Favourite Experiment- Sherlock Holmes x Reader (Part One)
A/N- So many of you may know that I’m already mid-writing a Mycroft fanfic on my page, but I have now decided to re-write my Sherlock fic from my old Wattpad account and continue it on here. Having the two going on at once will help with my writing as I can flitter between the two! I hope everybody enjoys this.. I don’t quite know how many chapters it’ll have yet but we’ll see!
Important context points- most of this story is going to be based around the canon BBC storyline, but with a few differences. A key difference is that John has been living with Sherlock for a year or so pre- A Study In Pink. Harry Watson also doesn’t exist.. Thank you!
Word Count- 3009
"John!" Your voice sounded over the crowds of people as you sprinted across the airport grounds, spotting your sandy haired brother by the escalators. John frowned as he looked around the room. "Oi, Watson!" You flung yourself against him, pinching his cheek in a childish manner. God that was a face you'd missed.
Naturally, you had spent the majority of your life alongside the Hobbit-sized man, but 4 years ago you ventured out to Australia as a private detective, taking some time to be on your own. Eventually, your feeling of being homesick took over and you found yourself spontaneously handing in your notice for your flat and booking the next flight to London a week later. When John had learned about your sudden change of heart, he held concerns about you upping and leaving the life you had made in Oz, the friends you'd left behind, and you simply snorted down the phone. Your friend groups were.. now, what's the best word for it? Not so much as friends, and rather more acquaintances; a group of which you could converse with if necessary, but could happily go weeks without hearing a word. They were more of a convenience than a necessity, but John never understood that. That, actually, was another reason for your return; though not keen on many, you did still enjoy social interaction within a small group of people, the main of which being your brother- thus the choices were 'go back home to see John' or 'continue talking to the poster of Oscar Wilde on the wall'.. John won by a hair, not that you'd ever tell him that.
"God I've missed you, you lunatic!" The elder Watson spoke, dropping the small bouquet of flowers he had bought you on the bench beside him.
"Ooh, those for me? Maybe I should run off to the other side of the world more often.." You teased, grasping the stem of the flowers as they were handed to you.
"Tell you what, I'll buy you two more if you stay here and never go back." He spoke, ushering you to the exit. "I'm serious, Y/N. Four years is too bloody long. You were still a kid when you left, now you're a whole adult. It's weird."
"John Hamish Watson, I was twenty-sodding-two when I left; not a child." He winced at the sound of his middle name and grinned.
"Exactly, a baby. Now come on." Tugging you out of the front doors, John hoisted your bag into the boot of a waiting cab and rolled his eyes to see you loitering a few steps away. Head raised, facing the sky and spreading your arms, you welcomed the London rain on your skin. "Still a baby, apparently." John teased, though his voice was fond. You scrambled into the cab beside him and watched the raindrops pour down the window.
"Nothing quite like the British rain welcoming me home." The drops fell down in pairs, racing, though a tap on the arm dragged you from seeing the victor.
"You're lucky, you know, that Mrs Hudson chose to do up the flat downstairs 6 months ago. People have been in and out for weeks looking at it, but after I mentioned you moving back and looking for somewhere she told me she'd keep it aside. Lower price for friends too." John mused.
"Actually I'm lucky that Nana died last year and I kept my inheritance. That, with the money from my old flat, I should be settled for a while so I can find a decent employer." John chose not to scold you on your disregard for your grandmother's death. She was an old witch who never sent anybody a kind word in her 90 years. Though you now had to thank her parsimonious ways and lack of birthday presents as she was sat on a rather hefty sum that, even split between the two of you and your mother, left you with a comfortable bank account.
"Though I'd like to believe it's out of kindness, I suspect she's really just hoping you'll have my patience and won't leave within the week. I've actually warned her that it might be the opposite." You raised your brow.
"What's the matter with it? Is Mrs Hudson secretly part of a drug cartel and hoping that I won't stumble across her making deals in the hallway? Afraid I'll find her secret stash of rolled up fifties?"
"Boring." John smirked.
"It's that, actually. That right there." Brow raised for the second time in the past forty five seconds. "It's not Mrs Hudson that I'm concerned about. It's the male version of you that I flatshare with that I'm concerned about. Telling you that the flat was available is either going to be the best decision I've ever made, or the very worst."
"John, my eyebrow cannot raise any higher to display my inquisition."
"Duly noted.. Anyway, he's one of your sort. A detective."
"No, but I'll let him know you guessed that. He'll be pissed." John barked a laugh. "A new role, I suppose, though it's not one held by anybody else. He calls himself a 'Consulting Detective'. Works alongside the police, actually. Though he- why are you staring at me?"
"Sherlock Holmes? You flat-share with Sherlock Holmes?"
"Oh bollocks. Groupie or enemy?"
