hello benedict


There are two types of people

Hello Detective Chapter 57 (Sherlock imagine)

masterlist  Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33   Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38   Part 39   Part 40      Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49  Part 50   Part 51  Part 52   Part 53    Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60

You had finally returned to your flat after a few more fast paced cases with Bass. Most of them in Russia and Europe. You felt like you hadn’t taken a breath since you started. You and Bass had been working together for nearly a year now, and you made surprisingly great partners. You had barely unpacked your bag when you heard your doorbell ring and Bass’ voice over the intercom.

“Y/N, it’s me. Gonna let me up?” He asked.

You sauntered over to the intercom and pressed your finger to the button to reply.

“Should I?” You asked.

“Me ringing the bell is really just a formality. You and I both know I could pick this lock in 5 seconds.” He jokes.

“Yes, well you’ve always been slow. The inconvenience is tempting though.” You joked, finally pressing the buzzer to let him in.

Before he made it up the stairs you took your letters to Sherlock out of your duffel bag you were unpacking and stuffed them into a drawer on your TV stand. You were better. Nearly a year and a half had passed and you were able to say his name now without breaking down. You thought that was progress. Your life just felt empty now, even though you were barely alone.

When you were in London between assignments you had tea with Mrs. Hudson at least once a week. She hadn’t let 221B out, and you couldn’t bear to possibly enter it. You’d met John once for lunch since, and he was clearly still not okay. Compared to him you were doing well. Of course he had no idea what you were doing now, though he did know you had quit your job at Scotland Yard. You tried to keep an eye on him, but you were so busy. You had found out that he was seeing someone now and it was pretty serious. You were happy for him. As for you, not much had changed. You worked. It was the one thing you could do to keep your mind off of him.

Bass walked through the door, and after a snide remark about the state of your flat, he made his way over to the couch.

“You know what we need to do tonight?” He asked, putting his feet up.

“Remove your feet from my coffee table?” You asked, and he huffed and moved them back onto the ground.

“We need to go out tonight. Maybe a pub or something?” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“You’ve got nothing better to do than take a recovering alcoholic to a pub?” You asked.

“Well you don’t have to drink, but I need to.” He whined.

“Fine, but we should go now, I’ve got things to do and I’m not staying out all night with you.” You argued.

“I know just the place.” He stood, grabbed his coat, and lead you outside. You both hopped in a cab and headed to the pub. You were okay being around alcohol, and you would probably be okay drinking it. It just brings you back to a bad time in your life, one that you don’t want to remember or repeat.

“No, no, no a blonde drug smuggler who was exposed by an abbot with unusual powers of observation and deduction.” You heard as you entered through the door of the pub, Bass behind you.

“A blonde woman hiding amongst bald monks, that wouldn’t exactly take Sherlock Holmes.” You heard another voice return and quickly whipped around.

“Y/N?” Anderson asked, and your eyes grew wide in surprise.

“Anderson? Greg?” You asked, surprised to see them both here.

“God, how’ve you been?” Greg asked, hugging you.

“Busy.” You smiled, Charles now standing next to you.

“Who’s this?” Anderson asked politely. He had really let himself go: overgrown hair, beard, frumpy sweater. He must have gone downhill after he was fired from the Yard.

“Charles Bass. Friend of Y/N.” He smiled, shaking their hands.

“Colleague.” You corrected him.

“It’s been nearly a year, I think we can be considered friends now.” He joked, and you smiled to him.

“Charles this is my old boss Greg Lestrade, and an old colleague Phillip Anderson.” You formally introduced them.

“So you’re doing well. New job and all. What exactly do you do?” Greg asked.

“We kill people for money.” Charles said casually, and you laughed, panicking inside.

“He’s joking, of course. We work at the Natural History Museum. I run tours and we work on restorations and curations.” You smiled and lied.

“That sounds interesting, I didn’t know you were interested in that kinda stuff.” Greg smiled politely.

“Lifelong passion of mine.” You smiled, looking down to the table and the map Anderson had been showing Lestrade.

“What’s this?” You asked more seriously now. You heard the conversation as you were entering, you knew exactly what this was about. They both stared at you, almost afraid to talk.

