Another World | SherlockxReader Fanfic

Chapter Five: The War Of The Couch Cushions

There's Good News and Bad News.

Good News is that the wall is taking a break.

Bad News is the floor is the next victim.

I woke up to find Sherlock in his chair with a fire poker in his hand. Before I could ask why the fireplace utensil was in his grasp, he stabbed the floor.

"I don't think Mr. Floor likes that, Benedict Holmes," I yawned and stretched as I entered the kitchen. It was tidier than usual. Which is to say that there were fewer organs and only fifty papers instead of sixty.

"You think?" The boredom machine purred before carving something into the wood. "I think it's a work of art."

"Whatever you say, Picasso." I opened the fridge to smile at the leftover milk and brain. A ding from my phone went off. I slung the milk out and onto the counter before checking it. A text from Jeremy.

Jeremy the Panic Dude: Just reminder of coffee at 9 :)

I smiled. I'd spent a lot of the past two days texting him since Sherlock had been acting sultry. He was a mystery to me, especially in this world. I was halfway tempted to share with him my secret, but I knew that'd  be a one way ticket to awkward, of which I visited frequently.

I check the clock. It displayed 7:15. Plenty of time to get ready.

Me: Thanks! Can't wait!

I didn't know if I was lying or not. Jeremy was a nice guy, but I didn't know if he was dating material. Then again, was this even a date? Am I reading him wrong? Does he really just want to make up for spilling soda all over me?

A slam from the other room brought be out of my thoughts. I looked over to see Sherlock tossing a chair into the air before it landed on the ground. I'd never seen him this riled up before. I waltzed over to the living room couch, snatched a pillow, and chucked it at his face.

Bullseye.

He turned at just the right moment to meet the throw pillow with a nice kiss as it smacked him in the face. (Y/N): 1. Sherlock: 0.

He glared at me a moment before smirking. "It's on." He grabbed three pillows and threw them at me one by one. I shrieked foolishly and tried to dodge them.

Emphasis on tried.

A full on war broke out between the two of us. We snatched all the pillows we could, not daring to get into direct contact. However, as we got bolder we inched our ways towards each other.

The pillows were scattered around the living room, all out of reach and in the open. We both had two pillows left and were a mere five feet away.

We shared a stare off. I could almost hear the western showdown music playing in the background.

Then I made the first move. I fiend downward with one pillow before striking his head with he other. Sherlock fell for it and was smacked across the face. He recovered almost immediately before aiming both of the pillows at my sides.

A quick takedown, indeed. I am winded and buckle to the ground. Sherlock smirks and creeps forward to make the kill...

His fingers dig into my sides and under my arms, making me convulse and laugh uncontrollably as he tickles me. I squeal and squirm, but the consulting detective is relentless.

"St—stop please!" I shout. "H—Have mercy on my soul, g—good sir!"

"Never," Sherlock replies before tickling me until I can barely breath. After his attack, I lay powerless and out of breath.