Word Count: 2285
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader
Request(s): None
Warning(s): Mentions of drug use
A/N: Nothing much to say other than enjoy!
It was a fine night in the city of London, or rather, a fine morning. Three in the morning to be exact. You couldn't sleep and walking the dark streets and alleys seemed to calm your nerves on nights like this. For some reason, unbeknownst to you, you were different from most people. Walking alone at night, especially in the most abandoned part of the city, was a nightmare for most girls but a dreamland for you. You really were strange.
While out walking the town, you had expected to be alone. Who would be out and about at three am, anyways? Surely no sane person would be caught dead in the streets past eleven. Thus why you were so startled to find a man sitting alone in a dark alleyway. Sure, you had seen homeless people and drunks running along the sidewalk, but this man was different in a way you couldn't explain, but just knew.
"Mrs Ricoletti!" The strange man shouted out, attempting to stand up against the alley wall. You approached cautiously and grabbed his arm before he fell down.
"Sir? Do you need help?" You asked, gripping onto him. He turned to look at you, his cerulean eyes piercing into you, looking you up and down.
"Mrs Ricoletti, she-she wasn't dead. Sh-she faked it, she faked it! Ricoletti, Ricoletti, Ricoletti! I get it! I need to get to her grave. Graveyard, dead bride. Amelia Rocoletti. Amelia? Are you Amelia?" The man shouted out, turning away and running his hand through his thick curls while leaning his other arm into you.
"No, sir. I'm not Amelia," you said. He looked at you, inquisitive.
"Sir, who are you? What's your name?" You asked.
"Sher ... Sherlock," he said softly as if trying to remember his own name.
"Sherlock Holmes? The detective guy? Is that you?" You asked. You pulled out your mobile and googled the name to get the information you needed. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Featured on the blog of John H. Watson.
"Yes, that's me," he said, trying to balance himself. You let go of his arm to continue scrolling through the search.
"Where do you live, Mister Sherlock Holmes?" You asked.
"Uh ... 382 Barts Street," he sputtered out after a second of thought. "Wait, no! 291 Baker Avenue! No, that's not right either."
"221B Baker Street. Says right here," you said, smiling at your phone. A little bit of research never did any harm.
"Yes! That's it," he mumbled.
"What did you take tonight?" You asked, knowing he had to have taken something to be in the state.
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled a piece of paper and handed it to you.
"Dear God, how are you still living Holmes?" You breathed, reading the long list of drugs and pain medications. You handed him back his sheet of paper, not wanting to look at it anymore.
"Evading death is my favourite hobby," he chuckled, trying to take a step forward but stumbling a bit.
"You should be getting home," you said, grabbing his arm again. With a quick google search, you had the right directions to his flat.
You started walking out of the alley, practically dragging the detective with you.
"Hey, hey you. Name, what's your name?" Sherlock asked, still dazed.
