Lost and Found (Sherlock x Reader)

The Reichenbach Fall (Part 1)

"SHERLOCK!"

Your eyes snapped open, pulling you out of your daze. You stood at the window in 221B Baker Street. It was raining outside—appropriate weather for the turmoil going on inside you. All the lights were off in the room, this being done on purpose. It would just be too painful to turn around and see that the flat will remain forever empty.
Sherlock Holmes would never sit in his black, leather chair ever again. He would never play another tune on his violin. And worst of all, he would never be there to hold your hand and tell you that everything would be okay.
Your lip began to tremble as tears spilled down your cheeks. It had only been a few weeks, but it already felt like a lifetime. You felt your legs give out on you. Luckily you dropped into one of the dining chairs. You buried your face in your hands, the pain of loss too much for you.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective and the man you loved more than anything, was dead.

~Three Months Earlier~

"'Boffin'!" Sherlock scoffed, furiously throwing a newspaper down on the coffee table, "'Boffin Sherlock Holmes.'"

Over the past few months, you, John, and Sherlock had worked many major cases. Each of them resulted in a news story. Sherlock was now a famous detective.

"Everyone gets one," The ex-army doctor stated.

"One what?"

"Tabloid nickname: 'SuBo,' 'Nasty Nick.' Shouldn't worry. I'll probably get one soon."

"Page five, column six, first sentence," Answered Sherlock quickly.

You hopped up from your spot. "What about me?" You walked round the coffee table and sat beside John, leaning over his shoulder to read.

"It wasn't anything important. In fact, you...weren't really...mentioned...at all. I don't know..."

Looking up at Sherlock, you noticed he seemed a bit...nervous? He avoided looking at either you or John as he occupied himself with his new hat. Something was not right. You didn't believe that he was telling the truth. Looking back at the newspaper, you scanned the page, searching for your name.

"Why is it always the hat photograph?" Sherlock asked aloud, punching said hat.

"'Bachelor John Watson.'" The army doctor said suddenly.

"What sort of a hat is it anyway?"

"'Bachelor.' What the hell are the implying?"

"Maybe they're trying to help you find a girlfriend," You suggested with a smile.

Sherlock was still focused on his hat. "Is it a cap?" He flipped it back and forth rapidly. "Why has it got two fronts?"

"It's a deerstalker," John said, glancing up briefly. "'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson...'"

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do—throw it?" Sherlock emphasized his point by swinging it forward in a throwing motion.

"'...confirmed bachelor John Watson'!"

You pushed him aside. "Oh get over yourself. It's my turn to read."

Despite his protests, you eventually managed to pull the newspaper away from the 'confirmed bachelor' John Hamish Watson. He sighed grumpily and looked up at his flat mate.

"Some sort of death frisbee?" Sherlock wondered.

He was still going on about the hat! John shook his head.