Another World | SherlockxReader Fanfic

Chapter Four: Sherlock is a Kindergartener Who Can Read

Warning: Gore

When I entered the flat again, I felt the warm blanket over my body. I hadn't realized just how cold I had gotten out in the rain. Note to self: don't let on to Sherlock that I'm cold.

I tredged upstairs with the semi-damp folder full of confidentials and was surprised to see Sherlock no longer on the couch in his robe and pajamas, but instead up and pacing back and forth in his normal casual suit.

"Imma take a stab and say you got a case?" I said to the echoing steps.

Sherlock swerved towards me and smiled. "Thank god. There's a triple homicide down the way. John is with Rosie currently so he can't come. Willing to see a little brutality?"

"Willing? Please. It'd be fulfilling my one true wish of seeing a murder scene."

If that sentence were said to anyone else, I would probably be on that someone's list of people to avoid. But since this was Sherlock, he smirked in delight and rushed to snatch his signature trench coat and blue scarf. And we were off!

Arriving at the scene, which was a car parking tower, I tagged along Sherlock like a puppy. A few people gave me looks, but most took a glance and rolled their eyes. Couldn't blame them. I'd be annoyed if someone did my job better than me for free too.

We spotted Lestrade and politely interrupted his conversation with a woman who was the color of stone. As soon as his eyes set on Sherlock and me, he abandoned the woman and started walking with us. 

"Where's John?" He immediately asked after examining me first.

"Babysitting. This is (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." Sherlock waved it off as if it didn't matter. "Now, what do you have for me?"

"I don't know if it's your style, but it has the rest of us stumped."

Lestrade led us into a room with three bodies. All had skin the color of yellow parchment and blank white stares, but what immediately stood out about them was that their torso was cut open and gutted out. All of the organs were laid out next to each body, leaving them hollow. The scene reminded me of my ninth grade biology class when we dissected frogs. Bile threatened to creep up my throat.

Sherlock appeared unfazed by the bodies and immediately walked up to the first one. I attempted to study his eyes and figure out what he was deducing, but failed miserably. He then moved onto the next body, and then the last.

"(Y/N)," he said, not taking his eyes off the body. "What do you think happened?"

I blinked. He was asking me? The one who could never get through a science class without scraping by with barely a C? I tried to figure it out anyways, despite my ignorance.

"Uh, well." I sniffed, and noticed the smell of the room that stung my nostrils. At first I thought it was the result of a germaphobe's cleaning job, but then I was brought back again to 9th grade biology.

Dissecting frogs...

"They're chock full of preservatives, aren't they?" I looked at Sherlock, who grinned with a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

"Correct." He stood and turned to Lestrade. "These people were already dead before they were gutted. If you look at some colleges or possibly research facilities nearby I'm sure you'll find that they've reported missing a few new cadavers. Whoever stole them must've performed an internal organ dissection."

"So who did it then?" Lestrade asked, positively miffed.

"Someone who must've had access to the cadavers in multiples sights. If you check the wrists on each, you'll find serial numbers. Run them through the system and you'll find the places. If one is a university and another is a facility or a different college, find a professor that has access to both. That's your culprit."

The consulting detective started to walk out as I tagged along behind him. "You'll have to give me a harder one next time, Lestrade. How long was that? Five and a half minutes? I believe that's a new record." I rolled my eyes. God he could be such a know-it-all sometimes.

Sherlock and I left and were walking through the crime scene. Most people were packing up and rushing to-and-fro. We turned a corner and—

Smack. I was suddenly on the ground, groaning and grimacing. Sherlock wore an alarmed expression and look down for a moment before smirking and helping me up.

"The hell just happened?" I stood again before noticing what—or rather who—I had ran into. Down on the ground was a younger looking man with sandy blonde hair. Painted on his face was a look of mortification. He scrambled up and glanced towards Sherlock and then looked at me, his face flushing.

"Oh my god. I am so sorry." He gestured frantically. "Are you okay? I didn't knock you on your head, did I?"

I didn't quite know how to respond, so I simply nodded.

"I did? Oh, dear lord. Do you feel alright? Any headaches? And...oh." He looked down and I followed his eyes were searching to find that my shirt was completely drenched in a sticky substance. How had I not noticed that? Dumbass...Mrs. Hudson just bought this too...

"Uh...don't worry about it. It'll wash out...hopefully."

"I'm so sorry. I'll pay you for a replacement."

"Please, no. Don't do that. It was an accident and—"

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked between the panicky dude and me. "You know what? I'm going to go hail a cab while you two sort this out." Before I could protest and follow, he strode away.

"So," The dude said, turning my attention back to him, "if I can't pay you back, maybe I could take you out for coffee sometime? For recompense, of course."

"Uh," I replied smartly. "I mean...sure. Just uh...what's your name?"

"Right!" He smacked his forehead. "Jeremy. My name's Jeremy." He stuck out his hand for a shake and I took it.

"(Y/N)."

We exchanged numbers and said we'd text the details about coffee later before parting ways. I went outside the parking tower and immediately found Sherlock standing next to a cab, tapping his foot.  He saw me and opened the door and rushing inside and I followed suit.

"So?" He asked when the drive had started.

"So what, wet sock?" I jabbed at him, knowing full well he didn't give a crap.

"He asked you out and you exchanged numbers." He said in a way that was mostly to himself.

"Yeah? So?"

"Just wanted to confirm it." There was a pause. "Do you find him attractive?"

"What?"

"Do you find him attractive?" Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

"Uh, yeah I guess? Why do you wanna know?"

"I'm foreign to the whole...dating scene and was wondering your thoughts on the matter."

"Right...cause that's what people who think sentiment is a chemical defect are curious about."

"It's true!" He crossed his arms and poured, making himself appear to be a kindergartener.

"Right...okay..."

He ignored me the rest of the day. Like a mature adult.

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A/N: Look who's back! How long has it been? A year? Wait...

A YEAR AND FOUR MONTHS.

You thought I gave up on this, didn't you?

WRONG. At least...probably wrong. Imma try to get back into the groove of things.

I kinda fell out the fandom, honestly. I'm not as into it as I used to be, but I'm willing to give this fanfic another shot. Especially since I've planned out a plot for it now.

Anywho, hope you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!

-Kris