Chapter Text
Your story started with one long string of unfortunate events.
It began, innocently enough, with hunger. Not the gnawing, hollow kind that bends you in half, but just enough to make you irritable. A simple fix, really: tell the cab to stop at a place called Speedy’s and grab a sandwich.
Simple. But the chain of events that followed was anything but— and it changed your life forever.
You climbed out of the cab and right into a puddle. Ice-cold water soaked through your socks as you sloshed into the sandwich shop, only to discover you didn’t have enough cash left to buy anything.
With a huff, you stepped back outside. The bell sounded right above your head, and in that moment a huge blast ripped through the building across the street.
Suddenly, things were happening so fast that they barely registered. The force knocked you off your feet. There was a blinding flash, then the sharp slap of wet pavement against your back.
At first, it felt like waking from a dream. Nothing made sense. Your mind, slow to catch up, felt frozen and heavy. Everything hurt—your ears rang, your body ached, and your head pulsed with cold, sharp pain.
You tried to sit up—thankfully, a wise decision. You weren’t badly hurt. A few scrapes, reddened arms, a throbbing headache. At that moment with a detached awareness, you could tell the adrenaline was masking most of the pain. You didn’t feel much. Not fear, not panic. Just a strange, heightened awareness. You were wide awake, yet at the same time stuck in some distant state. A dream, in which you were watching everything but nothing stayed with you.
What followed was a blur of strangers—some there by chance, others because it was their job to help. Someone wrapped bandages around your arms and on you forehead. They told you you’d be okay. You thought about reaching for your phone, but it felt like too much effort. Sitting there, watching the chaos unfold around you, somehow felt easier. Comforting, even. You couldn't turn your attention inward if you were too busy looking out. Among the crowd was a pajama-clad man who had come down from his house. You didn’t really notice him when he showed up across the street, but you did when suddenly he spoke, standing right in front of you.
“Alright, hello, who are you?” Detached tone, curly brown hair, and surprisingly calm for someone who clearly lived there.
“(y/n), and who are you?”
“Sherlock Holmes, are you a secret agent?”
“I think you’re more likely to be the secret agent,” he didn’t act like some concerned neighbor to a building that just blew up.
“Why?” He said, with the aura of someone who didn’t really care about your answer.
“Attitude, not asking questions about the explosion,” you gestured toward it vaguely ”but about the people involved. I don’t know, lack of embarrassment about your clothes.”
“Sounds like you do know.”
“Hmm,” you let your head rest against the side of the ambulance you were in. You weren’t tired, but the energy seemed to have drained from you. “Why do you care about me, are you some journalist?”
He seemed to evaluate whether or not you were worth that information. “No. More of a detective.”
He shifted so his foot unconsciously pointed towards you. Your lips twitched, a foot pointing towards something usually indicates that the person is interested in it.
“So tell me,” he looked up while he was talking, ”there’s no chance the explosion was meant for you is there?”
“Unfortunately for you, no.”
“Ah, shame. Really could’ve gone for something interesting.” He sounded like he cared about you even less then, but also like your answer invigorated him.
“No empathy from you is there?”
“Unfortunately for you, no.”
“Shame,” you copied. He pulled out his phone in one swift motion and sat beside you—not out of kindness, just convenience. The proximity made you uneasy. He didn’t seem to care much now that he knew you weren’t some undercover assassin.
“If you’re looking for a crime there’s a nervous EMT over there that keeps touching her pocket,” you said and pointed at her, though keeping your gaze at him. His gaze left the phone. At first, you thought he wouldn’t really care, but he considered it for a bit. Then, he likely decided he had nothing better to do, and took off.
"Hey," you took off one of your barely-needed bandages, "if you're not too grossed out take this, gives you a reason to walk up to her"
You tossed it in his direction. "Smart," he caught it and walked away. There was something about the way he said that word. As though he weren't being kind, but rather making a mental note.
He came back a few minutes afterward and paused a few feet in front of you. "She was trying to steal some equipment, didn't even need to speak with her to tell. Here you go," you caught your bandage and walked over to a trashcan. When you turned back around you could just catch him walking back inside his house.
You arrived at your own house sometime later and crashed into bed, your ears were still ringing and your arms hurt, but you fell asleep in seconds.
***
Two days after the bomb went off Sherlock, John and Lestrade were in the police station.
The hostage from the phone lived in Cornwall, two men broke into her house with masks and stuck her in a car with explosives and a pager to read from into the phone. An assassin was ready to set the bombs off if she didn’t listen. It was all detached. Like a ticking clock, a well-oiled machine. It was elegant.
He opened the pink phone and there was another message waiting for him. Four pips and a picture of a car. He gave Lestrade the phone and the machine in his head ticked away.
The bomber was shaping the world into his own. Blowing up a building and injuring a civilian. Kidnapping a woman to communicate with him. And then using the murder of a young kid to toy with Sherlock. He turned people into pawns and then used the damage he caused to make the game more exciting. When the next call came he wasn’t surprised it was another stolen voice. A display of power.
Sherlock wanted to throw him off and display some of his own power. Games work both ways, he had a turn too. It didn’t take long for him to get (y/n)’s number, he sent a quick text after Lestrade exclaimed he found the car. A new player could be joining the game.