“Phillip, he’s dead. Trust me, I wish he wasn’t. Don’t you think of all people I’d know if he wasn’t.” You said, looking to Anderson who seemed unconvinced.

“Well then how do you explain this?” He flipped the map. “Signing number 2, The Incident in New Delhi.”

“You haven’t been titling these, have you?” You asked, slightly concerned for Anderson’s mental health.

He then continued to explain how their police inspector had solved a case by measuring the depth of which a chocolate flake had fallen through an ice cream cone. Which in all honesty sounded ridiculous and made up.

“Clever man, Inspector Rajesh.” Greg said, and Anderson scoffed.

“What police inspector could have made that deduction.” He argued, and you and Charles had pulled up a chair.

“Well thank you.” Greg said sarcastically.

“You know how Sherlock never took the credit when he solved all of your cases.” Anderson began.

“He didn’t solve all of my cases,” Greg said defensively.

“He’s out there, he’s hiding, but he can’t stop himself from getting involved. It’s so obviously him, if you know how to spot the signs.” Anderson rambled, and you shook your head in disbelief. If Sherlock was out there, solving inconsequential cases out in the world, he would have told you, but none of that mattered. You don’t jump off a building and live.

“Klein Brothers, the Tower House thing.” Lestrade began listing cases he had solved on his own, or with moderately little help from you.

“The Kensington Ripper.” You helped, adding another.

“You got Tower House wrong.” Anderson stated and Lestrade argued while he flipped the map again.

“Sighting 3 The Mysterious Juror.” Anderson said, and Greg banged his head on the table.

“I’m gonna need a drink.” Charles said, standing to head to the bar.

“Make that two.” You rolled your eyes. What had happened to Anderson? He used to hate Sherlock, now he’s obsessed with him.

You tuned out of this story but according to Anderson, Sherlock swayed some murder trial in Copenhagen. Because obviously in his free time, when he’s not being dead, he’s on jury duty.

“It had to be him! There’s no one else it can be, don’t you see?” Anderson asked as Charles handed you a beer.

“Phillip, I see that you lost a good job fantasizing about a dead man and him coming back to life, and I know why you want that to happen. I want it to happen, but it’s just not gonna.” You said honestly, but something told you he wasn’t going to stop.

Anderson and Greg eventually left and you and Charles now sat at the table by yourselves.

“Has he always been like that?” Charles asked.

“Oh God no. He was an ass and he hated Sherlock. He helped take Sherlock down, planting the doubt in everyone’s mind that he was some sort of killer. Now he’s obsessed. He came and visited me in the hospital and I could tell he felt guilty, but I didn’t know it was this bad.” You answered, you noticed Charles was looking down at his watch.

“Sorry, am I boring you answering your question?” You asked rudely.

“No, I’m seeing if we have time to grab dinner. Hungry?” He asked. You smiled and rolled your eyes. You seemed to be doing that a lot lately when you were around Bass.

“I suppose, but nowhere too nice I’m not dressed for it.” You told him, and he smirked, clearly knowing a place.

The two of you walked down the street, apparently the restaurant was close by or at least walking distance. The two of you chatted before you were interrupted by someone calling your name.

“Sergeant Gregson?” You heard behind you and turned to see Kitty Riley, the reporter from the SUN. You stopped and she ran up to you.

“Sergeant Gregson, I’ve been trying to find you for a while now.” She began and you cut her off.

“Then you’re not a very good investigative journalist. And I don’t work for Scotland Yard anymore so you don’t have to call me Sergeant.” You told her.

“I wanted to apologize. After everything with Sherlock Holmes I tried to find you, but you sort of went off the grid. You quit your job, weren’t in your flat, or the country it seemed-” She said and you cut her off again.

“Is there a point here Kitty?” You sped her along.

“If there’s anything I can ever do for you, I’ll do it.” She said, clearly repentant.

“Clear his name.” You said.

“What?” She asked, shocked.

“Recant your story. Clear his name. Paint Moriarty as the manipulative villain who even got to you and forced Sherlock to his death after smearing his name. He was an innocent detective who saved lives and solved crimes that even the police force couldn’t. I think we owe him at least that.” You said, and Kitty nodded somberly.