"Neither. Distant admirer, I suppose. It's a name that gets thrown about every so often, though not with many compliments might I add. 'Clever bastard, total prick' seemed to be a favourite." John smiled.
"That's him! Though he's a bit less of a prick sometimes, but don't tell him I said that. His ego is far from hungry, don't feed it." You smirked, casting your eyes back out of the window. "Don't do that either. That look. It's taken a year of knowing him for him to even consider me as a friend so don't get your hopes up to waltz in and us gallivant the city like the Three Musketeers. Expect to be put up on trial too. He got peeved when I first met him and he did the deduction-y stuff because I wasn't completely enamoured by his talent; I told him you can do the same thing and he huffed and wouldn't speak to me for 3 days because he's convinced only him and Mycroft can do it. Mycroft is-"
"His brother. There can't be two families that have crossed your path with eccentric names like Sherlock and Mycroft."
"Yes. Anyway, expect to be put in the hot seat, your talents to be ignored and for him to carry on his day talking to the skull on the fireplace. He says it gives him more intelligent ideas than 'normal people' because they're just his own." You thought back to your precious poster of Mr Wilde and nodded your head to no one in particular. "Maybe we should delay it until tomorrow though, the meeting. You must be exhausted what with the plane journey and the jet lag." You waved your hand.
"Sleeping's boring, I can sleep later. I only need 2 hours and 36 minutes of rest within a 48 hour period to be able to function at a reasonable rate, I will be fine."
"Fantastic. Two insomniacs. Now I just need to hope you don't kill each other; though that might make my life easier."
"I wouldn't be worried, John. It sounds as though me and Mr Holmes will get on like a house on fire."
"That's a possibility that scares me because it'll likely end up with the flat on fire."
The half an hour car journey passed fairly quickly with yourself and John swapping stories to use up the time, and it felt like no time at all until the cab pulled up outside of Baker Street. After paying the driver, the pair of you headed up to the big black door, John knocking once. Within seconds, an elderly woman swung the door open and ushered you in from the rain.
"Afternoon, Mrs Hudson. This is my sister Y/N, Y/N this is Mrs Hudson." You offered your hand out to the woman to shake but soon found your digits squashed between your own belly and the one of the landlady in a welcoming hug.
"Any family of my boys is family to me, dear. Come on in, I'll show you to your flat, John can bring the cases." And with that you were whisked away by a woman you'd scarcely known for thirty seconds and yet felt like she'd always been there.
"Hello, John. Nice to see you back, John. I didn't realise the aeroplane would be delayed by 5 hours while you sat and waited at the airport, are you okay, John?" Your brother muttered sarcastically as he carried your suitcase into the residence of 221C.
"Oh hush, I heard the cab pull up and made you both a tea on the kitchen counter at mine. Fetch those and quit the muttering." John stood to attention and saluted, calling out a 'Sir, yes, Ma'am' as he headed out of the doors. For a man in his early thirties, he most certainly could be a child at times, despite his attempt of a serious exterior. "I tell the boys I'm not their housekeeper, but should you ever want a cuppa you're more than welcome to pop round, dear. It'll be nice having another lady in the building to help me juggle the boys. Ms Turner next door is nice but she's usually a bit.." She made a drinking motion with her hand and you laughed. John came into the room a second later and placed the mugs on the fireplace, looking around the room. There was a sofa set in the middle, a large, plush sort of thing that you splashed out on when you saw the advert in Homebase, facing a telly on a stand but the rest of the furniture was piled around the room in boxes, leaving the flat looking more like the back room at an IKEA.
"Yes, well, I'd have been more inclined to build everything to be ready had you not told us you were moving back here a week ago. It took 3 days for most of this stuff to turn up, and by the time I worked out the wiring to the telly and built the bloody stand.."
"It's perfect! This way I can arrange everything that best suits the room by both aesthetic and function, brilliant." You headed over and plonked down on the sofa, turning your head at different angles and looking around the room before standing up and pushing it three inches to the left. "Lovely. Good distance from the window and the radiator, gives me enough space to appreciate but not be overwhelmed by either when needed.. No glare on the television from any reflections.. It's a perfect base point to work everything else around." Mrs Hudson and John shared the same look and smiled. "I'll likely go bed shopping tomorrow. I still can't believe you thought I could do that online. Crazy talk. You need to feel them. But this'll work lovely."
"It feels more and more like you've based your entire personality on Sheldon Cooper the further into life you get." John teased, taking a sip of his tea. You scowled in response.
"More like Chuck Lorre somehow found out about me and based his character on my personality. Either or, said character makes reasonable points." The pair hummed in response and you walked over to drink your own tea, engaging in conversation at how you plan to decorate the rest of the flat. With mugs drained, John let out a huff.
"Time to face the inevitable, I suspect.. Y/N, would you care to come upstairs and meet Sherlock?" You'd already headed to the door at the start of his sentence and beamed.
