Sherlock Imagine - Blog Posts

Cutting it close

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: A new case leads you and Sherlock to investigate an 'abandoned' track on the London underground.

Word Count: 1,685

Warnings: none

a/n: just a little scenario I had in my head whilst rewatching the show :)

“This seems like a really bad idea,” you said with hesitancy. It was a phrase you found yourself often saying. Being in situations that were both morally and legally questionable was something you'd grown well accustomed to since taking up the adventure of being Sherlock Holmes' partner.

But even this was above what you were used to.

The tunnel was dark and a damp, musty smell hung so thickly in the air you could taste it in the back of your throat. The London underground was a prime destination during cases; although you were usually in a train, not scouring the tracks for clues.

“No trains have run on this track in years. It's perfectly safe.” Sherlock's answer was brief as he leapt down onto the tracks, standing between two rods of metal. You watched on with apprehension.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he didn't have to. In an odd, instinctual sort of way he simply knew you'd follow him. It was a mark of the undying loyalty you had towards him, and him you, that still succeed in making Sherlock's head spin. He was yet to grow used to having someone trust him so wholly.

You spared a glance down both ends of the tunnel before, with a sigh, following suit. Sherlock tossed you a flashlight, and you kept it trained at the ground before you so that you didn't trip as you walked.

Bottles littered the ground between the tracks and large, colourful slogans of graffiti-covered almost every inch of the wall. You questioned who in their right mind would willingly venture to such a place before you reminded yourself that you were in fact one of said people.

A rat scurried across your feet as it crossed the tracks.

“You know, when you said you had something planned for tonight I was thinking more along the lines of a booked table at a restaurant, or the cinema, maybe tickets to the theatre.”

“When have you ever known me to be so dull.” There was a smile in Sherlock's voice. And despite what the part of your brain still tuned into normality may have been telling you, you were honestly quite glad this was how you were spending your Friday evening. Life with Sherlock was nothing if not excitingly unpredictable.

As you both continued to venture down the track, the true enormity of the underground began to set in. It was a hidden warren of long and winding tunnels right beneath the bustling city above. It would be easy to hide just about anything down there, like throwing a needle into a haystack.

Which was precisely what Sherlock believed his current suspect to be doing. A rouge banker stealing millions of sterling and hiding his hoard in the unused tunnels of the underground like some sort of criminally inclined dragon.

Although Sherlock's theory was completely plausible, the further you progressed into the tunnel the more you doubted anyone would ever set foot there willingly.

As you passed a segment of graffiti of a very interesting depiction of a certain politician, your shoe chipped a small peddle and you heard a faint buzz as it met the track. You stopped.

Failing to notice how Sherlock continued on in front of you, you eyed the track suspiciously. You reached out your hand and placed it beside the rail, panic striking when you felt the stinging buzz of electricity kiss your skin.

“Sherlock, I thought you said this tunnel was abandoned.”

“It is, hasn't been used since the eighties.” Sherlock's response was nonchalant but the anxiety that tinged your tone caused him to stop and turn to you. “Why?”

“The track is live.”

Sherlock's brows creased as his gaze shifted between you and the rail. His lips parted to contradict you, his hours of research making him confident in his knowledge that the tunnel was no longer active.

A sudden, ear-splitting blare sounded from the opposite end of the tunnel before he got the chance. The tracks began to shake violently beside you and the squealing of fast-moving wheels against metal resounded off the walls. You clambered to your feet just as two blinding headlights came into view.

Despite the fear that engulfed you, the first almost instinctual thing you felt compelled to do was to scold Sherlock for mistaking the clearly in use tunnel for being abandoned. But you swallowed your pride.

The train's horn sounded again and you only barely heard Sherlock's command to run.

The wide gaps in the tracks, as well as the rails on either side of you, each coursing with hundreds of volts of electricity, made running no easy task. But the sound of the fast-approaching train spurred you on.

It was steadily growing closer, evident by the nearing sound of its wheels biting into the rails and the growing form of its headlights on the wall in front of you. You began to stumble and lose your footing as you ran and Sherlock wasted no time in grabbing hold of you and pushing you in front of him. He yelled something over your shoulder but the sound of the train swallowed up his words before they could reach you.