You began to walk away and you felt Charles grab your hand. What you didn’t know was that Kitty took a photograph. You also didn’t know that it was going to be published in the SUN tomorrow with the headline ‘Hello Detective: Gregson Returns and Who’s Her New Arm Candy?”.

“Can you believe this? That bitch!” You yelled, throwing the paper down on the coffee table, Charles trying to calm you. He had slept on your couch last night after having a little too much to drink.

“Well think of it this way. Normally women are objectified in these kind of papers, and I’m the arm candy and you’re the smart, powerful lead. I’d take that as a win for the feminist movement.” He said, and you didn’t know whether to slap him or not.

“Like I give a damn about that! I’m an international assassin, I can’t have my face plastered on Page 6 everytime I leave my flat!” You ranted.

She needed to be taken care of. No, you weren’t going to kill her. There were worse things you could do. You had to see Mycroft, he would have this taken care of. You didn’t care if he paid her off or got her fired, but Kitty Riley needed to learn her place. As an undercover government asset, this threatened the safety of not only yourself but of the nation.

You threw on a dress and stepped outside your flat to call a cab to take you to the Diogenes Club when you saw a black car pull up. You rolled your eyes, did he always have to be two steps ahead of you?

“Hello Giles, it’s been an age.” You said, sliding into the car.

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Attending the “Doctor Strange” premiere, and having dinner afterwards with your friend, Benedict Cumberbatch, where you meet Tom. Ben sees the instant click between you, and tells a bunch of impressive stories about his friend, trying to make him look good so you’ll accept to go on a date with him.

Hello Detective Chapter 54 (Sherlock imagine)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33   Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38   Part 39   Part 40      Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49  Part 50   Part 51  Part 52   Part 53    Part 54 Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60

The two of you rode the elevator down to the lab for Q to prep you for your case.

“Ah, hello you must be our new 009!” A man younger than what you expected greeted the two of you once the elevator door opened.

“Yes, Y/N Gregson.” You smiled.

“Before we get down to the details of your next mission, I’ll need you both to roll up your left sleeve. Just a tracking device, needs to be implanted. M insisted on it after Miami.” Q said, looking to Bass.

“He still mad about that?” Bass asked.

“Just need to keep an eye on you.” Q smiled.

“What happened in Miami?” You asked as the tracking device was injected into your arm.

“007 stopped a bomb from destroying a Skyfleet prototype that was being unveiled.” Q answered.

“Why would someone want to destroy it?” You asked.

“When they analyzed the stock market after 9/11, the CIA discovered a massive shorting of airline stocks. When the stocks hit bottom on 9/12 someone made a fortune.” Q explained.

“So the same thing was supposed to happen with Skyfleet stock. I’m guessing that someone lost around 100 million dollars betting the wrong way. Do we know who?” You asked.

“Jesus, M wasn’t lying about you being incredibly quick. We think it’s a man known as Le Chiffre. Banker to the world’s terrorists.” Q said.

“Are we certain it’s him?” You asked.

“Well it would explain how he could set up a high-stakes poker game at Casino Royale in Montenegro. Ten players $10 million buy in, $5 million rebuy. Winner takes all.” Q said.

“Potentially $150 million. So we’ll know where he’ll be. But you don’t want him dead do you? This Le Chiffre sounds like he doesn’t have $100 million to lose.” You said.

“Has he been playing the stock market with his clients’ funds?” Bass asked, knowing the answer.

“We can’t let him win this game. If he loses, he’ll have nowhere to run. We’ll give him sanctuary in return for everything he knows. We’re putting you in the game Bass, replacing someone who was playing for a syndicate.” Q explained.

“And am I just a tag along?” You asked.

“You’re to keep him out of trouble, learn the ropes, and work as a team.” Q explained, much to Bass’ displeased look.

The two of you were on a train to Montenegro.

“Where exactly is the money coming from?” You asked.

“The treasury will wire it into my account at Montenegro.” Bass explained.

