Sherlock x Reader

That little bitch

"What? No. You can't possibly be serious."

~

It was a cold afternoon and there was a fine layer of frost over literally everything. It had been a few months since you'd texted your acceptance to Jim and the work was, well. Mundane. You honestly didn't know why you were so conflicted about this. The idea made you laugh now. All that fear and for nothing. When you'd realised how little your work demanded, you stopped worrying and as a result, you thought that any suspicions that Sherlock may have had about you had gone. That's what you hoped but you were sure that this was the case. But then you'd gotten a text from Jim. This wasn't really unusual since you usually got thank you texts at some fucking annoying times. I mean, who sends a text saying, "Thanks ;)," at 4 in the fucking morning?! But in any case, this text was different. It was actually sent during the day and it simply asked if you could meet up with him at a certain cafe. Well, it was more of a demand than a question really, if you knew anything about Jim.

~

So there you were. Sitting at this inconspicuous cafe, cupping a scalding mug of tea. And Jim was there, talking about his new plan that was so strange, that you couldn't comprehend it.

"Come on ______, it's really not that a big a deal. Irene is our best chance of getting Sherlock to help us. And she's on our side, the cool one of course," he smirked simalteneoulsy.

"I just don't understand why we need her specifically. I mean, I've heard about what she does for a living... or whatever," you said gritting your teeth. "I really don't see how she could be helpful. You know how Sherlock is, you know how oblivious he is-" Jim's hands around your own stopped your protests.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that little ______ is jealous of our sweet, innocent Irene... come on, it'll be fun. And I'm sure that you'll have no trouble, uh, defending your man, as some say," he barely managed to say that expression without bursting into laughter at how ridiculous it sounded. You couldn't disagree with that. But the proposal was ridiculous also. Moreover, why were you so upset? You shouldn't be. After all, you didn't want to be that jealous, bitchy girlfriend that was so paranoid that she didn't let her significant other talk to other girls. But this was just different. You just felt an uneasy feeling thinking about this plan. It wasn't a good idea. You knew that. But of course, you could do fuck all to change Jim's mind. It was made even more clear about how little you could do when Jimmy slipped in another one of his death threats, this time aimed at one of your oldest friends. So you had to go along with it. It was better to hide what you were really feeling. But you couldn't stop your expression from shifting into one of despair. You had let yourself be used as this creepy intimate spy. You had even let Jim get his men to trash your own apartment and leave these random fucking shoes in the middle of your living room. And now you just had to let Irene wind Sherlock around her little finger so that he could unwittingly help her and Moriarty. Fan fucking tatstic. Sounds like a great plan.

But what were you going to do ______? You were going to let Moriarty do this. You were going to let him unleash Irene on Sherlock and you were going to watch as his plan folded out. Because, even though you were worried out of your mind, you were still certain that Sherlock wouldn't care for Irene. That, for some wild reason, he would be thinking of you when she was trying to seduce him. It was idealistic. But you had to have some dreams, didn't you?

~

And so, you had gone through with everything. Of course you were back at your flat, since you no longer needed help getting around with that rib. But you still went up to Sherlock and John's flat. It wasn't just to do with Sherlock. You liked being around the both of them. It was fun to talk to them and to see John geting his sass on whenever it was necessary. But at the same time, you felt hollow inside. Like you knew that there was inevitable doom at the end of your job description. You felt it most of all when Irene was at their flat. You didn't go upstairs at that time, obviously, but you couldn't stop yourself from imagining what could be happening.

You hated all this. You hated doing this. You hated Irene. You hated Moriarty. The only thing that kept you going was the hope that Sherlock didn't care for Irene, that arrogant, old, sentimental, smart bitch. How could she be such an obviously perfect match for Sherlock? How? But it would blow over, that's what you kept telling yourself.

How wrong you were.

It was the day that Mycroft had requested an audience with John, though that sounds so official and pompous. Basically Mycroft in a nutshell. You'd only met Sherlock's brother twice before and you weren't sure how to feel about him. Although you felt that Mycroft disliked you, even mistrusted you. Maybe he really was smarter than his brother. On the way back from that meet-up, you stopped John and asked what Mycroft wanted to talk to him about. You'd known that Irene was going to die. You resented it but Irene texted you constantly, obviously aware of how you weren't exactly fond of her and how you couldn't help being paranoid about her being around Sherlock. You didn't believe it when she texted you "goodbye" for the second time, but then Jim texted you confirming that she was to be executed. Either way, you still felt that you were being lied to, and you knew that Mycroft wouldn't be lying to someone like John. So when John confirmed it, you were... you didn't want to say relieved. But you were, in a way. Did that make you such a terrible person? Obviously, it was a shame that she had to die like that but now you felt as though a weight had been taken off your shoulders. You'd walked back to your bedroom and were lying down on your small, but comfy bed, thinking. You weren't even sure of what you were thinking, or feeling. You felt like you wanted to go out with Sherlock into town and be holding hands and laughing and putting your arms around each other's waists. You wanted to be the happy, ordinary couple, just once. After all, ordinary people could be adorable.

So, what's the problem? Why couldn't you just go upstairs and tell that curly-haired, high-cheekboned, idiotic genius that you wanted the two of you to go out together?

You went upstairs. You thought about knocking, but were about to just barge in when you heard a voice. His, deep voice. You were curious, as you'd heard John come up and back down the stairs. Pressing your ear to the door, you heard something strange. Was it laughter? But then he said something again. And you heard it clearly this time.

"The Woman"

You pushed yourself away from the door. You walked downstairs to your flat. You felt cold. Not physically, but mentally. You know what, who cared what happened to Sherlock? Why should you be caring about him? He obviously has no interest in you now, he practically implied it in those words. Obviously, you couldn't be the woman for Sherlock. But Irene could. So, who cares anymore? You felt the love you harboured for him sour, and turn into a deep and malevolent hate. You were going to keep working for Moriarty. And you were going to keep playing the role of the insignificant girldriend. You were going to ruin that man. Sherlock.