Sherlock was busy in the kitchen, experimenting with a head he had kept in the refrigerator for a few days, John was sitting in his chair, laptop in his lap as he blogged about some of their recent cases, and then there was you. You sat cross-legged on the couch as you read a book, Oliver Twist, a classic novel by your favorite author, Charles Dickens. You seemed like a quiet trio of friends, but anyone who knew you better, like Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade or even Mycroft, knew that all three of you were a bomb waiting to go off. Sherlock as the world’s only consulting detective, a perfect career he made up for himself. John was a retired war veteran with a psychosomatic limp. And you were the wayward child; you had never fit in anywhere unless you were with your other half, John. Taking a closer look at you revealed that you were a beautiful lady, same age as John, and you had delicate curves and a soft face. You had sandy blonde hair and a pixie haircut, your eyes a shimmering blue. You were short, but stood right under John’s height. Anyone who saw you both together could tell that you and John were twins.
Back when John had first enlisted into the military, it broke your heart. The two of you had never spent more than a couple days apart. But you both decided that it was time to try something new, so when he enlisted you moved to France. It wasn’t until you received a letter that he was medically discharged that you finally decided to call him. Neither of you spoke during your time apart, though you always thought about one another. You had a sort of twin telepathy that made your sibling bond stronger than anything. John was back in London, he was searching for a flat-mate. You wished him the best of luck, as you had a home and a job in France and couldn’t afford to leave and accompany your twin. You kept in touch and learned that he had found a flat-mate, Sherlock Holmes. He told you all about him, and you read John’s blog. Many months had passed since John and Sherlock moved in together, and you had been planning on moving back to London. Your preparations had been made, and you traveled to London. Your full intent was to surprise John, which you did when you came knocking on the door of 221B.
Sherlock was surprised, he deduced from John that he had two sisters, but he had never realized that he had a twin sister. You moved in with Sherlock and John, and Sherlock found you useful on cases, which was one of the reasons he actually took a liking to you. Everyone you met easily bonded with you, you were a likable personality. You had even been asked out by some of the boys from Scotland Yard; Lestrade and Anderson. When you had told Sherlock about it, he nearly vomited from hearing that Anderson had the nerve to ask you out. Of course, you kindly declined both of them.
Sherlock would never admit it, but he had taken quite a liking to you. You were definitely a female version of John, acting just like him in almost every way. But there were noticeable differences between you, like the fact that John got flustered easily but you always kept your cool and tried to work things out. Both you and John had huge, caring hearts, which Sherlock of course didn’t understand. Mycroft always taught him that caring wasn’t an advantage. You and John were Sherlock’s friends, that was obvious, but he would never vocalize it. But you meant something more to Sherlock than even John.
You set aside your novel when you noticed that Sherlock was now standing in the kitchen doorway, mobile in his hand as he stared down at it blankly.
“What’s wrong, Sherly?” you asked in your sweet, delicate voice. You had given Sherlock this nickname a few weeks after you moved in, you knew he didn’t like it but he would never protest its use unless anyone other than you attempted to call him by it.
Sherlock quickly shoved him mobile back into his pocket, “Nothing.”
Now John looked up from his laptop and glanced over at Sherlock, “Is it something to do with Moriarty?”
Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal. He had run your trio around quite a bit a couple months back in an attempt to stump Sherlock. He was definitely a force to be reckoned with, but he hadn’t been heard from in a while.
Sherlock sighed, turning back around to stare at his experiment in the kitchen.
“Keep your friends close,” Sherlock stated flatly.
“What?” both you and John said in unison, something that wasn’t uncommon for you two to do.
“He told me to keep my friends close.”
“What does that mean?” John asked.
“It’s a threat.”
“How is that a threat?” you asked.
“I don’t know, (F/n),” Sherlock snapped.
You raised your hands up in defense, “Alright, sorry.”
John simply rolled his eyes and went back to typing as you rose up your novel to begin reading again. Sherlock just stared into the kitchen, thinking.
You and John were both out. John had a date and you were going out to pick up groceries. Sherlock was alone, but he had been received more texts from Moriarty.
“Fancy a swim? –JM” read the latest message.
Sherlock knew where to meet Moriarty, the pool. He grabbed a gun before leaving the flat, forgetting his coat.
You had decided to walk to the grocery store instead of taking a cab. The night air as cool and it was nice weather for a walk. You had decided to cut down a couple of alleys to make the trip take a little less time, and you almost there, but then everything went black.
When you woke up, you were inside a cold room, you couldn’t tell where you were but you could hear the slight sound of electric pumps. They sounded like pool filters. Your mind was fuzzy and you couldn’t remember what happened. You stood up to sit on a small bench at the back of the tiny room, there was a door straight in front of you but you figured it was locked. You began rubbing your temples when the door burst open to reveal a man, a man you recognized.
“Hello, sweetheart,” came the cool voice of the one and only, Jim Moriarty.
You gaped at him as a wave of approximately five red dots swarmed your body. He had snipers ready to kill you at any second, so you didn’t dare speak.
He frowned, “Why so quiet, beautiful? The show hasn’t even started yet.”
