for the bathroom.

"Nope." He reached out an arm to stop me. I looked at him, confused, and my gaze was met with his disapproving turquoise eyes. "There's no time anymore. You should've gotten up quicker."

I raised an eyebrow. I was still in the Supernatural tee and shorts I had on earlier today. He's not serious, right? It's gonna be freezing out there... Well, by my standards anyways. When the look etched into his features didn't falter, I sighed. "Fine, let's go." I grabbed the plaid shirt I had worn around my waist earlier off the arm of the sofa and threw it on over my t-shirt. In my haste to leave, I forgot my coat.

--- (mini time skip) ---

"John's been following Jones around since the shop closed this evening." Sherlock explained as we entered a cab. When he saw the confused look on my face, he answered my question before I could even ask it. "It's 11:30 now. We'll get there about midnight."

I nodded in reply.

We reached the butcher's at exactly 11:58 pm, according to the digital clock on the taxi dashboard. Sherlock paid the driver, and we both exited the cab and stood on the curb until the driver was out of sight. The moment it turned the corner, Sherlock whipped out his flip phone and dialed John.

I scoffed. "Really, Sherlock?"

He shot a puzzled look at me while he waited for John to pick up. "What?"

"This is 2011, get an iPhone or something. That thing is ancient."

He merely rolled his eyes. "John!" He exclaimed into the phone. He listened intently as John rambled off information to him. "Okay. If you don't hear from us by three, phone Lestrade... And an ambulance." Without even saying goodbye, he hung up.

I quirked an eyebrow. "What are we going to need an ambulance for?"

An unknown emotion flashed across his eyes, but disappeared quickly. "Just taking precautions."

He sounded like he didn't want to be pushed on the matter, so I let it go. "Okay."

"Cover me, will you?" He stepped up to the door and immediately began picking the lock with a... wait, is that seriously a bobby pin? Leave it to Sherlock. 'Serious break-in' my arse. I shook my head in a resigned manner, but moved so I was blocking him from the wandering eyes of the passerby. Not that there were many of them at this hour. A soft blue light shone from the word 'Butcher' hanging over the door.