Prompts #5, #8, #12, #13, #27, and #40
Requested by @adefectivedetective

Idoot helped DJ_Tatortot

Thanks to @Shamefanfics for all the votes!

Summary: You've known Sherlock since college, and you've been solving cases with him and John for quite some time now. This often gets you into trouble...

QOTP: What's your favorite type of pie?

Word Count: 2943

"So, my foot's totally stuck in there, right? I'm freaking out, the dog's having a seizure, and I still got half a pie left," you say, telling John another story about your time in college with Sherlock.

This one is about the time you were dog sitting for a friend and got your foot stuck in between a cabinet and the wall, going to retrieve the dog's seizure medicine, which you dropped. Sherlock's mum had made you a pie for your birthday the day before, and you were eating it when you remembered to give the dog its medicine. You had to call Sherlock to come get you out of it.

You love telling these stories and John loves hearing them. Sherlock hates doing both.

"Do you have to tell everyone that story?" he complains, reading the newspaper in his chair.

"Yes," you argue. "I haven't even gotten to the part where the dog bit you yet."

John snorts. "Seriously?"

"Yes! His mum freaked when she heard about it. Made him get tested for rabies."

"Oh, yes, that's hilarious, ha ha," Sherlock deadpans, getting up from his chair and going to the kitchen.

He woke up about fifteen minutes ago. You and John have been up for a while and have already had breakfast.

You don't have a case today, but John has work, so he's saved from boredom.

He leaves about ten minutes later, leaving you with an annoying, grumpy Sherlock, who's munching on biscuits. You're laying back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Boredom has already set in. It's only been five minutes, but it feels like twenty.

"Do you ever think there's something more to life than napping and an otherwise perpetual state of wanting to take a nap?" you ask out of the blue.

There's a few seconds of silence before Sherlock answers languidly. "No."

"Me either." He only grunts in response, and you sigh and look over at him. "I want to take a nap, but I'm not tired."

He's still staring ahead, half a biscuit in his mouth. "I'm bored."

"Me, too."

There's another pause that lasts a few minutes, then he sighs deeply. "You know what my current mood is? Macbeth."

Your brows furrow and you sit up slightly, looking at him. "Explain."

"Filled with self-doubt. And regret. But also overconfidence in the prophesy that supposedly assured that nothing could go wrong for him. Also getting chased off stage and then decapitated seems particularly relatable."

"You really are bored, aren't you?"

"Terribly."

It goes silent again and you eventually end up falling asleep. When you wake up, your stomach grumbles and you check your watch. It's nearly lunch time. You sigh and stand, looking over at Sherlock. He's in his mind palace. "Well, Rabies Boy, I'm gonna run down to Speedy's for a sandwich. Not that you can hear me right now."

You slip on your shoes and head out the door and down the stairs, expecting to be walking back up them in about ten to fifteen minutes.

You were wrong.

////

"Excuse me, could you help with me this?" someone asks. You've just walked out of Speedy's, sandwich bag in hand, when you hear it. A man is standing on the sidewalk, trying to hold three boxes at once. The one on top starts to fall. You run over, shoving your bag back to hang around your wrist, and grab the box before it can hit the ground. You can't see his face behind the other two boxes. "Thank you!"

"Where are you taking these to?"

"My car," he says. "It's parked just over here."

You follow him and reach the car quickly, though it's around the corner, hidden from pedestrian view.

He sets his boxes on the ground, his back to you, unlocks the car, and opens the door to the backseat. "If you could just put that box in here, please." You put the box in the backseat as he picks up the other two, hiding his face again. "Thank you so much."

"It's no problem."

He puts the boxes in the car. "Here, let me repay you. I've got some money-"

You start to leave. "Oh, I don't need-"

"Oh, no, I insist. Hold on!"

He reaches into his pocket, seemingly for a wallet, then turns toward you, a syringe in his hand instead of a wallet. You heart stops and you start to back away, then turn to run, but he grabs your arm with one hand and drugs you with the other.

You feel the prick of the needle and know it's over.

////

Sherlock comes out of his mind palace to find you gone. He checks the time. It's three o'clock; you could've gone out for lunch a few hours ago, but would you really be gone this long? He grabs his phone from the table and calls you.

No answer.

He calls you again.

No answer.

So, he pockets his phone and gets up, heading downstairs to your flat - 221C - and knocks on the door.

No answer.

He grabs your spare key (he knows where you hide it) and unlocks your door. "Y/N?"

He checks the whole apartment.

You're not there.

"Mrs. Hudson?!" The woman, who's babysitting Rosie for John, opens the door to her flat, startled and worried by Sherlock's tone. She doesn't have time to say anything. "Have you seen Y/N?"

Mrs. Hudson shrugs. "No, dear, I'm afraid I haven't. I thought I heard someone head out the door earlier. I thought you'd found a case."

"How long ago?"

