Haunted Holmes ➳ Sherlock x Reader

Mummy

I wake up in complete nudity, on an enormous bed.

My back is pressed against a fit torso, and soft breathes tickle my bare shoulder.

There's an arm locked around my waist, and a strong scent of peppermint fills the room.

Shit.

Who knew wine could be so strong?

I wince slightly, and shift, turning to face him.

His face is so calm, he doesn't seem as devious and sexy as he usually does.

I feel a sharp pain in my head, as I try to remember what happened last night.

I can't remember anything from before I gulped down that bloody blood wine.

Slowly, I begin to remember the detective...the one with a kid. The one on drugs now, apparently.

It's not that much of a surprise, I'm into a few as well.

Yet there's still something bugging me.

I bite my bottom lip anxiously.

What if that kid really is mine?

What if...what I can't remember is having a kid with Sherlock Holmes?

It's only a matter of time before I notice Jim's eyes pop open, his irises staring at me, as I mentally debate through my painful headache.

"You were amazing last night." He smiles, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand, while his other arm is still locked around my waist.

"So were you." I smile, even though I can't remember.

He viciously leans in and kisses me, and I join in willingly.

He helps get my mind off the important stuff.

---------

"You've been sitting there staring out the window since breakfast, Y/N. What's wrong?" Jim asks me.

"I'm bored." I whine.

"What do you want to do, darlin'?" He asks me.

"I found it fun messing with Sherlock yesterday. Mind if I have some fun with him today too?" I ask, grinning.

He chuckles softly.

"Of course, but you're going to be in some trouble if you come home late, you hear me?" He tells me.

"Thank you...my king." I stand up and hug him.

He pulls away, sliding his hands down to my waist, staring at me intently.

"I like the sound of that..." He grins, mumbling seducively, before placing kisses on my neck.

I pull away teasingly and exit out the door, after grabbing my outerwear.

Worriedly making my way to the car, I start the engine and speed to 221b anxiously.

Something feels wrong. Sherlock Holmes wasn't lying. I don't know why I'm thinking this now, but I've been worried all day, for the kid.

When I arrive I knock, waiting a minute, before getting out my hairpin and picking the lock.

"William?" I call, running up the stairs.

I see William asleep on the sofa, but I don't see Sherlock.

Walking over to the sofa, I hold William in my arms tightly, close to my chest.

What am I doing...?

Is he really my son?

"W-What are y-y-you doing here?" I hear Sherlock Holmes' thick british accent ask, as he walks out from the restroom, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot, red around his eyes, dark circles, veins popping out like there's no tomorrow.