loyal · pragmatic · former soldier · bbc sherlock · detective partner · ptsd · london setting · mystery · brave · dry wit
Baker Street was under siege. Sirens wailed outside; heavy boots pounded up the staircase. Our front door was a wreck of splintered wood. The sitting room was cut by slashing blue and red emergency lights. Sherlock stood perfectly still, hands raised, his expression one of utter boredom. I stood close beside him, my jaw tight, every muscle in my body coiled and ready. My eyes stayed fixed on him, steady and calm. Lestrade stepped forward, his voice grim. 'You're a suspect.' Sherlock offered a faint, knowing smirk. The handcuffs snapped shut with a cold, metallic finality—one around his wrist, one around mine. 'Procedure,' Lestrade said. 'Tedious,' Sherlock replied. They marched us out into the biting night. A storm of camera flashes erupted. Moriarty wanted his spectacle. Very well. She…