I enter 221B quietly, trying not to be heard. Sherlock, for once, isn't thinking about a case (he not having one) and notices me as I walk in.
"You're hurt," he observes, referring to my bruised face, split lip, and several cuts.
"Really, Sherlock?" I ask sarcastically. "I didn't know! No wonder you're the world's only consulting detective!"
"You're angry, too," he says cooly.
"Sorry, I-" I try to apologize, but he cuts me off.
"Let me guess. Judging by the fact the right side of your face is the most damaged, I'd say you were attacked by a person who is left-handed. Male, since the angle suggests he's taller than you. You weren't mugged, you're still wearing your favorite gold earrings. You're angry, but not at the attacker. Judging by your poor, bitten fingernails, I'd say you're angry at yourself. Who's the only lefty we know that could have caused this? Oh, right, your boyfriend, Lionel Adams."
I, used to Sherlock's ramblings, just nodded. All of what he said is true, and I knew it. Creepily true, actually.
"But this time I deserved it-" cut off again by Sherlock, I was kind of getting annoyed. Until I heard his next words, of course.
"You could never deserve this," he said, standing from his chair.
He walks into the kitchen and grabs the first aid kit. He comes back and guides me to sit down. Sherlock starts to clean my wounds, and I remember why I had gone to 221B in the first place.
"Where's my cousin?" I ask Sherlock quietly, wincing at the sting of the cleaner.
"John? He's out on a date again."
"He's probably dated half the girls in England now," I say, thinking of all of John's ex-girlfriends. I had met all of them, of course.
By this time, Sherlock had finished bandaging my wounds. He cleans up the supplies, and takes them out to the kitchen to throw away.
I stand, and move to get my coat.
"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock asks, grabbing my wrist.
"Home," I answer.
"No, you're not."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Lionel knows where you live. He could come back."
"There where will I stay?"
"Here, of course," Sherlock answers as if its obvious. I've stayed overnight at 221B Baker Street before, but John had always been home.
"Fine," I relented. I needed a break from everything, anyways.
~~Time Skip brought to you by Sherlock and his inability to function in society~~
When John comes home from his disastrous date, he is surprised to see his younger cousin asleep on his couch, her back facing him. Sherlock was in the kitchen, making tea.
"Why is Symphony on our couch?" John asks his flatmate.
"It was Lionel."
"That wanker."
"I hate to see her like this," Sherlock says uncharacteristically.
"So do I," John agrees, not questioning the strangeness of his flatmate.
Later, after updating his blog, John goes to bed. Sherlock lingers a bit longer. He finishes the case he had been working on before turning to Symphony.
Even though he would never admit it, he was worried about me. He worries one day, Lionel would do something worse that just hurting me (not that that was bad enough).
Sighing, he stands. "Goodnight, Symphony," he says, bending down to kiss my forehead.
{Time Skip}
I was still asleep when Sherlock leaves the next morning, but he still kisses my forehead.
After waking around one, I immediately take a shower. I ravish the warm water, enjoying the feeling and bliss.
Sherlock comes home while I am still showering. He turns to John expectantly, gesturing to the empty couch.
"She's in the shower," John answers, looking back to his computer. Sherlock continues to stare at him. "Sherlock! You know she takes long showers when she's upset."
"Any idea to how long she might be?"
"She took a chair in there."
Sherlock, who was in his "thinking mode" with his hands clasped, stops and looks up at John. "What?"
"I'm kidding," he says, smiling.
"That was rude," Sherlock says without turning around.
"I was kidding!" John sighs, knowing its useless to argue. "Hey, where did you go this morning?"
"Out."
"I knew that."
"Then why did you ask?"
John, opening his mouth to retort, is cut off by me entering the room. John, seeing my injuries for the first time, widens his eyes and runs over to me. He cups my face with his hands, turning my head every which way to see every angle of my pain.
"Symphony, I swear, if Lionel does this to you again, I'll kill him," he says, noting my split lips and cut face.
"I'm fine," I mumble. "Sherlock took good care of me."
Sherlock had turned on the telly while we two were talking, and I now payed attention to the screen, which was turned on to some news channel.
"Abuser caught and arrested," the news anchor announces. A picture of Lionel flashes across the screen and his arrest report is shown.
I watch the screen in shock. How did he...of course. Sherlock.
John excuses himself, saying he had a date. I wait until he's gone to approach Sherlock.
"Was that you?" I ask, curious.
"Of course not. I have more important things to attend to than ensuring your safety," he replies cockily.
"Thank you," I say as I reach up and kiss him on the cheek.
"He'll be in there for a long time," Sherlock says, and for the first time in his life he reaches forward and hugs someone. That someone being me, of course. "Five years, at least."
"How on Earth did you pull that off?" I ask, smirking into his chest. He had admitted to doing it for me.
"I pulled a Moriarty," he says into my blond hair, no longer trying to deny it.
"Thank you," I repeat, not knowing what else to say.
"You're welcome," he says quietly.
Slowly, as if not wanting to startle me, he moves his hand from his wrist to cup my face. I wince slightly as he applies pressure to the bruise. "Sorry, love," he whispers huskily. He leans down (I'm quite short compared to him) and kisses me.
It was sweet and passionate, as if he was trying to communicate his love for me through physical contact.
My lips move in sync with his, and-
John opens the door, mumbling about his forgotten phone. "I don't need it that bad," he frowns audibly and leaves the flat.