His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 25: How To Get Away With Milkshakes and Murder

With that, I strode out, making my dramatic exit like the drama queen I was. While I was still sort of creeped out by the whole premise of the case, I was mostly excited. I'd basically just solved a case! On my own! No help from Sherlock necessary. I smiled to myself. I was getting pretty good at this whole 'detective' thing.

My pace faltered after a few steps when I realized that none of the men were following me. I was going to turn back, but Lestrade's words made me stop. "She's bloody brilliant, she is. Keep her." Grinning, I kept walking, knowing they would follow.

--- (This time skip is sponsored by Mycroft's umbrella) ---

"Yes, obviously it's a butcher. Haven't you been listening?" I muttered as I took a sip of my chocolate milkshake. Sherlock, John and I sat at a table for four in the retro diner, waiting for Lestrade and the files we needed. Hits of the 70s and 80s played softly around us, and a soft red light washed over the whole room. I loved the whole feel of this place. I would love it even more if Sherlock wasn't being such an arse.

"Just because of the cuts?" Sherlock asked from beside me, slightly disbelieving. "Anyone could have made those cuts with that level of inexpertise. You saw them." He took a sip of his own shake: strawberry. John had settled for tea.

I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. "No, Sherlock. Because of the type of knife that would need to be used to make those cuts."

"What kind of knife would you need?"

"Professional grade, obviously. My dad was a chef- I would know. Nobody without a job dealing with some sort of meat would have that just lying around the house."

"But how can you be s-"

"Can you just believe her for once, Sherlock?" John interjected, tired of his constant questions. Sherlock gave up and slumped back in his chair, pouting. I breathed a sigh of relief and mouthed a silent 'thank you' to John.

"Here we are." Lestrade as he approached the table, files in hand.

"Ah, thank you." I said as he handed the (rather large) folder to me. I said nothing for a few seconds, rifling through the papers and taking in all the information. To break the silence, John and Lestrade made small talk while they waited for my conclusion. Sherlock scooted his chair over and peered at the papers over my shoulder. I made a note of where each victim lived on my phone.

"Does anyone have a pen?" I asked suddenly, looking up from my work.

"Yeah, here." Lestrade handed me a blue fountain pen after fishing around in his pocket for a few seconds. I mumbled my thanks and continued looking through each file. I finally got to the biological profiles, reading through every physical aspect about each victim. I circled each person's eye color as I went.

After a few minutes, Sherlock got a little too close for comfort. I assumed he was just intent on the files, which was fine, but his breathing on my neck was getting a little distracting. "Sherlock..."

"Yes?" He asked smugly. I huffed- the bastard was doing this on purpose. I knew he was still salty that I had solved the case much quicker than he ever could have, but I didn't think he would go so far as to distract me to slow me down.

"Personal space."

"What about it?"

"I need it."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He said innocently, leaning in even further until his nose brushed my cheek. My breath hitched in my throat and I could feel his smirk. "Is this distracting you?"

There was no way I was giving him the satisfaction of answering. Slowly, wordlessly, I scooted my red chair to the left until I was a respectable distance away. Then, I cleared my throat and shoved the biological profiles towards him. He pouted, disappointed in my reaction. John and Lestrade's conversation had ceased, so I knew they had seen the whole thing. They probably had stupid grins on their faces right now, but I didn't even care.