This really sucks, but I tried.

Summary: Sherlock needs another case and you need a detective.

QOTP: What's your favorite episode of Sherlock?

Word Count: 1278

"I need another case!" Sherlock exclaims to John, who's sitting in his chair reading.

He sighs, "You've just solved a case, Sherlock."

"Which means I need another one."

John only scoffs, but Sherlock goes to look out the window. He's observing people, deducting where they've been, etc.

"A CASE!" he suddenly yells, startling John.

////

You're walking down the streets of London, head held high and a scowl fashioned on your lips. You're angry, determined, and quite intimating to passerby. They move out of your way quickly, parting like the Red Sea.

You knock on the door of 221B Baker Street, shoving your hands back into your coat pockets as a woman answers the door.

"I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes," you say, your expression softening a tad at the sight of the woman.

She nods and lets you inside. "He's just upstairs. Good thing you've come, too; he's been complaining about needing another case."

You walk up the stairs, your footsteps echoing. You reach the landing, and automatically, a door swings open. You stand, determined and unmoving. The man who opens the door studies you, and you him, though he doesn't know just how much you've already figured out about him.

"You're Sherlock Holmes?" you finally ask, your scowling expression fully restored by now.

He nods, seemingly unintimidated, "Yes, I am."

You wait a moment, then he turns and walks into the room behind him. Someone else - John Watson, you suspect - is sitting in a chair. He sets the book he was reading in his lap. "You have a case for us?" he asks.

You nod, nudging the door closed behind you with your foot. They both look at you, waiting for you to explain.

"You may have heard of the supposed suicide recently," you say. They both nod, Sherlock sitting on a sofa positioned in front of you. "That was my brother, and it wasn't suicide."

"Pretty boring case if you ask me," Sherlock mutters. John barely has time to glare at him before you explode.

"You listen here, Sherlock Holmes. I realize you can't exactly be bothered to pay attention to anybody other than yourself - probably because you can't see them over your inflated ego - but my brother is dead and nobody will listen to me. They told me I just didn't want to believe he would do such a thing, but I know for a fact it was murder." You'd walked towards him as you yelled, looking down at him as he sat rigid on the couch.

John's eyes are wide. Sherlock has the decency to shrink back into the sofa a little.

"If you've already solved it," he asks cautiously, "why do you need me?"

You sigh, "I can't figure who did it - because I don't exactly have the resources - and no matter what I tell people, they continually tell me it was just a suicide and nothing more."

"You're positive it wasn't?" John asks.

You nod. Sherlock considers this for a second, then sighs. "Come on, Watson. We've got a body to look at." He turns to you, "Give us a name, then go home and wait for us to figure this out. Shouldn't take long."

"I'm going with you," you argue, "Like I said - this is about my brother. And I know more than you do at this particular point, despite what you'd rather believe." He considers this and sighs, then you all three leave to solve the case.

He hates to admit it, but he was rather impressed as you went about solving your brother's murder. You certainly know what you're talking about. John even said that you're nearly as good as Sherlock.

Once the case is solved and the murderer is arrested, you go back to 221B.

"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," you greet her. She smiles and lets you inside, informing you that Sherlock is where he always is - the lounge.

You softly knock on the door and he answers. His brows furrow, "Y/N?"

"Hi," you say. He steps aside, letting you in. "Hello, John," you greet him. He smiles at you as you sit on their sofa.

"Is everything alright? Have you come with another case?" Sherlock asks, as if he doesn't already know.

You shake your head. "No, no case. Everything is fine - more or less. I just wanted to thank you -" you look at John "- both of you."

"You could've just called," Sherlock replies.

"I didn't feel like that was enough. You helped me solve my brother's murder; I'm extremely grateful."

John shrugs. "It wasn't any trouble."

"I know," you say, "but it means a lot - the fact that you helped."

Sherlock sighs. "I almost didn't."

"But you did," you argue. There's a flash of a smile across his lips, and then it's gone.

"I'll leave you to it," John says, removing himself from the room. You laugh as Sherlock half-heartedly glares at John, then rolls his eyes and sits in his chair.

"How have you been?" Sherlock asks, again, as if he doesn't know. In response, your head tilts slightly to the side in confusion. "You seemed... troubled when we first met. By many things," he elaborates.

You shrug. "It's been a rather weird month."

"I'd assume so."

For a moment, you sit in silence. Then, you speak. "Sherlock, do you have a brother?"

"Yes. Though I'm not exactly thrilled about that."

"If... If something were to... happen to him... what would you do?"

He thinks for a moment. "I honestly don't know. Probably assume he'd faked his death. I guess I'd be... a little sad."

"Really? Faked his death?"

"Mycroft is... well, my brother."

"Fellow genius?"

"Not as genius as me, not by a long shot."

You laugh, then sigh. "I wish my brother would've faked his death."

"Trust me, you probably don't. The last time I did that, John punched me. Multiple times. In various public settings."

"He was happy to see you though, wasn't he?" you ask.

Sherlock shrugs, then rises from his chair and sits down next to you, "I suppose so. After he got over his anger, at least."

"I honestly don't know what I'd do if I were him... probably kill you myself," you say.

He chuckles. "John wanted to."

"How does one fake their death?"

"A great genius never reveals his secrets."

"Huh."

"You're not so bad yourself, you know."

You sit up fully, having been leaning back on the couch. "What?"

"John said you were almost as good as me during the investigation. I'd say I kind of agree with him."

"I'm flattered," you laugh.

////

A few months later, you slide your key into the lock of 221B Baker Street. "Yo," you say in way of greeting, walking directly into the lounge. You look over at the yellow smiley face on the wall, then turn to Sherlock, who's laying face down on the floor.

"He needs a case," John says. You nudge Sherlock's side with your foot, trying to roll him over. He groans.

"Fine," you say, "I guess you don't want to take this case I've just been given." He jumps up, his attention fully on you.

After your brother's murder, you starting helping Sherlock with cases. You're even considering moving into the vacant apartment beside theirs. You're at 221B so much, you have your own key.

"You're like Dean Winchester and pie," you tell him.

He cocks an eyebrow, "Who's Dean Winchester?"

"That had to be one of the things you don't know?"

"Yes. Now, on with the case."