Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Imagines #2 (Book #2) <3

Sherlock (Mark) Part Two FINAL

(I'm so glad you guys are liking this! And remember, I make sure these fandom imagines or very accurate and precise. Which means I look up scripts to make sure every dialogue and scene is correct. I hope you guys appreciate it, I love doing it <3.

Also, I've read so much Johnlock fanfic lately. No regrets. Sorrynotsorry.)

    You make it back to bed later that night, crashing into your bed. Your mind was overwhelmed with what had happened today...that Sherlock guy. You take out your phone and start scrolling through your messages, trying to find the one that Sherlock had texted. You find it, your eyes scanning over the last message.

"If brother has green ladder arrest brother. SH."

   Puzzled, you stared at the message for a long time. You narrowed your eyes, wondering why he would say such a thing. You lift your eyes up to see your laptop resting on your table from this morning. With a groan, you push yourself to your feet again and hobble over to the table. After turning it on again, your fingertips danced over the keyboards as you pulled up a website. Tilting your head, you start typing "Sherlock Holmes" into the search bar and hit enter.
~~~~~
   You limp your way down the street, jumper pulled tight against you and your cane moving next to you. You moved through a crowd of people, eyes up and looking at the numbers on the doors. Finally, after a bit of walking, you see the golden numbers on the wooden door. 221B Baker Street. You start to just make your way up the steps when you look over your shoulder to see a black can roll up. You stop your hand as it rests on the knocker, seeing Sherlock himself climb out of the cab.
   "Hello." He says simply, turning around and handing money to the cab driver. You make your way slowly down the steps to meet him, smiling.
    "Ah, Mr. Holmes."
    "Sherlock, please." He sticks his hand out, both of you giving a firm handshake.
    "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive."
    "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." You were taken a bit back by the information, peering over at the tall building.
    "Sorry, you stopped her husband from being executed?"
    "Oh no. I ensured it." With that, he gave you a big smile just as the door opened. It revealed an older lady with short chestnut brown hair and a warm smile. She opened her arms out to Sherlock.
    "Sherlock, hello!" He walks into her arms, giving you a warm and brief hug before stepping back again. Motioning towards you and Mrs. Hudson, he introduced you.
    "Mrs. Hudson, Doctor (Y/N) Watson." She turned and smiled at you as well, her eyes shining.
    "Hello!"
    "How do?" She nodded, gesturing both of you inside. You both followed her inside, an instant warmth seeping into you versus the biting cold outside.
    "Thank you." The two shared a look before turning towards you again.
    "Shall we?"
    "Yeah." Mrs. Hudson closes the door behind you as Sherlock trots up the steps. Once he makes it to the top, he realizes and turns around to wait for you. You will the blush away from your cheeks as you bite your tongue and force yourself to hurry up the steps. Sherlock opens the door and walks in, revealing the living room flat to you. You step in, looking around. There was all kinds of boxes and possessions scattered around the large space.
    "Well, this could be nice. Very nice indeed." You said, your eyes skimming over the large windows across from you. Sherlock nodded, a smug smile on his lips.
    "Yes, yes I think so. My thoughts precisely." Sherlock looks around the flat as well, his smile growing.
    "So I went straight ahead and moved in."
    "Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out...oh.." You both had spoke at the same time, your face showing embarrassment as you trailed your sentence off.
    "So this is all..." You motioned towards the piles of junk littering the flat.
    "Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up." He says, walking across the room and tapping his chin. He makes a small attempt to clean his mess up, throwing a pile of folders into a box. He then takes a stack of unopened envelopes, grabs a multi-tool knife off of the desk, and stabs the letters into the mantlepiece. Your eyes widen a little bit as you lift your cane and point at something that caught your eye.
    "That's a skull.."
    "Friend of mine. When I say "Friend"..." Before he could finish his sentence, Mrs. Hudson shuffles in the living room and picks up a cup and saucer as Sherlock takes off his scarf and coat. She smiles at you, taking a step close. (I think we all know Mrs. Hudson is the real MVP in this show XD)
    "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs is you'll be needing two bedrooms. (I always die at the fact that she still thinks John and Sherlock are together. It makes my life complete XD) She says, pointing upstairs with her finger.
    "Of course we'll be needing two."
   "Oh don't worry, there's all sorts round here." She then proceeds to drop her voice to nearly a whisper by the end of her next sentence.
    "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones." You clear your throat, looking back at Sherlock and expecting him to tell Mrs. Hudson they were not involved in that way. Alas, Sherlock seemed oblivious to what was being insinuated. Mrs. Hudson walks into the kitchen and then turns to frown at Sherlock.
    "Oh Sherlock, the mess you've made." While she cleans the strange containers and bottles in the kitchen, you make your way over to an armchair beside you. Pumping up one of the pillows, you fall heavily down into it. You looked over at Sherlock who was still attempting to clean up the disaster of a flat.
    "I looked you up on the internet last night." This perked Sherlock's interest, making him stop and turn back towards you.
    "Anything interesting?"
    "Found your website, The Science of Deduction." Sherlock smiled, clearly proud of himself.
    "What did you think?" You just stared at him, giving him a "you have got to be kidding me" look. Seeing this on your face made his smile drop, almost like you hurt his feelings.
    "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."
    "Yes, and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."
    "How?" Sherlock doesn't answer and simply turns away to focus on the mess again. Hudson walked back out of kitchen, a newspaper splayed out in both of her wrinkled hands.
    "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." Sherlock walks over to one of the big windows, peering down below to the sound of a car pulling up.
    "Four." You crane your neck to see red and blue lights flashing outside and soon hear the sounds of someone coming up the steps.
    "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." Sherlock muttered, running a hand through his black curls.
    "A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson asks. Sherlock turns back around just as a man walked through the door. Mrs. Hudson leans over and informs you the man's name is Lestrade.
    "Where?"
    "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."
    "What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."
