You're in Sherlock (Sherlock × Reader)

The Great Game: Chapter 2

BANG. BANG.      BANG.

You jolted awake, looking around sleepily as you took in Sherlock pointing a gun at a yellow spray painted smiley face on the wall to the upper right of your feet as he sat lazily in his chair. When did that get painted there? You thought, gazing up at the yellow paint . Most people would be stunned Sherlock was firing a gun feet away from a person's head, but you didn't really care. Sherlock wouldn't hit you, he had good aim.

"Bored." He murmured. You heard a door slam down the hall and running footsteps up the stairs. John appeared, looking thoroughly worried and confused. He took in the scene and looked shocked at Sherlock holding a gun.

"What the hell are you doing?! You could've shot Y/n!" He yelled, staring at Sherlock and looking at the bullet holes meters from your head. Sherlock jumped up from his chair again aiming at the wall.

"He has good aim, John." You assured him, yawning as you were still waking up.

"Bored." BANG. He again shot the wall, not even caring to look where he was aiming. He positioned the gun behind his back and pointed it at the wall again. "BORED!" BANG.

You sat up groggily, not surprised with Sherlock's actions. It wasn't the best way to wake up, though; having a gun pointed near you. John marched up to Sherlock and Sherlock handed John the gun without hesitation. John hurriedly began to unload it while Sherlock mulled around in his sorrows.

"I don't know what's gotten into the criminal classes." Sherlock sighed, shuffling over towards the couch you were currently sitting on. "Good job I'm not one of them."

"So you take it out on the wall?" John asked, emptying the bullets to where they belonged. You stood, collecting your blankets and tossing them into Sherlock's chair, you'd deal with those later.

"The wall had it coming." Sherlock ran his fingers across the bullet holes in the drywall flicking at stray chunks. He dramatically pulled his robe around him and tossed himself onto the couch. You flopped yourself on top of the blankets in Sherlock's chair and watched the two interact, thinking.

"So I'm assuming you had no luck with my Russian case?" You asked, although you already knew the answer. You really just wanted him to elaborate. Good thing it wasn't too exciting and you didn't miss out.

"Yes, you seemed interested in that one." John echoed, looking over at Sherlock as he molded into the couch, looking like he just wanted to be absorbed into it.

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time." Sherlock crossed his hands over his chest, almost pouting. You'd have to record that in your files later to give to Emma.

"Oh, shame." John commented, walking into the kitchen and sighing at the huge mess of leftover experiments on the table. Sherlock must have been running around trying to keep himself occupied with experiments, but he must've eventually grew bored and gave in at some point going by his fit now.

"Did you take a look at my other case files?" You asked, looking to see them still in a neat pile on the messy kitchen table.

"All boring." Sherlock sighed, you shrugged, not knowing how else to help him. The man could never be pleased by anything, even when you tried your absolute best to help him.

"Anything in? I'm starving." John walked towards the fridge swinging it's doors open. You almost warned him, but it was too late. "Oh! F...." He closed the doors quickly, sighing. He again opened them staring at what was contained inside of it. "It's a head. A severed head."

"Mmm, yup." You nodded, glancing at the head propped upward on the main shelf of the fridge. John gave you a look in between shock and wanting to strangle you or Sherlock.