You just stared at him helplessly, so he spoke up again, “Fine. Just be sure that you’re ready for later. You’ll know when it’s time for your cameo.”
With that, he gave a sly smile and a wink before turning on his heels and walking away. The red targets still planted on your body.
Sherlock had made his way to the pool and was now waiting inside, gun drawn. Moriarty stepped out to reveal himself and Sherlock had the gun aimed straight for his chest.
“Well well well,” Moriarty began. “It’s about time you showed up.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Sherlock stated calmly.
Moriarty smiled, “I could really care less if you killed me, but she might have a different opinion.”
“She?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
Moriarty’s gaze fell to his left as he peered down a short hallway. Moments later you came walking slowly down the hallway, stopping when you were center at the edge of the pool, facing Moriarty. A red dot was on your forehead, heart, stomach, and both legs. Sherlock’s heart dropped into his stomach, but his solid expression did not change. He tightened his grip on his gun.
“Let her go, Moriarty. This is between you and me.”
He chuckled, “I’m going to burn the heart out of you, Sherlock. I know your pressure points, and I always get what I want. You should have listened when I told you to keep your friends close.”
He turned around to leave the building as he called over his shoulder, “We’re alike in more ways than you think, let this be a lesson for you.” Just before he exited, he snapped his fingers and a shot was fired. The red dot that was once on your left thigh was replaced with a bullet as you let out a scream and tumbled into the pool.
“(F/n)!” Sherlock yelled as he threw his gun to the ground and dove into the pool. You had surfaced but you could barely keep yourself above water with one good leg and the other in terrible pain. Sherlock was quick to get to you as he wrapped an arm around you before getting you to the edge of the pool. He climbed out of the water and then pulled you out as well. The spot where the bullet had penetrated your thigh was oozing blood. You pulled off the cardigan sweater you were wearing and shakily handed it to Sherlock.
“Here, tie this as tightly as you can around my leg. It’ll help stop the bleeding for a little while,” you said weakly.
Sherlock took the sweater and quickly tied it as tight as he could manage around your leg, despite your cries and whimpers in pain. He knew he had to get you back to the flat as soon as possible; John would be able to fix you. Sherlock picked you up bridal style and began hurrying back to the flat; he had hailed a cab to take the both of you to Baker Street, paying the cabbie a little extra to stay quiet about the bleeding woman in the back of his cab. During the ride you were slipping in and out of consciousness as your cardigan soaked up blood; you were losing blood fairly quickly. Sherlock watched helplessly as you paled, he reached over to put his arm around you and pull you close to him. He pressed a kiss to your head as the cab pulled up to Baker Street. He was quick to pull you out of the cab and bound up the stare, bursting through the door to the flat. John was back from his date, sitting in his chair when he looked up and saw the both of you. You were both soaked, Sherlock was holding you bridal style, you were pale and had a bloody sweater tied around your leg, and Sherlock looked completely helpless.
“She got shot in leg, John. She needs medical attention immediately.”
John nodded as he ran to find his medical bag as Sherlock laid you down on the couch. Sherlock told John what happened as John removed the sweater and cut away a section of your pants to reveal the bare skin of your leg. John worked quickly and quietly as he focused on saving his twin sister from losing too much more blood. Sherlock was quiet as well, holding your hand as John worked.
When John had removed the bullet, cleaned the wound, stitched it up, and bandaged it, he stood up and let out a deep sigh. He was extremely worried for you, but thankfully his doctor side had taken over to he could work efficiently. He stared down at Sherlock who was still holding your hand and gazing at you. John lifted an eyebrow, but decided that it was okay. He knew Sherlock cared for you, but did Sherlock fancy you too?
“Shut up, John.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking.”
John rolled his eyes before grabbing his laptop and heading to his room, he wanted to stay with his sister, but with Sherlock in there he knew he wasn’t going to be able to anyway. He would check on you in a few hours, despite Sherlock’s attitude.
About half an hour had passed and you finally began waking up. You groaned as you moved to sit up, having to drag your leg with you. You looked around; no one was in the living room. You looked down at your leg; it was bandaged tightly. You realized now that you were still wearing the same wet clothes and you began to shiver slightly.
Sherlock as in the kitchen, as soon as he heard you stir he was back in the living room. He saw you shivering and knew that for now you couldn’t move to change clothes, so he grabbed a blanket to throw over you before sitting on the coffee table to stare at you.
“Thank you,” you mumbled as you looked up at him shyly.
“It’s just a blanket, (F/n).”
You giggled slightly, sometimes Sherlock was so oblivious.
“I mean for saving my life.”
Sherlock just stared into your eyes, “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been there to begin with. I don’t deserve gratitude.”
You sighed, grabbing Sherlock’s arm to pull him closer to you and he complied, moving closer and placing his finger under your chin to force you to look him straight in the eye.
“(F/n) (M/n) Watson, I promise that from now on, I will protect you from harm.”
You rolled your eyes at him, “Sherly, I-“
You were cut off when his lips met yours in a gentle, passionate kiss. He moved his hand to cup your cheek as your hands made their way up to wrap around his neck. Your lips moved together in sync before you both pulled away for air. Sherlock rested his forehead on yours as he gazed into your eyes and whispered.