You and Sherlock || young sherlock · Y/n story by @lilea

A damp, chill fog clung to the cobblestones of Montague Street, London, in the late autumn of 1871. The gas lamps did little more than cast haloes of sickly yellow light into the gloom.

Sherlock Holmes

leaning over a chemical apparatus on the table, not looking up The residue is conclusive. Arsenic. Common enough, but the delivery method was the postal service. A powdered form in a letter.

James Moriarty

slouched in the armchair by the fire, a tartan blanket over his legs So our grieving widow posted her husband a nice, fatal dose with her condolences. Charming. And we’re sure the postman didn’t sample it first?

Sherlock Holmes

The postal worker exhibited no symptoms. The widow, however, purchased a significant quantity from a chemist in Camden under a false name three days prior.

James Moriarty

She’s not a criminal mastermind, then. Just impatient.

Sherlock finally straightened, wiping his hands on a cloth. His sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on the empty third chair—yours.

Sherlock Holmes

Where is Y/n? We have the facts. We require the confrontation.

James Moriarty

Probably got lost in the fog. Or stopped for a pie. Unlike some of us, they appreciate a hot meal between solving capital crimes.