“I suppose you’ve realized that if you lose, our government will have directly financed terrorism.” You quipped. He smirked but didn’t reply.

“I’ve never played poker.” You confessed. “I suppose it’s just a matter of probability and odds. You play the man across from you, not the cards in your hand. I think I’d quite like the game.”

“You’re good at reading people?” He asked.

“You already know that. You’ve read the blog haven’t you?” You rolled your eyes.

“Riveting stuff. Though it’s abnormal for a police officer to upgrade to a double-0, you must have connections. Friends in high places.” He said, waiting for you to confirm his suspicions.

“I’ve gotten to where I am because I’m good at what I do. Much like you. It doesn’t matter where you come from.” You said defensively.

“I knew I liked you.” He smirked.

“Really? That’s surprising since you consider women disposable pleasures instead of meaningful pursuits. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side Mr. Bass, and I hate losing.” You said. “Your charm may work on every other woman in this planet, but it won’t work on me.”

He only smirked and nodded, he loved a challenge. He didn’t know how truly broken you were, and that no one alive could fix you.

Your train arrived in Montenegro and a car was waiting to take the two of you to the hotel. A contact slipped Charles an envelop before he joined you in the cab. You raised your eyebrow as he opened in on the drive.

“It’s just last-minute details.” He said, while reading it. “Apparently we’re very much in love.”

“Do you usually leave it to porters to tell you this sort of thing?” You joked.

“Only when the romance has been necessarily brief. I’m Mr. Arlington Beech, professional gambler, and you’re Ms. Stephanie Broadchester.” He said casually, hiding a smirk.

“I am not.” You argued, while trying to grab the papers out of his hand.

“You’re gonna have to trust me on this. We’ve been involved for quite a while, hence the shared suite.” He smirked.

“But my family is strict Roman Catholic, so for appearances’ sake it’ll be a two-bedroom suite.” You smirked back, two can play this game.

“I do hate it when religion comes between us.” He smiled.

“Religion and a securely locked door. Am I going to have a problem with you, Bass?” You asked.

“No, don’t worry. You’re not my type.” He answered honestly.

“Smart?” You asked.

“Single.” He answered, looking out the window as the car arrived at the hotel.

The two of you exited the car and approached the reception desk to check in.

“Welcome to the Hotel Splendid. Your name, sir?” The receptionist from the five-star hotel asked.

“Charles Bass. You’ll find the reservation under Beech.” He spoke, arrogantly blowing your cover instantly. Had he no respect for protocol or espionage?

You stormed off the to elevator, leaving him to check in.

“Very funny.” You said, “No wonder M thinks you need a babysitter.”

“Look, if Le Chiffre is that well-connected, he knows who I am and where the money’s coming from. Which means he’s decided to play me anyway. So he’s either desperate or he’s overly confident, but either way, that tells me something about him. And all he gets in return is a name he already has.” Bass argued.

“And now he knows something about you. He know’s you’re reckless.” You spoke as the elevator opened and you entered, quickly hitting the close door button before your partner could enter. “Take the next one. There isn’t enough room for me and your ego.”

That afternoon the two of you met with your Treasury contact, Rene Mathis, for lunch. He was an older man with greying hair and a smooth accent. He informed you and Bass that Le Chiffre had arrived yesterday, and spend the time re-establishing old relationships.

“The chief of police and he are now quite close.” Mathis said. “He’s the one with the mustache over my left shoulder.”

You and Bass both focused your eyes on the man with two woman at his lunch table.

“That could make life difficult.” You said.

“And quite possibly shorter. He’s not a very subtle man. I thought about trying to buy his services, but we frankly couldn’t afford to outbid Le Chiffre.” He replied, and suddenly three police cars surrounded the outdoor patio and you raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“So I decided it was cheaper to supply his deputy with evidence that we were bribing the chief. It’s amazing what you can do with photoshop these days. I think your odds are improving, Mr. Bass.” He said as the police chief was arrested.

Back at the hotel you were in the washroom getting ready in a silk robe when Bass knocked on the door. He entered with a long gown on a hanger and hung it on the back of the door.

“Something you expect me to wear?” You asked.

