In The Game of Love

five

Y/N was on edge the moment the black sack was over her head. What if these men worked for the Professor? What if they were going to take them to him? What if she was too late in saving herself Before Y/N even realized it, her hand had found Sherlocks, gripping it tightly. It took him a second, but eventually he intertwined his fingers with hers and began rubbing his thumb along the top of her hand.

Beneath the black sack over his head, Sherlock's brows furrowed as Y/N gripped his hand. He could feel her pulse going haywire so he pushed his fingers through hers and rubbed his thumb along her hand. Her heart rate began to steadily slow with Sherlock's comforting touch. He continued to do so as he focused on figuring out where they were being taken.

When the carriage came to a stop, both side doors were opened. Hands grabbed the two, pulling their hands apart and in opposite directions.

"Sherlock!" Y/N called out, trying to hide the fear that longed to pour out of her.

"I'm right here!" He replied. The two were roughly being led into a building. "I'm right here."

That simple phrase brought comfort to Y/N, even as she still feared that she was being brought to the Professor. She tried to calm herself enough to notice the little things-the details that she had been trained to notice, yet had been failing to do in the midst of everything. Like the sound of footsteps. There were three men in front, one of them Sherlock, and two men beside Y/N, guiding her.

Y/N was shoved through a doorway and quickly pushed into a seat. The black sacks over Y/N and Sherlock's heads were ripped off. It didn't take either of them long to adjust to the light. They both turned to look at one another, making sure that the another was okay. The two chairs they were sitting in were close enough so that Sherlock could slyly rest his hand on her thigh.

"Mr. Holmes, apologies for summoning you and your friend like this," an old man, sitting across from the table in front of them, said. "I'm sure it's quite a mystery as to where you are and who I am."

"As to where I am. I was admittedly lost for a moment between Charing Cross and Holborn. But I was saved by the bread shop on Saffron Hill, the only baker to use a certain French glaze on their loaves, a Brittany sage. After that the carriage forked left and right, then a telltale bump over the Fleet Conduit," Sherlock responded, proving his intellect. "And as to who you are, that took over ounce of my not inconsiderable experience. The letters on your desk are addressed to Sir Thomas Rotheram."

"Lord Chief Justice, is the official title," Y/N added.

"Right. But who you really are is, of course, another matter entirely." Sherlock leaned forward. "Judging by the sacred ox on your-"

"You're the secret head of the Temple of the Four Orders," Y/N interrupted. Sherlock tried to hide the impressed smirk as he turned towards her. "We are currently at the headquarters on the Northwest corner of St. James's Square, I think."

"Quite right, my dear. The only real mystery is why you bothered to blindfold either of us at all."

"Yes, well, standard procedure, I suppose," Sir Thomas Rotheram responded, slightly taken back at their knowledge. The side door suddenly opened and two men walked in.

"I dare say we have the right man, gentlemen," one of the two men said with an American accent. Sherlock, Y/N, and Sir Thomas all stood.

"Sherlock Holmes and..."

"Her name is none of your concern," Sherlock quickly told Sir Thomas. This took Y/N by surprise, but she greatly appreciated it.

"Right. Well, Sherlock Holmes and ma'am, this is Ambassador Standish from America and Lord Coward, the home secretary."