As the adrenaline began to fizzle out, you felt your vision blur. Although you didn't dare to spare a glance back, you were certain the train was seconds away. Part of you was still holding out for Sherlock to put a miraculous plan into action and save the day, just as he always did. But even Sherlock Holmes couldn't outrun a speeding train.

Your legs were growing weary, the muscles burning and threatening to give way. You could feel yourself slowing down despite how much you willed your body to keep moving. You hoped that maybe the driver had noticed you both, that he'd slammed on the breaks and that the giant hunk of steel and metal would grind to a halt before it reached you. However, the train did not slow.

The horn blared one last time and knowing the chase was over, you screwed your eyes shut.

You felt it slam into your back and you couldn't help but focus on how surprisingly soft it was for the impact of a train. A tight, secure band wrapped around your waist and just as fear gave way to confusion you were yanked off the tracks.

Sherlock had acted fast, and with not a moment to waste. He pulled you from the train's path and stuffed you into the tight alcove carved into the tunnel's wall. Sherlock was suddenly very glad he'd taken the time to memorize all the small refuges carved into the sides of the London underground's tunnels for maintenance workers.

You were pressed flush against Sherlock, his chest cushioning your front whilst the chipped bricks of the wall bit into your back. His arms engulfed you and moments later the train sped past. The side of the locomotive was mere inches from your face, a coloured blur kicking up dust and rocks as it went. The space was so dismal that one wrongly placed step to the left would land you back in its path.

The trains speed was so great you could feel the rhythmatic click of the wheels on the tracks echo in your chest.

Sherlock's hold on you was iron, his arms remaining around you as if he feared the strength of the train would sweep you out of his hold. Your hands, which had been pressed up against his chest in the haste, grabbed fistfuls of his coat. You clung to him like a young child to its mother and Sherlock to you like ivy to oak.

You kept your eyes shut. And after what felt like an eternity the last carriage passed. The tracks stilled as the train drew further away and the buzzing of electric currents soon died down.

You both stayed as you were. Your breaths came hard and fast and you gulped in air in hopes of sating the burning in your lungs. You didn't realize you were still holding onto Sherlock until he lifted his head from where he'd buried into your shoulder.

His hands loosened against your back but didn't fall away entirely. You both stood there like fools, clinging to each other until–

“I could have sworn it said this tunnel was abandoned.”

“Sherlock.” You breathed his name as a warning and he took the hint, promptly shutting up.

Your fingers, still trembling, unfurled from Sherlock's coat. You let your head fall against the wall as your breathing evened out. Although your heart continued to beat like a drum in your ears. Sherlock's hands remained on either side of your head, pressed firmly to the red bricks as he tried to steady his weak knees.

You both stood chest to chest, his eyes cloaked by the tunnel's heavy darkness and his breath warm against your cheek. Then you both started to laugh.

The utter ridiculousness of the situation merged with the adrenaline from having outrun a train left your chest feeling light. Despite standing in the London underground, surrounded by grime and dirt, you felt somewhat content next to Holmes, as if standing by his side, inches from disaster, was where you were meant to be.

A tender smile had settled on Sherlock's lips and he watched you softly as if he wanted to say something. But whatever it is he wanted to tell you, he decided against it. Perhaps because he felt you already knew.

He adjusted his coat before stepping back onto the track, now mindful of the live rails. Then he offered you his hand.

You would have been surprised by the chivalry if it weren't for the fact that Sherlock was very gentlemanly when he wanted to be.

“We should hurry. Unless we want to catch the next train,” he somewhat joked. His voice was slightly hoarse from the strenuous running. He waited till you were by his side and then, much to your delight, tightened his gloved hand around your own.

“You must admit, darling,” he said, voice light with humour. “This is far more interesting than the theatre.”

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𝐅𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Sherlock and Y/N have always teased each other relentlessly, claiming one was fixated on the other. One day while on a case, they realize that their banter holds a ring of truth. Fluff!!!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: Anonymous

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“Sherlock, its my day off. Explain to me what I’m doing at Barts.” Lestrade checked his watch and sighed. “I’ve already missed the game’s first half! This had better be good.”

Sherlock sat hunched over his microscope. “It’s important,” he said, eyeing his work. “It’s about your bank robbery, actually. There were palm prints left behind that can be traced back to the suspects.”

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