Fandom Imagines

Teaching a Robot to Love (Sherlock Holmes)

A/N: Hey guys! Long time no see! Sorry about that, I've had a busy ass year, what with working all the time, and finding my biological father (long story, but it turned out great), and moving halfway across the country from North Carolina to Texas. It's been interesting, that's for sure. I really am sorry, but I've got it set in my mind to get through as many of your requests as possible. I love you guys so much, thanks for sticking with me through all of this.

Anyway, this imagine is for Kcourt and mrs_sith_lord_27

I hope you enjoy!

Your POV

It was a normal day in the flat. Mrs. Hudson was downstairs, shuffling about and picking up here and there, causing a tiny bit of background noise to my reading. Sherlock had left about an hour ago, some trivial case that he didn't need my help on. I'm currently sitting in my chair by the fireplace, reading the newspaper and debating on going out to get some groceries.

I never heard the door open. The only thing I knew was that there was a large man holding a soaked rag over my mouth and nose. I try to scream, to alert Mrs. Hudson, or anyone really, to the dangerous presence, but he's sufficiently muzzled me, holding me to the chair and forcing my jaw to remain shut. My vision begins to blur, my consciousness fading away as the chloroform begins to take over. The last thing I think about before blacking out is....

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Sherlock's POV

"Sherlock!" I ignore Lestrade's calls as I make my way to the door of the flat I share with (y/n). He's calling for me to help pay, no doubt. He should know better.

I've spent the past hour cracking the easiest case I've participated in in years. They honestly shouldn't have needed my help. It was... dull.

Finally arriving at the door, I reach for the handle, but it is snatched away from me as a frantic Mrs. Hudson rushes out to meet me.

"Oh, Sherlock! Thank God you're home!" Her frail hands grip my forearms with surprising strength. She's shaking, absolutey petrified, a few small bruises are forming on her face. She'd been slapped, possibly shoved, as well, judging by the slight limp she's nursing. I rush her inside, closing and locking the door behind us before she has a chance to say anything else.

"What happened? Are you alright?" The last part is an afterthought, my mind automatically trying to deduce what had happened. "(Y/n)! Come downstairs! Mrs. Hudson is hurt!"

"Sherlock..." There's no response from (y/n). Odd. I move towards the stairs, but Mrs. Hudson stops me, she's in hysterics at this point. "Sherlock, she's not here!"

"What do you mean she's not here? Where else would she be?" A sensation floods my system. Something I've never experienced before. It clouds my judgement and makes me become irrational and... scared. Panic. I'm panicking.

As is Mrs. Hudson, it would appear. Rather than answering my questions, she's begun sobbing, her entire body violently shaking from the force of it. I take long strides to get back to her, gripping her biceps and forcing her to look at me.

"Mrs. Hudson! Where is she!?"

"There was a man!" She yells, her thoughts finally breaking through her fear. "A very large man. I d-don't know how he g-got in. I saw h-him coming down the stairs with (y/n) over his shoulder. Sh-she wasn't moving. When I tried to stop him, he... he hit me. I-I don't know where they went. Oh, God!"

Immediately, I rush up the stairs, into our sitting room. It seems to be entirely intact, aside from a mess by (y/n)'s usual chair. Today's newspaper is strewn about, a few pieces crumpled. The cushion of the chair is shoved forward, as though she had attempted to slide to the floor. The tea on the table is lukewarm, indicating she hadn't been gone long. A rag on the floor catches my attention. With a small sniff I am able to tell that it is drenched in chloroform.