Selfless | Sherlock

Gunshots and Explosions

"Bored," was the word that woke me from my sleep before a gunshot rang out from close range, making Echo leap from the bed.

"SHERLOCK!" I furiously yelled from his room, too tired to get out of bed.

Maybe it was because it smelled like him, but the bed would not release me from its hold. I had been staying in 221B for a few days hoping that Moriarty would not come out of his hole any time soon. Another gunshot interrupted my thoughts as I opened my mouth to yell once again.

"Sherlock if you shoot that damn wall one more time-" I started, only to be cut off by yet another shot.

I mumbled profanities to myself as I slid off the bed and ungracefully stumbled out to the living room where Sherlock laid on the couch with a firearm.

"Seriously?" I questioned.

The man shrugged before standing up and shooting at the wall again, another shout erupting from his lips.

"For fucks sake," I groaned, walking up to him and removing the gun from his grasp as Echo settled down in the corner of the room.

After unloading it, I sat on the couch and looked up at Sherlock as he paced energetically.

"Sherlock," I begged, rubbing my temples in exasperation as John entered the room.

"What's gotten into the criminal classes? It's a good thing I'm not one of them," Sherlock muttered, tracing his fingers over the wall above my head.

"So you take it out on the wall?" John questioned as I handed him the firearm.

"The wall had it coming," Sherlock said coldly.

"Mrs. Hudson is going to have a fit," I sighed.

Sherlock glanced down at me and his eyes seemed to soften as I scooted over to the very edge of the couch before patting the spot beside me. He hesitated for a moment which elicited a chuckle from both John and I.

"Sherlock, we sleep in the same bed," I reminded, smiling up at his face as it turned a slight shade of red.

The man nodded curtly in response and plopped onto the sofa beside me before laying down to tiredly place his head in my lap while he talked with the doctor. I ran my fingers through his hair absentmindedly as they spoke, the thick curls soft beneath my fingers. It was hard to not let out a giggle as John walked over to the fridge while asking about food.

"John I wouldn't-" I paused as he swung the fridge door open.

I held in a breath as John quickly slammed it shut again after seeing the head, before opening it again.

"There's a head."

"Just tea for me, thanks. Em?" Sherlock said monotonously.

"No, there's a head in the fridge."

"Yes," the detective drawled as though explaining something to a child.

"Why is there a head in the fridge? A bloody head," John ranted.

"Where else was I supposed to put it?"


"Sherlock. You could always buy a separate fridge for your experiments," I suggested softly, twisting his hair gently.

"Wh-" John questioned hopelessly.

"I got it from the morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. I see you've written up the taxi driver case," Sherlock said, pointing at the laptop on the dining table.

"A Study in Pink," he added as John sat down on his chair.

"I like it," I defended giving Sherlock a warning glance before he could be rude to John about the title.