Bouquet of Thorns: Sherlock x fem!reader

Chapter 4 - Thorn

That former warmth had dissipated into the cold London night, eyes surveying the late-night street. From above, sheer curtains were pushed to one side, Sherlock glancing over to look at you again. A smile seemed to tug at his face while he did so, and the reflection of this caught soon after. It startled him, seeing how easily he had grown accustomed to you. Now this didn't mean he was fond.

You were quiet and off-putting. Of course, off-putting in a sense, he knew this facade was hardly the real collection of traits that made up who you were. It was as if a fire was ignited within you, your body being a casing to keep it hidden.

The jolt in your tone when you talked about the crimes, the way your eyes brightened when you had the chance to explain your conclusion, all excitement was shrouded by your calm demeanour.

He pulled the curtain back closed once you ventured down the street. Each step was met with the grinding of gravel to boot, mixed with an occasional kick of glass shards along the path. It was a lonesome, tedious, boring night... except it soon came to a close as a car of midnight black started to slow down by your side.

A few more steps were taken before you dropped your head in dismay. "Stop being creepy and just call me, James,"

Tinted windows roll down. "Where's the fun in that?" A man holding a smug expression looks at you with a smile. "Visiting Holmes, are you? For what reason?"

"Heard of him?" You lean forward, arms on the rolled-down windows, to properly look at him. His Westwood suit was navy with a tie to match, and a Fox pin was adorned upon it.

"I have forthcoming arrangements if that's the answer you're looking for," he opens the door, knocking you back, "Get in,"

"Fuck you," you grunt, prying the for further open, "could've at least warned me,"

"Aw," he gives the closest thing to fake empathy he'd be bothered to mimic, "anyways, I have a job for you," he waves a black file in your face, "fifty thousand quid,"

"Oh, Jim, is it Christmas already?" You flip it open.

"How is Gregory doing?" Jim then asks, "All well?"

"Wife is still cheating... unfortunately, he loves her, so I can't just make her disappear," you scowl, knowing the situation your best friend was in.

"Poor man," he hums dismissively, "I more so meant whether he had welcomed you back openly,"

"You know how he is," you see the car pull to a halt, "is Sebastian going to..." a descending drone broke out from the window, secluding the backseat from the driver.

"Already here," he glances through the rearview mirror, "how's London treating you, petal?"

"What did I tell you about calling me petal, Moron?" You open up the briefcase Jim hands over, eyeing the array of vials.

"Moran. It's Moran." He sighs out, rolling the window back up while you place in coloured contacts.

"Look away, James," the tip of your finger presses against his cheek to turn it away.

"Yes, yes," he waves his hand, lifting a hand as a shield while glancing towards his phone, "I have no interest in gawking like a hormone-crazed teen, you know this,"

"Very true, but I still enjoy acting as if you still are," lifting soft silk out of the box from beneath the vials, you start to unzip the boned bodice, fitting into it as quickly as possible within the small timeframe. Strapping vials into your gloves, the slit between palm and wrist allowed sleek access to any victim.

"Mask," Jim hands over a lace mask for you and himself, changing his tie up.

"Thanks," you then pass him an antidote. "Don't be stupid, Moriarty,"