"I don't know. Maybe two hours?" She can tell he's getting worried. "Oh, calm down, Sherlock. I'm sure she just went to get lunch or something."

Sherlock shakes his head a little. "No... No, something's wrong. She isn't answering her phone." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and walks out the door, looking down the sidewalk in either direction as he dials John.

John doesn't answer.

Sherlock groans and heads inside Speedy's - you often go there for lunch - cutting the line to ask the cashier if he's seen you. He pulls up a picture you took of you two on his phone: Sherlock begrudgingly fake-smiling as you lean your head on his shoulder, grinning and taking the picture.

The cashier says you were in here around two hours ago. That's all he knows.

He goes back out to the sidewalk and tries John again. No answer.

Where could you have gone?

He starts to try your phone again when John calls him.

"Wha-?"

"John, Y/N is missing," Sherlock says, not even bothering to hide the worry in his voice.

John blanches at this. "Missing? What do you mean missing?"

"She left the flat two hours ago to get lunch from Speedy's and she never came back. She's not answering her phone, she's not in her flat. She's gone, John."

John takes a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. Calm down. I'm on my way right now. We're gonna find her."

////

"Oh, brother dear, what a pleasant surprise," Mycroft says when he answers the phone. Sherlock never calls him, so it must be because he needs something. And he's definitely going to tease him for it.

"Mycroft, I don't have time for this. Y/N is missing. Do you know anything?" The urgency and worry in his little brother's voice stuns Mycroft for a few seconds.

"Y/N is missing?" he asks.

"She went to Speedy's two hours ago and never came back. And she's not answering her phone."

Little does Sherlock know, Mycroft gets people on it immediately, but plays it off on the phone. "Well, you always had a soft-spot for her, didn't you, Sherlock?"

"Yes," Sherlock says, stunning Mycroft even further, "so please help me find her."

"Al-Alright. I've got people on it now."

////

"What do we know?" John asks, running out of the cab and up to Sherlock, who's still on the sidewalk. He got back to the flat as fast as he could - ten minutes.

"Mycroft's looking for her now. I'm waiting for-" His phone rings and he answers it immediately. "What have you found?"

There's a pause as the person on the other end answers - John assumes it's Mycroft.

"Right?"

Another pause.

"Keep looking for more - whatever you can find."

Sherlock hangs up and takes off down the sidewalk, leaving John to follow. They turn the corner and find a small, empty car park. It's a dead zone - no camera, out of sight from the busiest part of the sidewalk. There's something glinting on the ground.

A syringe.

////

Everything's fuzzy. Everything hurts. And it's all blending together.

A large blob of white mixes with a deep red at the bottom. There's other colors on the red, too; dark gray, black, tan. A flash of white - brighter than the larger blob above it.

You hear something. Laughter?

It's sinister, but subtly. It's familiar. It makes your heart skip in fear.

"Aw, look who's waking up." It's taunting and it sounds like it's being spoken to you through water. The colors on the red move and start to come together in a shape you recognize.

A person.

A person sitting on a red couch.

The couch is pushed against a cream-colored wall.

The person is James Moriarty.

////

"Are you sure we're dealing with Moriarty?" Mycroft asks, worried by Sherlock's current, frantic state.

"Yes," he says, pacing through the office. "Who else would kidnap her? He's using her to get to me; he's too smart to leave evidence at a crime scene. Molly tested that syringe - he knocked her out. He took her somewhere, and we need to figure out where and exactly what he wants so we can save her."

"We will," John says.

"I've got people looking right now," Mycroft adds.

Sherlock stops and looks at his brother. "Well, look harder."

////

"Have a nice beauty sleep? You definitely needed it," Moriarty says, stage-whispering the last part. You're in too much pain to reply right now, and he continues too quickly. "I don't know what Sherlock sees in you."

"A decent human being that doesn't kill innocent people for sport," you deadpan, wincing at the pain in your head. Your wrists and ankles hurt, too; they're tied, probably to the uncomfortable folding chair you're sitting on.

Moriarty laughs, laying back down on the dark red couch, arms crossed behind his head. "Oh, I've missed that sass. Maybe that's what he sees in you. John, on other hand, I've no idea."

"He's a decent human being that doesn't kill innocent people for sport," you reply. "We've been over this."

"We've been over this," he mimics. "Ugh, you're gonna get annoying fast. Let's just hope Sherlock finds you before you end up dead because of your mouth. Though, you're not what I'm after, anyway..."

You don't heed the warning. "He's not stupid, you know; he's going to figure out it's you. He'll figure out it's a trap."

"Oh, I know he will. That doesn't mean he won't come; he'd do anything for you."

You snort and reply sarcastically, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were such an expert."

"I am," Moriarty says, somehow keeping his rage in check. "He's in love with you. It's obvious."

You actually laugh, causing your head to hurt worse in the process. "Man, faking your own death really put a damper on those brain cells, didn't it, James?"

"Your lack of intelligence really makes me question why he's in love with you."

