No Shit, Sherlock

Throat Punch

Tonight is the night we take down the brothers. Or at least I hope so. I'm actually not too confident about this plan, but Sherlock insisted that it'll work. And, who am I to disagree with Sherlock Holmes?

I walk down the street, swinging my arms back and forth, trying to look as vulnerable as possible. Sherlock is walking by himself as well on a nearby street. John and Timothée are watching over him, while Enola and Tewkesbury watch over me.

The goal is to lure the brothers to one of us, hopefully me, because I want to get the first swing at them. Specifically, Greg. As I'm walking, I hear quiet footsteps behind me. My body tenses, and I turn around to see the exact man I was hoping for.

He grabs me and drags me into an alley. His lips are pulled into a sadistic smile, "I've been waiting for this."

Enola and Tewkesbury sneak into the alley, and I smirk. "I have too."

I pull my fist back and punch him. Right in the throat. He moves away from me, coughing and gasping for air. Tewkesbury stands beside me with a grin.

"Damn, I didn't know (Y/n) could punch like that."

Greg stands up, "Well, you certainly fight better than your little gay friend. What is his name?"

He smirks at me, "Ah, right, it was Timothée."

He lunges for me but is quickly thrown into the wall. I watch in shock as Tewkesbury holds him up by his collar.

"You'll pay for what you did to him."

The young Lord is relentless as he continues punching the man. Sherlock and the others join us now, Watson is dragging a beaten Jeff along with him. I rush to pull Tewkesbury off of Greg, but Sherlock stops me. His blue eyes focus on the scene in front of us, and I look back to see Timothée pulling Tewkesbury away.

Tewkesbury's hands are shaking as he stares down at Greg. The man begins to laugh bitterly, "I should've known this was a trap."

Tewkesbury stands next to me, and I immediately wrap an arm around his waist. I watch as Sherlock pulls Greg to his feet.

"Are you going to punch me too?" Greg asks weakly.

Sherlock shakes his head, "I already have."

Carriages pull up, and Lestrade jumps out of one, along with a few policemen as well. They don't ask any questions as they load the two brothers into a carriage.

"I should've known it was them," Lestrade says.

"Yes, you should have," I reply.

Sherlock gives me his infamous stern look, and I smile innocently. Lestrade, John, Enola, and Sherlock begin to discuss what happened. I would've joined them, but I have a certain Lord I need to speak with.

I walk over to the medical carriage where they had taken Tewkesbury. Timothée stands next to him as the nurse finishes wrapping Tewkesbury's hands.

"How are your knuckles?"

Tewkesbury sighs, "Sore."

"That's what happens when you decide to beat up a fucking serial killer."

I nod at Timothée's words, "Timmy isn't wrong."

Tewkesbury rolls his eyes and I smile. "I feel like I should scold you right now, but then I would be a hypocrite."

"I'm sure Timothée's scolded him enough," Enola says.

Her brown eyes dart back and forth between the boys. Timothée steps away from Tewkesbury, "And I'm sure your girlfriend would like to scold you as well."

Timothée begins to follow me away from the young couple, but Enola stops him. I watch her curiously as she pulls Timothée back over to them.

"Another case solved," John says.

I turn my attention back to the two men in front of me, "This one is much more satisfying than most."

"Yes, it is," Sherlock says.

Sherlock takes my hand and examines it, "Why are your knuckles red?"

"I punched Greg in the throat."

John lets out a loud laugh while Sherlock stares at me in surprise.

"I can't believe I missed that," Sherlock says.

"And now you know how it feels," I reply.

~~°°••°°~~

After everything with the police was settled, we all went to our homes. Although, I noticed that Timothée and Enola both went with Tewkesbury.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock asks, setting his book down.

I sit up in the bed and run my fingers through my hair. "I don't know. I'm just a bit confused about what their motive was. Why were they killing other detectives? And, why were they specifically after us?"

"I'm sure we will find out soon enough. But, for now, you should sleep."

I let out a dramatic sigh and fall back onto my pillow. "How am I supposed to sleep when my mind is full of unanswered questions?"

He suddenly kisses the side of my face, and his lips slowly trail down my neck. I bite my lip as he moves back up to my face. His lips meet mine, and I wrap my arms around his neck.

He pulls away, "Still thinking about the case?"

"No."

He smirks, "Good, now go to sleep."

He blows the candle out and lays down. I stare up at the ceiling, "Well, now I'm thinking about you."

"Then you should have a restful sleep."

I push myself into his back and throw my arm around him, "Do you think Lestrade has friends?"

"Why does it matter?" he mumbles.

"It's just a question."

Sherlock sighs and rolls over to face me, "You're not going to sleep, are you?"

"I probably could if you'd knock me out."

He sits ups and lights the candle again. I watch as he opens the cabinet of his nightstand and pulls out a book.

"I had planned on giving this to you later, but seeing as you're restless. Would you like me to read it to you?"

My eyes scan the cover of the book. It's a fantasy book that's been on my list of books I've been wanting. My heart swells at the kind gesture, and I nod eagerly.

He begins reading, and I close my eyes, imagining the scenes he describes them. His accent is thick as he reads the lines of a certain character. I laugh, realizing that he's using funny voices. He runs his fingers through my hair, and eventually, I fall asleep.

Author's Note: I need Sherlock Holmes mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, biblically, and sinfully.