Aeroplane Over The Sea [Moriarty the Patriot Oneshots]

Sherlock H. - Intrigued

Male! Reader
Fluff
Slight angst
____________

You sighed, fixing your suit as you exited the carriage. Your gaze fell upon the door in front of you.

221b Baker Street.

The street was rather beautiful, even for Victorian London. Buildings lay there, gazing up at the mighty sky.

You hesitantly lifted your hand, before bringing it up to the door and knocking. Before your knuckle had the chance to meet the wood, a blue-haired man jumped onto you.

"(n/n)! Welcome!"

Slightly laughing to yourself, you let Sherlock drag you in. He was so beautiful that you got lost observing him. The way his navy hair bounced slightly when he walked. The way he had a slight skip in his step. One thing put you off though, the constant smell of smoke from this man.

"Sherly, were you smoking again? It's not healthy to smoke that often..." you sighed lightly, knowing the man would never learn.

He pulled on your tie lightly, bringing you down a few centimetres, to reach his face.

"(n/n), please trust me. It can't be that bad!" he pouted.

You only laughed as his pouting face gazed at you, only worsening into a frown at your laughter.

"Ay! (m/n)! Stop laughing. I'm obviously the best detective, and I know what is right. I say I'm smoking just the right amount, so trust me!"

You refrained from laughing any more. Merely chuckling as you feigned agreement with a voice laced in sarcasm. The male scoffed.

"Anyways, you called?"

Sherlock looked at you, "Why, can't I call my friend over when I feel bored?"

You felt shocked, and chuckled. "So, the great Sherlock Holmes considers me a friend?"

You watched as the mans ears began turning a bright red, a stark contrast from his delicate blue hair. Even as his ears gave him away, he kept his smirk.

"Why of course! As for the real reason I called you here, is because I want to challenge you!" the man exclaimed, shoving a newspaper in your face.

The newspaper wrote of a young boy who was found in a bag on a train last Monday. He was no older than 5. His condition was a confusing one, abused with many bruises and cuts, but his appearance showed he was well cared for. Police called for witness statements, but were unable to find anything.

"Sherly, it doesn't give much evidence. What do you want me to do with this?"

The navy haired man jumped with excitement. His eyes shone brightly with curiosity, as he gazed at you. His smile morphed into one of determination.

"Well, (n/n)! I was hoping we could head to the police station together to gather more information. Make it more challenging for the both of us, no?"

His eyes shined like stars, and you were couldn't help but chuckle, before regaining composure. You cleared your throat, before sighing to him.
"But, how do we know it will be of use? The newspaper said the police deemed all accounts useless. They won't tell us, will they?"

The man took your words as a sign of agreement, and pulled you out his front door. Clearly, this case had caught his interest.

You just let him drag you to the station. His hand was warming your gloved one. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the comfort. At this moment, you couldn't care for the stares and whispers that surrounded you.

"Oh my! The Earl (L/N) and Sherlock Holmes, holding hands! I never knew the Earl was a homosexual!"

You cried internally. It was your greatest care, to keep up a good image. But in that moment, it didn't matter, all that mattered was the man in front of you, holding your hand in his own.

'God' you thought to yourself, internally laughing, 'how I love this man.'

As if he read your thoughts, the man turned over to look at you. Immediately, you felt your face go red. You dreaded the words that would come out those lovely lips of his.

"(m/n)! Hurry up!"

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

How stupid of you. To think he would like you. He said it himself, he only thinks of you as a friend. You silently bore the pain of your heart shattering, never letting it affect your body. He couldn't know, he couldn't.

The scenery of the London Police Station came into view all too soon. Luckily, Sherlock did the speaking for you.

What would you have done if you had to speak? You couldn't guarantee that your voice wouldn't give you away.

You couldn't help your letting your curious gaze fall on the blue haired man you loved so much. He was having the time of his life, talking to Lestrade. It filled you with admiration, how desperate he was to bring a criminal to justice.

"And the last witness acount was that of Ms. Margaret. She claims her mother adopted the victim, Jonathan. But she abused him, and said abuse killed him."

Sherlock looked deep in thought. You brought out the newspaper, and began scanning through the images again.

From what you could gather, Ms Margaret's account seemed to fit perfectly. The story began piecing itself together in your mind. 'So, the lady's mother adopted him, yet no records are shown. It wasn't official, he was likely to have been picked up off the street. His fingers have small splinters and hair strands stuck in them. It's like the child was forced to lift a floorboard to hide some hair...'

Your gaze fell upon Ms Margaret, who was in front of you. More importantly, her handkerchief caught your attention.'Ms Margaret has a handkerchief labelled with her initials, and so did the victim. The sewing patterns seem almost identical. The methods used were the same. I see.'

"I see. Sherlock, I believe I already know, how about you?"

The blue haired man smirked at your question, before replying,"My dear (n/n). I think I know too, would you care to lend me your ear?"

Lestrade watched at the two of you whispered to eachother, both deep in thought. Eventually, you cleared your throat and fixed your posture.

"Mr Lestrade, I believe we found it. Go search the house of Ms. Margaret's mother. There, remove the tiles of the bathroom floor, the ones right next to the cabinet. You'll find something that'll help you. Then, go to Ms Margaret's room. I think that will also hold some evidence."

The man's face morphed into confusion, watching your serious expression and Sherlock's smirk.

The blue haired male confirmed it,"Oi, Lestrade. No need to worry. We'll come with you."

Sherlock grabbed your hand and pulled you to you of the station. Lestrade and a few other officers followed after.

They called over a carriage. Sherlock invited you in, allowing you to enter before him. You felt your heart pounding, yet you knew it was but a joke.

"Ladies first." the blue haired man snickered to himself.

You raised an eyebrow in amusement. Then, you raised your arm out to invite him in first. His face almost fell. Almost.

"Oh but my dear Countess, the ladies always go first."

"Indeed, Lady Holmes. That's why you should go first."

The carriage driver was not as amused.

You silently laughed at the memory. The carriage ride was a bore. All they talked about was the case. Then, you felt a loss of warmth in your hand, and quietly panicked. Sherlock had forgotten to remove his hand from yours, and only did so now that he needed to demonstrate something to Lestrade.

'Perhaps' you thought to yourself, 'if we can stay like this, then I don't mind if he only considers me a friend.'

You looked over at him again. His visage portrayed an expression of mockery. His laughs were meant to make fun of the police.

Oh, how you loved him.

Oh, how he would never know.