Lost Girl 🔍 (Sherlock x Reader) [EDITING]

Chapter 18: Irene... is...

Your POV

I sat on John's chair, listening to Sherlock compose a sad melody. I didn't talk, neither did he. I just listened and enjoyed his company. I couldn't shake what happened last night out of my head. Do I have feelings for Sherlock?

No, (Y/N), stop. He will never love you. He's your friend.

"Lovely tune Sherlock, haven't heard that one before." Ms. Hudson said, breaking the ice as she walked in. Sherlock stopped and made a notation on a piece of paper.

"You composing?" John asked as he walked in, nodding over at me to make sure I was okay. I was still shook up from going to the morgue and seeing Irene dead. Sherlock and I both knew it was going to happen, but it still haunted me. I still felt her. I could picture her in my mind, like she wasn't really dead. Maybe it was her ghost...

"Helps me to think." He said, lifting the violin again and continuing to play.

"And what are you thinking about?" I asked intriguingly, propping my head up on my hands. He spun around and fired out words rapidly.

"The counter on John's blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five."

"That's a stupid thing to be thinking about..." Sherlock shot a sharp glare at me, and I slumped into the chair, fake pouting.

"It's faulty, can't seem to fix it." John said.

"Faulty... or a message?" Sherlock says, whipping out the camera phone and typing the numbers '1895' into the I am ___LOCKED screen. It beeps and the enthusiasm from his eyes dies. "Faulty." He says disappointingly, turning away and playing the violin once more.

"Right." Said John, holding a hand out to me and lifting me off of the couch. "Right... well... we're going out for a bit." He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me over to Ms. Hudson.

"Why am I coming with you." I whispered, John ignored me and turned to Ms. Hudson.

"Listen, has he had any type of... boyfriend, girlfriend, a relationship... ever?" My chest tightened, maybe John actually wanted Sherlock. I shook that thought out of my head. John isn't gay. John isn't gay.

"I don't know..." Ms. Hudson said awkwardly.

"How can we not know?" He said, sighing frustratingly.

"He's Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that arrogant head?" I ask John, and he smiles at me.

-TIME SKIP BROUGHT TO YOU BY SHERLOCK'S HAIR-

John and I walk into a room, a really big and dimly lit room. Mycroft's assistant had dropped us off here. Anthea she called herself. But that wasn't her real name.

"He's writing sad music; doesn't eat; barely talks – only to correct the television." John calls out into the empty room. I expected Mycroft to come through the doors, but nobody came. "I'd say he was heartbroken but, er, well, he's Sherlock. He does all that anyw..." John trailed off as Irene stepped into the light. I sucked in a staggered breath out a pure horror.

"You can see her to, right?" I whispered into John's ear, and he nodded, which scared me more.

"Hello Dr. Watson, Ms. (Y/L/N)." I stare at her for a while, until I finally find the words to say.

"Tell him you're alive." I said, a note of pleading in my voice.

"He'll come after me."

"I'll come after you if you don't." I said angrily, hands balling into fists.