His Great Game (Sherlock x Reader)

Chapter 27: Home is Where the Heart Is

"I understand." The weight of my words hung heavy on my shoulders and my features were pained.

There was a moment of silence before he sighed and clapped a hand on my shoulder. He looked almost... apologetic? I couldn't be sure. "Take care of her, Sherlock." His voice was soft and filled with pity.

I frowned, confused. Didn't he just say to let her leave? "But... you just said I have to-"

"I know." He interjected, taking his hand off my shoulder and sliding it through his silver hair. "I know. You do." With that, he turned and trudged off, stress hanging heavily over him.

"John?" I furrowed my brows and turned my focus to my blogger, silently begging for clarification. "John, I don't understand."

He regarded me with a sad smile. "He only said that you have to give her the option to leave."

"...Yes. And?"

"I think we all know she'll choose to stay, Sherlock."

I registered his words silently and stood there rather dumbfounded. Surely she'd want to leave, so why did John say otherwise? Hope sparked in my chest, but I quickly quashed it as I reasoned with myself. I sighed, resigned. "You don't know that, John."

He just smirked and shook his head in amusement. "It's been a long day; you should go home and get some proper rest, yeah?"

"I think it might be better if I stayed with-"

"Home." John cut me off, determined to have me leave. "Now. I'll sign (Y/n) out and bring her home when she comes 'round."

With a suspicious glint in my eyes and a heavy heart, I nodded reluctantly, gathered my things, and headed back to Baker Street.

--- (time skip) ---

(Your POV)

"Sherlock?" I called out tentatively as I pushed open the door to our flat. Although I was eager to see him, John had warned me to tread lightly, saying that Sherlock had some important things on his mind right now. Which I understood, of course. He was probably on to another case already.

When I woke up, my immediate urge (after I realized where I was) was to find Sherlock and make sure he was okay. John and Dr. Thatcher told me everything, from my diagnosis to what had happened when I'd been unconscious. Apparently, Sherlock had even made a short trip to come visit me for a few minutes. I was flattered, of course, knowing that the amount of people Sherlock would take time out of his day for were next to none.

Ten hours, John said. Ten hours I'd spent in between the world of the living and that of the dead. I can't exactly say it was an unpleasant experience- I don't remember anything. The last thing I recalled was resting my head on Sherlock's shoulder, and the BAM! I'm in a hospital bed being told I'm lucky to be alive. But I don't feel lucky, or even relieved. Funny how perspective changes people, huh?

I step in slowly, closing the door soundlessly behind me. After dropping me off at the doorstep of 221, John headed out to get everyone some lunch, promising to get my favorite. He claimed it was something of a 'welcome back, glad you're alive' present, but I saw right through him as usual. He knew Sherlock and I needed some alone time.

"You've got some things to discuss." He'd said before he sped off in the cab. And I planned to do just that. Well, once I actually found Sherlock, anyways.

I took a look around 221B's most-used room, relishing in its feel again. I couldn't stand being away from this place- it always felt so homey.

"You're awake, I see." Happiness fluttered in my chest when I heard Sherlock's unmistakable baritone voice, and I whirled around to greet him. He was standing stiffly by the dining room table and I chuckled lightly at his demeanor. I quickly rushed over to embrace him, relieved to see he was looking perfectly healthy- I had been worried. Instead of holding his arms out in anticipation like he always did, he surprised me. His arms remained firmly by his sides. I faltered- and in the most awkward way- let my arms and face fall, making no attempt to conceal how much the simple action hurt me. It was so... odd. John had made it sound like he was going to be happy to see me. At least a little bit, anyways. He never rejects my hugs.