“I need you looking fabulous. So that when you walk up behind me and kiss me on the neck, the players across from me will be thinking about your neckline and not about their cards. Do you think you can do that for me?” Charles asked.

“I’ll do my best.” You smirked smugly. He exited the room before quickly returning holding up the dinner jacket you had gotten him.

“I have a dinner jacket.” He argued.

“There are dinner jackets, and dinner jackets. This is the latter. And I need you looking like a man who belongs at that table.” You said, returning to applying some mascara.

“How the f–” He stopped himself. “It’s tailored.”

“I sized you up the moment we met. Don’t look so surprised, I told you I’m good at what I do.” You said, and he left the room. Your smile faded and a memory of Sherlock flooded your mind. You missed being constantly outsmarted by him, it was exhausting being the smartest one the in the room with no one to talk to. Alone in the sky with no way to land, and the only man you could save you was dead.


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Next chapter will be posted Thursday!

  • Every Shadowhunter who has met Will: There is no such thing as demon pox, Will!
  • Will: *motions wildly with hands for someone to enter*
  • Benedict (the worm): Hello
  • Benedict: it's me
  • Gabriel: For the love of
Hello Detective Chapter 59


Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33   Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38   Part 39   Part 40      Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49  Part 50   Part 51  Part 52   Part 53    Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58  Part 59 Part 60

You woke up the next morning to your alarm at 4:30. You sighed and rolled over and saw Sherlock still asleep. He was here. He was real. Part of you thought you had dreamt the whole thing. But now you had to get him home.

You were still angry, but punching him would only make you feel better for a moment. Each time you think you’ve forgiven him, you’re taken back to every painful moment you had experienced over the last two years. You thought of how much easier things would have been if you would have just known. Even if he wasn’t there, you would have known he was somewhere out there. Not thinking he was dead.

“You’re staring, Y/N.” His voice woke you from your trance.

“Sorry… I just… Thought maybe it was all a dream.” You muttered and crawled out of the bed to go make some food. Just because you were mad at him doesn’t mean you were going to let him starve.

Your journey back to London was long. Luckily you were receiving directions through your earpiece from Q back at headquarters most of the trip so you didn’t have to talk to Sherlock. What would you say? So.. How was the last two years without me? Oh and by the way when you left I was sort of pregnant with your child. Nope, probably wouldn’t go over well.

You were now sitting in Mycroft’s office brooding. You had trusted him, and he betrayed you. He knew Sherlock was alive, and he was meant to tell you.

Sherlock and Mycroft were chatting about Moriarty’s network  as your eyes drifted to the Times sitting on his desk. You grabbed it and read. Front page, above the fold. You read the article by Kitty Riley, but not the one you expected to see after your conversation with Mycroft before you left.

“After extensive police investigations, Richard Brook did indeed prove to be the creation of James Moriarty. Amidst unprecedented scenes, there was uproar in court as Sherlock Holmes was vindicated and cleared of all suspicion. Sadly, all this comes too late for the detective, who became something of a celebrity two years ago. Questions are now being asked as to why police let matters get so far. Sherlock Holmes fell to his dead from the top of London’s Barts Hospital. Although he left no note, friends say it’s unlikely it would have occurred without the acquittal of James Moriarty and the ensuing public defamation.”

She did what you asked, gaining back your trust. At least someone around here could do as they were asked.

“Have you seen this?” You asked Mycroft.

“Yes, it seems she has trouble following orders.” Mycroft said.

“Maybe just your orders, she did exactly as I told her. Maybe her loyalties lie elsewhere.” You said.

“You told her to write this?” He asked.

“A thank you might be warranted here. I believe it might help now that he’s actually back.” You said, insensitively.

“I’m detecting a note of anger here, Y/N. Care to explain?” He shot back.

“You were supposed to tell me, Mycroft! Not swoop in like a knight in shining armor and console the grieving damsel in distress! I trusted you, Mycroft.” You yelled, putting both of them on edge.

“I had all intentions to, but after learning the state you were in I made a judgement call.” He argued. You knew exactly what he meant by ‘the state you were in’, and he didn’t mean mentally.