"Come now, John. Any excuse for me to be a show off for five minutes.. Even more exciting when they're worthy to impress." The short gentleman simply muttered a 'Lord help me' before he led the way to 221B.
The tall, curly haired gentleman that you spotted upon entering the flat was almost exactly how you had pictured Sherlock Holmes. Standing with perfect posture, pacing in front of the fireplace engaged in conversation.. with himself. You couldn't write it. Hearing the door shut behind the two of you, the lanky fellow shot his head around.
"John? How long have you been gone for?" The man in question simply rolled his eyes and flopped into his armchair, signalling for you to take the small sofa closer to the back of the room.
"Are you- Sherlock, I left nearly 7 hours ago? To pick up my sister? You literally told me that you expected the plane to be delayed but I didn't believe you because nobody can predict the bloody air traffic." Sherlock's lip flicked up in a smirk.
"Predict? No. Deduct? Hmm." The affirmative noise at the end of his sentence made you stifle a laugh.
"How would you even- Don't answer that, I honestly don't want to know." John rested his face against his palm and gestured towards you vaguely. "Y/N, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Y/N, please be nice. She's-" Sherlock stalked across the room, stepping over his armchair and across the table to stand almost nose to nose with you.
"Afternoon." You grinned.
"Ah yes, Y/N. The favourite Watson." John went to speak up in protest but stopped. You both knew that you were favoured growing up and he didn't need Sherlock pointing out every reason why. "27 years old, back from Australia after four years- there for work, not pleasure. Your tan is uneven, hands slightly more tanned than your wrists; you wore long sleeves more often than short, a favoured style for respected formality, thus work. Strong arms, though not overly muscular.. fan of sports, but takes pleasure in racket-sports, tennis being your favourite.. no, squash. Close with your brother despite being vastly more intelligent." John mumbled a 'cheeky git'. "Artist, though you wouldn't use that word- you sketch for boredom rather than pursuing it. Slightly calloused fingers tell me you're a guitarist. Right handed predominantly but your left is almost up to scratch with it. Am I right?"
"You and I both know you know a lot more than that, you're being polite. How kind of you." The corner of his mouth flicked up for a split second before he repeated his question. "Close. I'm 26, likely the right year but my birthday isn't until December. My favourite sport is also badminton but I did play squash most weekends as I could play it alone and avoid human contact, but the availability of another person was there if I felt particularly competitive. Good effort, I'm impressed." Sherlock slumped on the other side of the sofa and smacked his forehead.
"Badminton!" He closed his eyes and groaned. "Of course it's bloody badminton, look at your flexor digitorum profundus!" You turned your wrist around in front of you and jabbed at the muscle.
"Yes she is quite the giveaway, isn't she?" Sherlock continued moaning the word 'badminton' as you swivelled yourself around to look at him. "My turn, Holmes.. You're 28, only a few months ago though, you're another winter baby. You've an older brother, only older by 5 years but you let him believe he's ancient, it's the same thing I do with Grandad on the armchair. Despite the teasing, you care for him dearly, though you would sooner jump out of the window than tell him that. You tell people you do your job because you like solving puzzles, which is true, but a part of you is glad to help people out. You've never had a relationship, emotions are a stranger to you; you never understood them so you pretend they don't exist rather than admit they're out of your real control. You're known globally and yet couldn't care less of the opinion of strangers. In fact, the only opinion you care about is of my brother who, and sorry to drop this on you if you try to hide it, is your best friend and you perhaps love more than anybody you know. You play an instrument too, though my answer is based on personality inference rather than physical deduction. You play violin- difficult enough to be a challenge, easily portable and very easy to make sound terrible when people annoy you. Did I pass your test or do you want me to delve into childhood secrets, Captain?" You winked.
"What month in winter?"
"That's a guess."
"I never guess." The smile flashed once more before his phone chimed in his pocket. After glancing at it, his smile stayed.
"Not bad, Watson. Perhaps it would do some good keeping you around, you may have use yet.. Fancy a challenge?" You glanced up and caught sight of John who nodded frantically, this was your way in.
"What have you got?"
"Two people have been found dead in the last few weeks, seemingly by suicide but certainly not. A third's just rolled in and I'm being called. Why would the police consult me when they think they're suicides?" He asked, already standing up to leave.
"This ones different.. Anything found with the other bodies?"
"Not a thing." He smirked.
"Ooh, clever. This one's left a note."
"Let's go." And with that he bounded down the stairs. You looked over at John who simply stuck his thumb up.
"You're winning so far. I'll leave you to this one and start to put up your wardrobe in the flat.. Small brief. The DI, Greg, is the nicest bloke around, Anderson and Donovan are dicks, when you're finished you need to run after Sherlock or he'll get in a cab without you. Now, go catch a killer." You grinned at your brother and chased after the detective. Oh this was going to be fun.
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