|| Be Her Guard || Sherlock Holmes x Reader

|♢| Chapter 8 |♢| Zero Leads

By the time John and you had made your way upstairs, Sherlock was already glued to his normal chair with the package set on his lap. Despite it having been clearly opened before your arrival, the flaps have remained closed thus far, blocking the contents from either of your views. 

Since his sudden outburst downstairs, Sherlock hasn't spoken a single word no matter who asks nor how much they plead. Instead, he keeps his mouth wired shut with his full attention being trapped inside his Mind Palace. There have been a few different points throughout the evening where you've debated simply stealing the package from his lap to finally see what's inside, although, any time you so much as step past him, he's brought out of his trace as if waiting to catch you grabbing the mail. Even if it rightfully belongs to you, there's clearly little change he'll actually let you have it.

"What do you think it is?" With a sigh, you finally give up on creating a plan to get the box, deciding it'll be a better use of your time to chat with John until your partner choses to finally share his inner thoughts with the class (if he ever plans to at all). 

"Maybe a threat or warning?" He passes a tea cup over to you before sitting down on the couch, staring over at Sherlock the same way you do. 

You nod distantly while blowing on your tea.

"It could also be nothing," John suggests hopefully, offering a slight smile even though it's clear you doubt the option to be possible given the circumstances," who knows. It may not even be from Ap-him..."

"Sherlock wouldn't be in his Mind Palace if it wasn't," once again, you sigh," I knew he would find out I came here, but it's still..."

"It's still worrying," John finishes, understanding exactly what you mean.

"I think what worries me the most is the thought of Apollo going after anyone else. Whether it be my family or one of you two. Sherlock would be the biggest target, though. Apollo could always catch him by surprise. I'm sure the way he sees it, if he gets Sherlock out of the way, I'll be left unprotected."

"Sherlock wouldn't let that happen-"

"-He's human, though, John. All it could take is one slip up, one moment that he isn't prepared..."

John wants to argue, but what you're saying has truth to it. He's never met this Apollo guy, however, if the guy does manage to catch Sherlock off guard, things could end badly. There has already been more than a few times where the detective's stared down a barrel of a gun (quite literally, too). It doesn't help that he can be a bit cocky, too, which is enough to drive any mild criminal to extremes let alone someone who already hates him.

"Sherlock has put countless criminals of all types behind bars, be it petty thieves or serial killers. I doubt this will be any different. He'll get his lead and when he does, you'll be safe," the doctor tries to remain encouraging and optimistic, hoping it will be contagious. Luckily, it is even if only slightly.

You finally give a small smile, glancing away from Sherlock at last to him," I hope so."

For the rest of the evening afterwards, Sherlock had moved from his chair exactly two times. The first was to grab his phone from his coat in which you had earlier hung up from it's previous place on the floor where he originally tossed it. By the time you stepped out of the kitchen to attempt to speak to him, he had already returned to his spot, grumbling in irritation at whoever he was texting. The second time he moved was when he stood to grab the laptop. Even as he typed away, he still refused to acknowledge anyone's existence. 

At last, he closes the laptop, groaning and hanging his head back in frustration. He was able to convince his brother to send him videos his cameras had picked up viewing the street outside of the flat, however, they didn't amount to much. 

The videos did show a man with a height around Apollo's, although, his face was covered from view the entire time. Dressed in a black coat with its collar pulled up to hide his face and blue baseball cap tucked tightly upon his head, he exited a cab in front of the flats only minutes after they had left to the murder scene Lestrade called them to. He knocked on the door and handed the package to Mrs. Hudson when she answered, only exchanging a few words with her then heading on his way.

Sherlock had followed recordings of the cab until it stopped about ten miles down, yet the same man didn't get out, in fact, no passenger seemed to be inside. It stopped, loaded a family, and kept going. No matter how many stops he watched it take, the man never got out. Surely there was a camera not working properly that day, allowing the man's exit to be unrecorded which means all Sherlock can do for the time being is remember the plate number and find the cabbie, but that will have to wait for tomorrow.

Standing for the first time in about an hour or four (he doesn't care to keep track), he scans his surroundings to see how they've changed. The papers at his desk are organized for once and everything's picked up off the floor, the only noticeable mess being bread crumbs on the table in the kitchen which mean someone must've made a sandwich earlier. As for flat mates, he only spots you from where you sit with your legs laid out across the couch, your nose in a book. 'The Book Thief', Sherlock observes, noting that it's the copy he owns, but hasn't read in years.

"Where's John?" He questions causing you to glance at him in the corner of your eyes. Having waited hours for him to finally leave his Mind Palace, you're too tired to care now that he actually has. 

"On a date, I guess. He said he should be back by ten to ten thirty."

"When'd he leave?"

"Um...I believe around six forty," you flip another page of the book.

Sherlock stares at you blankly for a moment longer, something you ignore especially since he seems lost in thought the same way he had been the whole afternoon. You don't even bother asking about the package, honestly having forgotten about it after finding ways to distract yourself since then. 

"Go get changed into something nice," after about two minutes of silence, Sherlock's voice cuts through your peaceful reading, once again causing you to look his way, this time with a raised eyebrow.

"Why? Where are we going?"

"Out to dinner."

"...Dinner?" You repeat quietly with visible confusion. Perhaps if it were anyone else telling you you'd be going out to dinner together, you wouldn't question it much, but hearing such a thing from Sherlock? You've barely seen him eat proper food!

"There's a restaurant I've been meaning to try. Five star, excellent food apparently, always booked up, although, the manager there owes me a favor, so we'll be able to get in without reservations of our own," he waves a dismissive hand as he lists the restaurant's impressive qualities which makes you smirk.

"People from all around the world owe you favors, don't they? You sure get around a lot," you joke, calling out to Sherlock when he disappears into his room," how nice do I need to dress?!"

"Formal but not too formal!"