“It wasn’t your call to make!” You shot back.

“I was sparing you further pain, we weren’t even certain he was ever coming back. I didn’t want to give you false hope. I thought it would make it easier to move on, and then when you and Charles–” He began and you cut him off.

“Don’t bring Charles into this!” You yelled, you knew he was only doing this to make Sherlock jealous.

“But now things can go back to the way they were.” Mycroft insisted.

“Things can never go back to the way they were Mycroft! Things have changed!” You yelled, storming out of the room.

It was dark outside, nearly midnight. You caught a cab back to your flat. Mrs. Astor was already asleep, but you could still hear her TV running. You quietly trekked up the stairs, hoping not to wake her.

When you entered your flat you saw toys scattered around the floor. You had completely forgotten that you let your brother stay here while you were gone. You pushed open the door slightly to your guest room and saw that they were all asleep. One happy little family. You rolled your eyes. You really were ruined. You spent the last two years convincing yourself that you wouldn’t love ever again, to the point where you believed it. Now he was back, and your heart wanted to jump right back to him, but your head knew better.

You picked up all the toys in the living room and quietly slipped into bed.

Meanwhile Sherlock was still in Mycroft’s office.

“What do you mean ‘the state she was in’?” Sherlock asked after you stormed out.

“She didn’t tell you? I thought you told each other everything.” Mycroft said, slightly angry that Sherlock told you that Mycroft lied.

“She barely said two words to me, Mycroft! She can barely look at me!” Sherlock yelled.

“Oh brother mine, were you really that oblivious? All the signs were there, an amateur could have deduced it. You basically lived with her and you still couldn’t tell.” Mycroft mocked him.

“Tell what!” Sherlock yelled, wanting to know, needing to know.

“She was pregnant Sherlock.” Mycroft shook his head. And Sherlock abruptly shut up. Slowly everything started to click in his might and he mentally beat himself for not realizing it sooner.

“You knew?” Sherlock asked, angrily.

“I urged her not to tell you, I knew it would make it harder for you to leave.” He tried to rationalize it.

Sherlock moved towards the door, he was going to run after you.

“Before you chase after her, we need to talk about the reason we brought you back. I need you to give this matter your full attention.” Mycroft said, and Sherlock sighed and sat back down. He knew it was better to let him finish.

“Who’s Charles?” Sherlock asked before leaving.

“Her partner, 007. They’re very close.” Mycroft said, insinuating something more.

The next morning Sherlock grabbed the paper and noticed your name in the headline. Mycroft hadn’t mentioned anything to him about you leaving MI6. You were now Director-General of the Secret Service and MI5. Things really had changed. He traveled to your flat, only to find you weren’t in it. It was only 8 o’clock, you should have been there. He snooped around the room before finding the drawer in your TV stand.

He was surprised to see his name on all the envelopes. They were handwritten letters. He sat and scanned through all of them.

“My therapist thinks this will help, writing to you, saying the things I wanted to and never did. Yes, I went to a therapist, the same one John uses I think. How ironic.” He read.

“It’s 2:00 AM and I’m still trying to figure out how everything went wrong so fast. Was there something I could have done? If only I had been smarter, if only I had figured out his plan sooner I could have helped you, I could have prevented this from happening.” A tear slipped from his cheek, he should have told you himself. He could have prevented this pain. He moved on to the next letter. The order told a story, a visual representation of your stages of grief. You last letter terrified him.

“All I have left of you are the memories. Memories are the only things that don’t change when everything else does. That’s not the reason I’m writing this though. It’s because I don’t want to remember you anymore. I can’t remember you anymore.  I need to let you go, for good.” He cried, you had moved on.

“Without you I’m not dead, but I’m not alive either. I’m just a ghost with a beating heart.  A heart that is no longer capable of love.” He caused this, and it broke him. His eyes left the tear stained letters to scan the room, landing on a box of toys.

Mycroft had mentioned she was pregnant when he left, he hadn’t even considered that she had the child. Before he could inspect the box the door opened and you entered with a coffee in your hand and a copy of the Times.

