The Exception (sherlock x reader)

Chapter 15: A Hero That Doesn't Exist

"SHERLOCK!"

Your shouts proved pointless. Heroes don't exist. If they did he sure as hell wouldn't be the one to rescue you.

Once to the top of the stairs a gun was slammed into the side of your head nearly knocking you unconscious. You couldn't think straight as you were yanked up to your feet and pushed inside 221b, and down onto a chair that had been brought from the kitchen and centered in the living room.

Once the spinning of your head ceased you tried to stand up, but were pushed down again into the seat. You were about to try again when you felt the familiar barrel of a gun pressed against the side of your head.

"As I'm sure you are aware, miss (Y/l/n), I have no conviction to splattering your brains across the wall. I suggest you get comfy, and answer our questions. Where is it?" You could tell from the way his voice sounded like cracked glass that he was the same one who ordered you and John to be shot if Sherlock didn't open the safe back at the Woman's house, the one who punched you, and probably nearly knocked you out a matter of seconds ago.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Your words came through gritted teeth. Of course you knew what he was talking about and where. It was the phone sitting I your pocket that once belonged to the Woman. If they knew that they would take it for you and, as he so delicately put it, splatter your brains across the wall. Because you were disposable. Of no use. H

"No," he stated plainly, "you do. You're just playing dumb, so to give you some more incentive, let's play a game." Your mouth went dry. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to control your breathing. You felt a hand grab your hair and pull down forcing your head back. "Now, Mr. Howard here is particularly talented with knife. He knows exactly where to cut to cause an excruciating amount of pain without killing you." Their leader spoke with a low voice in your ear his breath covering your neck while someone else ran the edge of a blade down your neck and shoulder. Your body stiffened and suddenly you weren't in London anymore your mind was pulled back into a memory you tucked far away in the corner of your mind.

"Honey, why so nervous?" Jim grinned as he pressed the knife against your neck his snake like grin spread across his face. "You won't ever try to leave me again," his voice was low as he spoke in your ear. One hand holding the knife the other wrapped around your waist holding you close to him. Your back against his chest. "Ok?" His voice suddenly softened reminding you of the man you once thought you loved. You were horribly mistaken. "OK?" This time he shouted and pressed the knife further against your throat causing you to tremble. You muttered out a barely audible ok.

You were pulled back to reality when you felt the tip of a knife dig into your skin just below your knuckles. You hissed in response feeling the tightness grow in your chest.

"I'll give you another chance before I let Howard have some fun. Where. Is. It?"
You didn't respond. Your jaw was clenched as you tried to figure out what you could do. They had already proven that you going against them alone wasn't an option. Your only choice was to try to outsmart them. Before you could begin scheming Howard dragged his knife across your wrist with just enough pressure to draw blood. You hissed at the stoning of your skin that was soothed by the dripping of your blood down your arm. He repeated this action again and again, moving up your arm. "Ive been patient with you this far, but I've had it. You know where the phone is so why don't you give it to me and we can stop this nonsense." You opened your eyes and starred at the intruders.

"You've made a mistake. I don't know." The leader let out an animalistic shot and grabbed the switchblade from Howard and held it to your throat.

"Don't patronize me. We know how much Sherlock trusts you. You underestimate our knowledge." You could feel the knife cut lightly through the skin of the side of your neck.

"And you overestimate Sherlock." You relaxed your tense muscles and starred him down. Before he could make another move the stairs creaked under the weight of someone. With the knife still pressed against your throats the intruders made their way quickly behind you in a more defensive position.

And who other to walk through the door than Sherlock freaking Holmes.

"Mr.Holmes, I believe you have something we want."

"Then why don't you ask for it," Sherlock spoke dryly, treating him as another customer he has no interest in, but his eyes told a different story. While his actions were calm and calculated there was something else in his eyes. Anger? Vexation? Annoyance? You couldn't quite place it, but it was there. Sherlock made his way toward you as he spoke. You had been hold your wounded arm against your chest hiding the cuts. Thank goodness you wore a black shirt today. You were still shaking and Sherlock placed a hand on your shoulder to try to calm your nerves. It was mostly anger and adrenaline keeping you from collapsing at this point, so Sherlocks presence helped. His other hand lightly brought your arm to where he could better see it. Exposing where it has been intricately carved in several places. Your state was all Sherlock needed to know what happened before he arrived.

"I've been asking this one, but she thought she could convince us she didn't know anything," Sherlock looked up from you at the American. You could see it his eyes, his mind calculating and reading the man before him. The one he was trying decide how best to hurt. "But I think you know as well."

"I believe I do," he stepped back removing his hand from your shoulder. You were tempted to reach out for him but you kept still. "First," Sherlock voice was stern and incredibly annoyed. "Get rid of your boys."

"Why?"

"I don't like being outnumbered it makes for too much stupid in the room."

"You two," the man gestured towards his cronies, "go to the car."

"Then get in and drive away," Sherlock stated plainly. "You know who I am. Don't try to trick me it does t work." In a matter of seconds Sherlock took control of the room. His demeanor had changed from when he first stepped through the door. Now, his hands clasped behind his back he was more confident, cocky, like he knew exactly how this would play. Which, he likely figured out moments ago.

Once the two had left the flat Sherlock spoke again.

"Now, stop pointing that gun at me." Sure enough without you noticing the gun had left your head and was trained in Sherlock.

"So you can point a gun at me?"

"I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist," Sherlock talked down to him, getting under his skin. The more aggravated he was the less rational he would be. Sherlock lifted his arms and the man walked over to him. You immediately looked around the room trying to find the closest thing that was most like a bludgeon to defend yourself with. Before you could get a good glance at the room Sherlock sprayed something in the Americans eyes and viciously head butted him while muttering moron under his breath.
Once it was obvious he would not be waking anytime soon Sherlock turned and quickly crossed the room, crouching in front of you.

"You're all right now," he inspected your arm and spoke softly trying to calm your nerves. As the adrenaline faded from your veins the pain in your arm set in and you winced. "Wait here, I'll get some bandages." While Sherlock was rummaging through the cabinets you looked at your arm. The deepest cut was across your knuckles and the rest were shallow enough so you wouldn't lose much blood. The cuts trailed up your forearm some were curved others straight. It seemed like someone had scribbled across your arm with a red marker. You wished that were the case.

Sherlock returned moments later with a wet cloth and bandages. He applied enough pressure to clean the wounds but not enough to cause more pain. After your arm was taken care of you finally stood from the chair and took a seat on the more comfortable couch.

"What are we going to do with him?" You asked motioning towards the American.

"Hmm," Sherlock stared down at the man anger written across his face. You were surprised by the blatant emotion he was showing. It wasn't something that happened often. "I have a few ideas."

That he did. Sherlock brought him to the chair you had been sitting on and, using duck tape, tied him down securely. All the while you sat in the couch trying to process what had happened.

All you wanted was your umbrella.