Lost and Found (Sherlock x Reader)

His Last Vow (Part 1)

You tapped your foot on the ground impatiently, your arms crossed over your chest. It had been a month since John and Mary got married and ever since then, you had hardly seen Sherlock. You now stood in his flat, watching Anderson and one of his colleagues—whose name was Benji—as they rifled through Sherlock's things. Supposedly, the consulting detective was addicted to drugs again. This was Mycroft's way of searching.
Speaking of Mycroft, you could hear him talking downstairs. This clued you in to the fact that John and Sherlock had arrived. You focused on what was being said downstairs and just barely caught the last of the conversation.

"Where should we be looking?" Mycroft asked.

"'We'?" Questioned Sherlock.

"Mr. Holmes!" Anderson called out, clearly having heard the detective as well.

Sherlock's response was very loud and very angry. "For god's sake!" You heard his pounding footsteps as he climbed the stairs. He entered the kitchen and looked at Philip. "Anderson?"

In defense, Anderson raised one of his gloved hands. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. It's for your own good."

With a shake of his head, Sherlock dropped his keys onto the kitchen table. He looked towards the living room and that was when he saw you. He did a double take and then stared. Your foot tapping stopped.

"Care to explain?" You asked simply.

He looked away and briefly glanced at Anderson and Benji. He gave you a subtle shake of his head before walking towards his armchair.

"You said he'd be taller," Benji whispered to Anderson.

Mycroft stepped into the kitchen. He looked at no one but his younger brother. "Some members of your little fan-club," He said, indicating Anderson and Benji. "Do be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and even willing to search through the toxic waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."

You looked about the room, taking into account the mess that Mycroft referred to. Sherlock made no response as he curled himself up in his chair, his head lying on one of the armrests.

"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock," Mycroft continued. "You can't afford a drug habit."

"I do not have a drug habit," The consulting detective answered.

"What would you call this then?" You asked, motioning to him as a whole.

"Not now, y/n," He responded, rolling his eyes. You scoffed and turned away, shaking your head.

John stepped into the living room and took notice of a very visible gap between the kitchen and Sherlock's chair. "Hey, what happened to my chair?"

"It was blocking my view to the kitchen," Sherlock said, shrugging as best as he could.

John looked at you. "Well, it's good to be missed."

Before you could respond, Sherlock spoke again. "Well, you were gone. I saw an opportunity."

"No, you saw the kitchen."

To end this little argument, Mycroft turned to Anderson. "What have you found so far? Clearly nothing."

"There's nothing to find," Sherlock assured him.

Mycroft turned to the hallway. "Your bedroom door is shut," He commented and began to slowly walk in that direction. "You haven't been home all night. So, why would a man who has never knowingly closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?"

Sherlock sat up as Mycroft reached the bedroom door. The eldest Holmes grabbed the doorknob.

"Okay, stop! Just stop!" Sherlock shouted.