"Well, you're in luck; I've got an answer for you! He's not."

He shakes his head slowly. "You have no idea."

////

"Drive faster!" Sherlock shouts over the wailing sirens of the five police cars speeding down the road. Mycroft's people managed to track the car Moriarty put you in through security cameras to a posh hotel a little over half an hour away. (There was a camera positioned just at the entrance to the car park.)

"I'm going as fast as I can, Sherlock!" Lestrade shouts from the driver's seat. Sherlock's riding shotgun, leaving John in the back.

Sherlock groans in response, his knee bouncing as he looks out the window, hoping you're still okay.

John tries to help calm him down. "Sherlock, you said it yourself: Moriarty took her to get to you. He won't kill her; he needs her alive."

Sherlock doesn't reply, just stares out the window at the rapidly passing scenery around them.

////

"If you don't stop singing, I'm going to get out of this chair and punch you in the mouth," you threaten, causing Moriarty to laugh.

"Oh, come on, Y/N, you don't love the Beegees?"

"You're not the Beegees. You're the annoying, stupid guy that kidnapped me before I could eat my sandwich - what happened to it, by the way? I'm still hungry."

"I ate it."

"If I didn't hate you with a burning passion before, I do now."

"It wasn't even that-"

There's a loud crack and a slam, almost at the same time. "Y/N?!"

You perk up, trying to turn and look at the doorway behind you. Moriarty smiles - it's gleeful and scary at the same time. "Sherlock. Didn't expect to see you here."

"Let her go, Moriarty!" Sherlock shouts angrily.

You hear guns cocking and Moriarty puts up his hands. "Now, Sherlock, do you really wanna do that?" He looks over at you pointedly and you look down, spotting a red dot on your chest.

Great.

Moriarty smiles wider and lowers his hands, so you assume whoever's with Sherlock put their guns down. "That's better." You look down at your chest. The dot's still there.

"Let her go, Moriarty," Sherlock says. "I'm here, you got what you wanted. Let her go."

He seemingly thinks for a second. "But what if I don't wanna?"

"What if I don't care?" you shoot back, causing Moriarty to turn to you. "You heard the man. Let me go. I want a sandwich."

"You don't have a say in this," Moriarty shoots back.

"We're kinda talking about me here, so I'd say I kinda do."

"Just let her go," Sherlock pleads.

Moriarty sighs. "I'm kinda tempted to; she's annoying."

"Oh, thanks, I'm so glad you noticed," you say, glancing down at your chest again. At the red dot.

Moriarty practically lunges at you, finally done with your sass, but you kick him away on instinct as Sherlock runs to stop him.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Moriarty shouts. "ALL OF YOU!"

You look down at the red dot, sure that he'll make good on his threat, but the dot's not there anymore.

You hear a gunshot all the same.

Moriarty screams, clutching his leg, then looks at you, as if expecting you to be dead from a gunshot wound to the chest.

Sherlock grabs him, but he manages to get out of his grasp and runs for the door. John and Lestrade chase after him. Sherlock runs to you and unties you as quickly as possible. "Are you alright?"

"My head hurts and I'm hungry. So no." He chuckles halfheartedly and helps you up, half-carrying you out the door. You look over at him. "Where are we going?"

"The ambulance parked out front. Lestrade's got people outside the building; Moriarty won't get away."

////

The people Lestrade had outside the building were the ones who apprehended the sniper. Lestrade caught Moriarty, who's gone to the hospital to have his leg patched up. Officers were sent with him.

You've got a shock blanket wrapped around you and a mothering detective trying to make sure you're 100% okay.

"I'm fine, Sherlock. Chill," you say, grabbing his hands; he's checking over your injuries even though paramedics have already done that.

He blushes, either because you called him out or because you grabbed his hands. Or both. He sighs. "What happened?"

"Well, I woke up from my nap and you were in your mind palace, and I went to get lunch from Speedy's..." You tell him about the boxes and the good deed you tried to do - you know, just you being a good samaritan. You finish your story and huff. "I'm never going to be nice again. Ever. I'm just gonna assume the persona of a cranky old man for the rest of my life. Get off my lawn."

Sherlock chuckles and sits down next to you on the hood of Lestrade's police car, wrapping an arm around you. You lean your head on his shoulder, confused by the sudden display of affection, but enjoying it nonetheless. He kisses your forehead, which causes you to nearly choke, but he doesn't notice. "I was... I was really worried today. I-I didn't know where you were, and it... it scared me more than I care to admit. And it's made me realize something..."

"Yeah?" you say quietly after a pause, head still resting on his shoulder.

He says it quietly, so quietly you wouldn't've heard him if he weren't right next to you. "I think I'm in love with you."

You stop and sit up, causing his hand to move to your shoulder as you look at him. "Wh-What?"

"I think I'm in love with you."

You don't know what to say - you can't say anything. So, you don't.

You kiss him.