Sherlock x Reader

To kill or be killed, that is the choice.

-Sherlock's POV-

What's wrong? Could I have done something wrong? There's nothing I can recall that could possibly incriminate me. I don't know what I could have done. But ______ has just been so... distant. No, that's not the word. Indifferent. Yes, that's it. She has an extraordinary amount of self-confidence given her past but this is just wrong. So unlike her. The inquisitive, warm, attentive her.

But now it seems that she's become purposely reckless. I know John doesn't think too much of it. I can see that he thinks I'm just being overly-protective. But he can't know how I know. With all the rubbish stuffed in his brain, you'd be hard-pressed to find any information worth something in there. Although... he saw that ______ and I would be a match. Maybe I should ask him-

No. The only thing he sees are physical markers, hardly anything impressive. A child could see them. No, I need to work this out on my own.

God, she's so infuriating! Just as I'm already busy trying to work out the puzzle she poses naturally, she just has to throw this mystery into the mix. Does she love seeing me struggle? Or... What if she didn't want to be more mysterious? What if she wanted to stay so beautifully alluring but is compelled to keep this something secret? But what could this something be? She seemed to be so cold, so uncomfortable after that night. That night where she left so early and came back hours later. She couldn't possibly have just been arguing with a smoker, though it seemed that there was a ring of truth to that story. There had to be something else. A threat? But she wouldn't have been so alienated by that. She's grown to be tough when she has to be. I don't understand. And I want to, I so desperately want to. I want to help her when she needs it, make her happy to be with someone like me. Someone so-called "insufferable". Admittedly there are times when I can't understand how she's frustrated with me.

Is this how our relationship can work? By us being equally annoyed with each other? And then staying together because this strange but forceful feeling says we just have to be together? Maybe it is just I that feels this but it can't be. I know she feels something too. Perhaps she can't sense it quite strongly, but I know she'll see it. She has to. And then we could even be that seemingly ordinary couple, with hands intertwined as we walk down the street.

-End of Sherlock's POV-

You were worried. You didn't usually feel this but now you felt just a bit pertubed. Something was off. And it wasn't just the uneven collection of books in your room. No, this was something on a different level entirely.

It was Sherlock.

You knew you'd covered your tracks. And you put enough faith into Jim Moriarty that he would tie up any loose ends. And yet, a paranoia dogged you wherever you went. It was actually affecting your sleeping pattern, as you'd started to relive the four-hour respites you'd faced back when you were in secondary school. And you knew Sherlock knew. Like he knew everything. But you just hoped that you were good enough of a liar to convince him that those sleepless nights were induced from work and an addicton to the internet and your books. Maybe it was bad to lie. But sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth. After all, who wants to hear that your significant other has been betraying you? Even if you've openly admitted that the woman of all women isn't you.

But sometimes, you felt that you didn't detest him at all. Sometimes, just sometimes, when you've had to go up on your tiptoes to kiss him or felt him idly brush his hand against the back of your own, you felt... content. At peace. Happy, even. And you didn't feel that selfish, aggresive drive that had finally lead you to this point. "The final chapter", as Jim called it. You didn't know the plan he had in mind exactly. But it did imply an end to all of this spying and lying. It still gave you a thrill but now, you were simply getting bored. But it wasn't long now. Jim had said that it would be over by tomorrow. You were slightly concerned, considering that Jim had tried to kill Sherlock and John the first time they'd met. Still, Jim had given you his word that he wouldn't do anything to Sherlock. He just wanted to talk to him. It was ironic. Now you trusted the criminal more than the detective.

And yet you still worried. Something was off with Sherlock. John too, as a matter of fact. Come to think of it, even Molly was acting strangely distant. You were so confused. It was as though they had their own little secret, their own little game you weren't invited to. What if... What if Sherlock had figured out that you couldn't be trusted? That putting faith in you was a dangerous act? You sighed. Shook your head. This wasn't the first time you wished for Sherlock's amazing skill of deduction but it was certainly the first time you wished for it so fiercely. Well, almost the first time. You'd wished for it when that pretentious Irene was around. But it didn't matter now. You'd decided to be selfish. Now all you had to do was wait.

But it was just so hard. Now you knew there was an end to all this, you were starting to realise the damage you'd caused, and not just to those close to you. You'd stood by while Jim strapped bombs to innocent people. Just stood by, while the consulting pair were put under more and more pressure to figure the puzzles out. No, wait. It wasn't your choice to not help. You sat up on your bed. How could you have forgotten? You wanted to give Sherlock, or at least John, a clue but you couldn't. After proposing that idea to Jim, you remembered the shivers that flew down your spine as he burst out in a furious rage, declaring you an idiot for even suggesting something that stupid. And then the numbness that filled you as he leant towards you and calmly stated that your idea would lead to your own murder. You had no choice. In Jim Moriarty's world, the motto was 'kill or be killed'. It almost reminded you of one of the most famous mottos of Trotsky, 'traitors will be shot'.

Ugh, how could you be thinking of the history of the Russian Revolution when the more pressing matter was the uncertainty of the future? You had no idea how to explain your stupid, "thrill-seeking" betrayals. How could you know that Sherlock could ever forgive you? John, as well. How could you ever gain back the trust of such a loyal man? Sighing again, you lay back on your bed. This would be over by tomorrow. And then you could just tell Sherlock all that happened, and leave out no details. And you hoped that he could forgive you some day.

Tired for the first time in weeks, you closed your eyes and felt a sense of finality wash over you.

It was over.