Title: He Didn't Love Her
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Parings: Sherlock/OC (Kinda)
Background: Before Sherlock met John he had a case in another country with a client he has difficulty forgetting. Her case brought them into danger, where they bonded. Eventually Sherlock had to leave. A few years later she dies and her parents send him things according to her will.
He didn't love her.
At the most he tolerated her. She was annoying. Always asking questions. Always dragging him places. Keeping him busy.
Never once letting him be bored.
Maybe that's why he remembered her. How she laughed. How she could sit still for hours. How she never told him off or made him stop being himself. In fact he was pretty sure she enjoyed his deductions. She did laugh openly when he embarrassed someone and never got angry when he did it to her
They spent a month together. They lived together. They ate together. It was basically her and him the whole time.
But that was years ago.
She had hired him to look into her brother's suicide- it was suicide- and the only reason he took the case was to get away from his brother and his attempts to get him into rehab. While the death was pretty straight forward, the motive wasn't. Her brother had found out something, something he shouldn't have. He then stole the information and hid it. The people he stole from came after him and to make sure they never find it, killed himself.
Sherlock found it. They both did. And the people came after them.
He never wants to remember the two weeks they were on the run. The two weeks they were captured and tortured. How she was the one who protected him. She was the one that kept him alive. She got them out.
And she killed anyone that tried to come after them.
Closeting his eyes, Sherlock could still see her in his head. He still remembered her favoured colour (green) and animal (tiger). He could remember what she wanted to be when she got a job (writer). He can even remember a small unimportant fact that she casually mentioned. She hated her hair long. If she could find a way to stop her hair from growing she would be happy.
Her hair wouldn't grow anymore.
Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He didn't love her, but he did care for her. How couldn't he after everything they had been through. How couldn't he after they comforted each other after their whole ordeal. Sleeping in the same bed to chase off the nightmares. Never letting the other out of their sight.
On the other hand, she did like him. The young teen had a crush on him the minute she saw him. He remembered how she would follow him around like a puppy. Give or tell him anything. Molly reminded him so much of her. Maybe that's why he can't stand to be near the rather intelligent woman.
"Sherlock? You still haven't opened it?" John asked as he came in with the shopping. Sherlock didn't look at him. Instead he kept his eyes on the box in front of him. It sat on the coffee table, unopened with a letter taped to the lid, also unopened. He already knew what it said. What her parents wrote to him. He never found out how her parents felt about him, having left almost immediately after they were found. He never spoke to them. He never even met them.
And now...
"Sherlock?" John asked as he handed Sherlock some tea.
"John," Sherlock replied without looking up, not taking the offered tea.
"Are you ok?" John asked after a while, obviously not sure of what to do.
"No," Sherlock said honestly. She was dead. She was dead and he didn't know how to feel about it. She was 15 when they met. She would have been 21 this year. She had told him she was planning on moving to London after she turned 21. And he was actually waiting for her to call him. To ask him to pick her up from the airport.
Now he can't.
"Do you- um- do you want to talk about it?" John asked, placing the tea next to Sherlock.
"I-," Sherlock started, unsure of how to continue. How could he explain who she was to him? Especially when he knew he never wants to think about it.
"I can't John. Not now." Not ever.
"Alright," John said carefully, like he knew what Sherlock was thinking, "Call me... call me if you need to talk."
With that John went upstairs to his room. Sherlock saw him look back several times, his eyes sliding to the box every time.
Once alone Sherlock slowly reached for the letter, dethatching it carefully from the box. It wasn't her hand writing, it was too neat and besides, she didn't know his address. The one on the letter was from his website and that address was the one his brother set up for him.
Mycroft had opened the letter. He resealed it, but he did open it. Then again, the older man didn't actually try to hide the fact that he snooped when he came to deliver it. His brother had an unreadable expression on his face when he handed Sherlock the box. It was only when he said he was sorry that Sherlock knew. When he hadn't moved for several moments both John and Mycroft left, where to he didn't know -or care.
Dear Mr Holmes.
I'll cut to the case. I don't like you. The fact that my daughter did, did not make me happy. However, her last words were her begging that we followed the instructions in her will.
As you have no doubt guessed Emma is dead. She was in a car accident and died on her way to the hospital. In the box are things she left you. A few of them I wish she didn't.
Never come near my family again.
Sherlock snorted as he put the letter away. He had no intention of ever going near those people again. Not even if Emma asked.
Turning to the box he hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what was inside. What she sent him.
Taking a deep breath he reached over and removed the tape on the box.
Opening it he immediately chocked up. On top of the pile was Pinky, a smallish 90s style light pink teddy bear. The bear had been given to her mother on the day she was born and she kept it ever since. It was her favoured bear. She was even planning on taking it to university with her.
Gently he picked up the toy and held it in his hands. It looked so small, so delicate. Everything he knew Emma wasn't. Moving to set it besides him he paused. She always pretended her soft toys were alive. He doubted she ever stopped.
"I'm not her. I wouldn't pay much attention to you. She's gone now and... She's gone now," he told Pinky before placing her in his lap.
He looked back into the box, finding a stack of photos. Most of them were for the time they knew each other. Others were of her, growing older. Shifting through them he saw that she finally coloured her hair red like she wanted. Otherwise she looked exactly like she used to. He stopped at one photo of her alone. She was standing in a garden, not paying any attention to the camera. She was looking at some roses as the light hit her just so, giving her light skin an unnatural glow.
Placing the photos on the table looked at the next item. It was a large folder. Thick too. Opening it he found manuscript. A completed manuscript for a book. Emma's book. The book she spent several years to perfect. On the cover was a sticky note. His brother's handwriting telling him that he already sent a copy to a publisher. Making a mental note to send Mycroft a thank you email he picked up the last item.
It was a box. A normal ordinary box. Opening it his eyes widen. It was a skull. Correction. It was Emma's skull. He stared at it without taking it out of the box. He can't take it out. Not yet.
After closing his eyes for a few moments Sherlock packed everything back inside the box, pausing only at the bear. It didn't take long to make the decision. Closing the box he stood up a placed Pinky on the fireplace mantel. Her own spot.
Picking up his violin he started to play. Without realizing it he had started playing 1 Corinthians 13, Emma's favourite church song and Beethoven's 9th symphony.
She left him her heart and mind.
He didn't love her.
But, given time, he could have.
End. I tried to keep Sherlock the way he is, but I don't think I succeeded.
I think, given time and circumstances, Sherlock could fall in love with someone. But it wouldn't be that easy.
Hope you enjoyed the fic.