BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock: The Queen of Crime (Part 2)

We're basaaaaaaaaaaccckkkk. Are y'all ready for some bloody madness? You can call us @myfistnameisdrayizzle from now on.
You WILL see more collabs in the future cause this is FUN. Amen sista. This note is short and sweet, I learned how to say it properly, without further ado.......

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The cool wind of the London night blew your scarf, the purple battered in the wind and against your leather jacket. You turned to find Sherlock standing next to you, your eyes fell to the scarf around his neck and you groaned. "Really?" You tugged at your own scarf before turning towards the city. "My brother is down there." You nodded at the building across the street, "He has a victim already. From the sounds I heard, he's already replaced me. Either that or he's finally getting his hands dirty."

"He's down there and you had us meet up here? You don't appear to be armed." He raised an eyebrow, you smirked and pulled your jacket apart to reveal at least 6 different kinds of knives all cleverly attached, "that's only the beginning. Now, shall we?"

"How do you plan to get us there?" He looked at you skeptically.

You grinned. "Do you trust me?"

"Not really."

"Good enough." You grabbed his hand and pulled him over the side of the building and jumped. A cry barely had time to erupt from Sherlock's throat when you collided with soft fabric, enveloping you both. The detective looked at you with wide eyes and you fought the urge to laugh, you failed and chuckled quietly, "your face!" You quickly recovered, putting yourself in what you liked to call assassin mode. An emotionless look swept over your features, you hopped off with a perfect flip. Sherlock fumbled off not so gracefully, but managed to land on his feet. You stepped towards the dark building, reaching behind you and pulling out the pistol you had hidden in your waistband. You signaled to him and he picked the lock to the door, quietly edging it open and raising his hands to motion to you to go in.

"Ladies first," he whispered, giving you a slight wink. Your stomach flopped, but you blamed it on the situation you were about to get yourself into.

"Fine, I'll be the brave one," you muttered.

"Brave or stupid?" he shot back. You punched him lightly on the arm as you walked in the door and you heard him snort behind you. The moonlight shone in dimly through the blanketed windows, barely lighting up the hall you were walking down. You held your gun at the ready - you knew your brother was big on surprises. You wouldn't be shocked if he jumped up from one of the floorboards or flew in from the window. The end of the hall came in sight, and you noticed there was one door straight ahead and two more on the walls perpendicular to it, facing each other. As you approached the doors, you made out a piece of paper taped on each one. They were labeled "DOOR 1", "DOOR 2", and "DOOR 3". Below the numbers, in blood red ink, it read, "pick one, either way you both will die".

"Shit," you mumbled. "He knows."

"I always know," came that familiar tenor voice behind you. Sherlock and you turned around at the same time to face him. The moon reflected off his black hair, and created white dots in the middle of his eyes. "I was going to wait and see which door you chose, but I couldn't help myself." He looked greedily between the two of you, and a devilish smile creeped into his features.

You looked at the detective, his smirk annoyed you yet at the same time made your knees grow weak. You cleared your throat and looked away and towards the doors, bracing yourself for blood and gore; you'd had your fair share. You studied each of them before silently playing a game of eenie meenie minie mo and selecting door three. You twisted the knob carefully, slipping into the room with your gun drawn. The lights were on in there, unlike in the hallway, and you were momentarily blinded. Crimson painted a trail towards the center of the room. You followed it, Sherlock behind you. Suddenly the lights flickered and went out. You slowly reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone. No service, yet a perfect light source. You flipped on the flashlight, finding a small box in the center of the room. It was clean, wrapped up with a blood red bow. You and Sherlock shared a look for a moment before you kneeled down and pulled out a small dagger, cutting the ribbon. You both reached for the lid, fingertips brushing. You felt your cheeks pink slightly, but the dark light hid it, thankfully. He moved his hand away and you felt a lingering warmth.