    "You know how they never leave notes?"
    "Yeah.."
    "This one did. Will you come?"
    "Who's on forensics?"
    "It's Anderson." You could see Sherlock grimace as his eyes swept the floor before meeting Lestrade's again.
    "Anderson won't work with me."
    "Well, he won't be your assistant."
    "I need an assistant."
    "Will you come?"
    "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."
    "Thank you." After Lestrade looks around the room, first at you then Mrs. Hudson, he leaves down the stairs and back outside. Sherlock waits until he hears the downstairs door to close before he shouts in triumph and jumps into the air, pumping his fist. He spun around the room happily, clapping his hands.
    "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" He exclaimed, slipping on his jacket and scarf before heading to the kitchen.
    "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."
    "I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."
    "Something cold will do. (Y/N), have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" After grabbing a small leather pouch, he disappears out the door and into the world. Mrs. Hudson smiles and shakes her head as she turns back to you.
    "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same." You cringe at the notion of her thinking you and Sherlock are an item.
    "But you're more the sitting-down type, I can tell." You shift uncomfortably in your seat, pursing your lips.
    "I'll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg."
    "DAMN MY LEG!" You suddenly shout, your lips curled into a scowl and your eyes narrowing. Your mood instantly dropped as you saw the shocked expression on Hudson's face. You immediately regretted your outburst and started to apologize profusely.
   "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing..." You trail off, hitting your leg with your cane and sighing.
    "I understand, dead. I've got a hip."
    "Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you."
    "Just this once, I'm not your housekeeper."
    "Couple of biscuits too, if you've got em."
    "Not your housekeeper!"
    You pick up the newspaper Mrs. Hudson left on the table and began reading through the report of Beth Davenport apparent suicide. You spot a picture of Beth and then another picture of Lestrade. Before you could read more into it, you were interrupted by Sherlock's sudden voice. You look up to see him standing there in the middle of the living room.
    "You're a doctor. In fact, you're an Army doctor."
    "Yes." You stand up, leaning heavily onto your cane.
    "Any good?"
    "Very good."
    "Seen a lot of injures then, violent deaths."
    "Mmm, yes."
    "Bit of trouble too, I bet."
    "Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."
    "Wanna see more?"
    "Oh god, yes." (I loved this part so much XD)
    Sherlock turns on his heels while you follow close behind to the door. You both head downstairs but not before you call out to Mrs. Hudson.
    "Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." Mrs. Hudson peeks her head in, looking at you.
    "Both if you?" Sherlock nearly reached the front door but turns around and walks back to her.
    "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point in sitting at home when when there's finally something fun going on!" He takes her by the shoulder and noisily kissed her on her cheek, smiling.
    "Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She smiled though and watched Sherlock go back towards the door.
    "Who cares about decent! The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Both of you walk out into the cold, Sherlock throwing his hand up and calling for a cab. You stand beside him, eyes scanning the road for cars.
    "Taxi!" Sherlock yells, finally stopping one of them. You both sit in silence next to each other, Sherlock's eyes fixed on his phone. You couldn't help but steal nervous glances at the man until finally he knew something was wrong. Finally, he lowers his phone and looks up at you.
    "Okay, you've got questions."
    "Yeah, where are we going?"
    "Crime scene. Next?"
    "Who are you? What do you do?"
    "What do you think?" You hesitated before answering.
    "I'd say Private Detective..."
    "But..
    "...but the police don't go to Private Detectives."
   "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."
    "What does that mean?"
    "It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."
    "The police don't consult amateurs." With that, Sherlock shot you a sharp look.
    "When I met you for the first time yesterday, I asked, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."
    "Yes, how did you know?"
    "I didn't, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered..said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor-obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq."
    He loudly clicks the 'K' sound at the end of the final word.
    "You said I had a therapist."
    "You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist. Then there's your brother."
    "Hmm?" Sherlock then holds his hand out, motioning towards your phone.
    "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift then." He then flips your phone over and let's his eyes scan it.
    "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."
    "The engraving." You both look at the engraving at the back of the phone.

Harry Watson
From Clara
XXX 

   "Harry Watson, clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely, you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then, six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment.
    But no, he wanted to get rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you; that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help, that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking."
    "How can you possibly know about the drinking?" Sherlock smiled.
   "Shot in the dark, good one though. Power connection; tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see, you were right."
    "I was right? Right about what?"
    "The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock then looks out the window, avoiding eye contact. He bites his lower lip, intertwining his hands together. He seemed nervous to what your response was going to be.
    "That was...amazing.." He turned back around, eyes a little wide. Surprise was etched into his serious face as he skimmed over yours. He seemed so shocked that he had to wait a few moments before replying back.
    "Do you think so?"
    "Of course it was. It was extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary."
    "That's not what people normally say."
    "What do people normally say?"
    "Piss off!"
    The two of you smile at each other, a little longer than usual. His soft brown eyes was shimmering with pride as he tightened his scarf and pulled up his coat around his neck. You look out the window this time, watching London lights flying by and people pass in blurs. Watching Sherlock from the corner of your eye, and smiled to yourself. You could get used to this.

(Y/N) Watson and Sherlock Holmes..just you two against the whole wide world..