In The Game of Love

three

After Sherlock got ready, he insisted on escorting Y/N down to the carriage. John eyed him suspiciously as Y/N graciously accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her. Sherlock carefully helped her into the carriage and slipped in beside her. John sat across from the pair, wanting to keep a careful eye on everything.

The carriage ride was completely silent the whole way to the cemetery. Y/N tried to keep her cool, to act normal. That she just wasn't doing this to save her own skin. But she definitely was. She needed to make sure Sherlock went through with the case Irene gave him in order to protect herself. The Professor couldn't find her. Y/N would be dead as soon as he did.

When the carriage stopped, Sherlock rushed out first. He held his hand out for Y/N to take as she stepped out. With a small smile, she gracious took his hand. Her foot slipped as she exited and she went falling into Sherlock.

"Ooof," she grunted.

"I've got you," he said softly, surprisingly so. He helped Y/N balance on her two feet.

"Thank you."

"Of course. Can't have you ruining the footprints in the dirt."

"Yeah," she stepped away. "We wouldn't want that."

Before Sherlock could, John slipped his arm through Y/N's. Sherlock looked a little hurt, but cleared his throat and collapsed his hands behind his back. The three began headed towards the officers, both Sherlock and John studying the wide, dirt walkways.

"Who do you think won the match, Clarkie?" John wondered. Y/N took note of the prints in the dirt.

"Sir?" Clarkie questioned.

"The rugby match," Y/N answered, surprising the men with her. She pointed at the marks in the ground.

"Y/N's right," John smiled kindly. "Your boys have done a magnificent job of obliterating any potential evidence."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed, "but at least they never miss an opportunity, to miss an opportunity."

Clarkie walked the trio up to a grave. The large tombstone had clearly been broken from inside the tomb. Sherlock walked closer.

"You took your time, Holmes," a man commented. His voice echoed from inside the tomb as he climbed the steps out.

"And on the third day..." Sherlock joked.

"These slabs of sandstone are half a ton each if they're a pound, and they were smashed open from the inside."

"Lestrade," Sherlock greeted. "What of the coffin?"

"We are in the process of bringing it up now."

"I see." Sherlock then looked over at the line of officers, doing nothing to help. "Hmm... right." He looked back at Lestrade. "At what stage of the process? Contemplative?" Y/N bit back a smile. "And how is our witness?"

"He's over there," Lestrade motioned with his head, causing Sherlock's gaze to briefly follow. "And apparently his cat- cat- cata-"

"Catatonic, sir," Clarkie helped.

"He's not really feeling very well."

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. Lestrade went over to talk to his men.

"I'm going to go talk to our witness," John said, heading that way.

"Well then, dear, looks like you're stuck with me."

"I don't mind," Y/N replied. "I did come to get to know you a bit better. You didn't make that great of a first impression."

"I usually don't."