You nearly dropped your cup when you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” You yelled. Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the letters scattered across the table. You quickly scooped them up and returned them to their drawer, closing it with a bang.

“Those were personal.” You argued.

“Well they were addressed to me.” He smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. You weren’t as amused. You noticed his eyes were red, had he been crying?

“You were right, I could never understand, but please help me to.” He tried, and the door opened once more.

Your nephew ran in and latched onto your leg. He reached up, wanted to be picked up.

“How’s my favorite little boy! Did daddy take you to the park?” You asked, and he nodded with a big smile across his face. You saw Sherlock stiffen, and you weren’t sure why.

Chuck walked in behind him.

“Daddy!” Henry yelled, bouncing in your arms. Your brother smiled at you, and kissed you on the cheek. Then he realized they weren’t alone in the room.

“Oh, uh hello, I’m Charles.” He smiled and shook Sherlock’s hand. Something was still off about him, and you couldn’t understand what.

“Sherlock.” He introduced himself.

“You’re Sherlock?” Chuck turned to you for confirmation and you just looked to the ground, “Do you have any idea what you put her through? I swear to God I’ll–”

“Charles!” You scolded him, and he calmed down. “Why don’t you give us a minute.”

He went into the guest room, leaving you alone with him.

Sherlock was moving towards the door, clearly uncomfortable and flustered.

“Auntie Y/N friend?” Henry spoke, and Sherlock whipped around.

“That’s right Henry, he’s a friend of auntie Y/N. Now how about you go see daddy for a bit and wait for mommy to come home.” You sent him off after his father.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, and whipped around.

“He’s not…?” He said quietly.

“Not what?” You asked.

“Mine?” He finished.

“You thought… Oh. No, he’s my nephew. Chuck’s been staying here while I was in Serbia. His wife was training with a firm in London. Why would you think he was yours?” You asked.

“Because Mycroft told me that you were pregnant when I left, the age matched and I just…” Sherlock said.

“He told you that?” You asked and he nodded. “Then he failed to mention that I.. I lost the baby.”

“Oh. Y/N I had no idea, I’m sorry.” He said, his voice low. Your head dipped and your hand moved to cover your mouth and you cried. Sherlock held you, and you let him.

“I’m so sorry.” You choked, burying your head into his chest.

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. Never apologize. I should have been here.” He whispered, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

You pulled back and wiped your eyes.

“I want to forgive you Sherlock, I really do. It’s just going to take time.” You said, and he nodded.

“I understand.” He nodded.

“I should go, I have some things I need to take care of. And I think you do to.” You stated.

“I do?” He asked, and you raised an eyebrow.

“John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly… and just a warning John will hit you, possibly a few times.” You said, grabbing your coat on your way out the door.

“One more question–” Sherlock said and you turned around, “Mycroft said Charles was your partner not your brother.”

“Oh ok, well I see how that could be confusing. He was talking about Charles, my partner but he didn’t know that my brother, Chuck was in town.” You explained. “He’s convinced that there was something going on between us, but I swore off relationships. Truth is you ruined me for anyone else.”

You shut the door behind you, hailing a cab. If you were going to be starting a new job, you were going to need a good assistant. Someone who trusted their instincts, who would search for an answer and believed even if no one else did. You wanted someone like that in your corner, and you knew exactly who.


Who do you think she wants as her new assistant?? Comment and I’ll give a shoutout in the next chapter to everyone who gets it right!

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Light My Fire - Benedict x reader

A/N: This was much harder to write than I initially thought it would be… I hope you guys enjoy it though, and don’t hesitate to tell me your thoughts about it. My askbox is your askbox :)
And again, thank you all so much for all the love and the requests you’ve sent my way!

Requested by anonymous: Benedict x reader. The reader is acting on Kingsman. Benedict didn’t know how much of a badass she could be. But she’s a good guy in the film

Word count: 2247
Warnings: mentions of violence and implied smut

Originally posted by cumberbatchlives

Keep reading

I need someone who is okay with ordering pizza at two in the morning

And going to 24 hour breakfast places in the middle of the night bc I’m craving eggs and hashbrowns

And taking me to starbucks ALL DA TIME

—  Goals