Disclaimer: I only own my OC!
Author's Note: Here's the second chapter and just like I promised it is longer than the first. :) Hope you enjoy it. Please tell me what you think!
Chapter Two You Made A Promise
When I woke up, stretching and yawning, I suddenly noticed that I wasn't alone anymore.
There were two men standing in the doorway. The taller one with curly hair showed no emotions on his face. The other, shorter one, in the other hand, looked slightly uncertain, like he wasn't exactly sure what to do, but he also looked confused and curious.
"Um, sorry. Who are you? How... How did you get in here?" he asked, stepping further into the room, taking his coat off on his way.
I was just about to answer when he made it first.
"Her name's Riley Cole. She got here by breaking in, isn't that obvious, John? Though, it's illegal, break in, I mean, maybe I will just drop you at Scotland Yard."
His tone was sharp and it hurt more than it should have. I clenched my fingers into tight fists and dropped my gaze shamefully on the floor.
John gazed between me and Sherlock.
"You two know each other?"
Sherlock moved to sit in the other armchair – the one where the violin was before – and took his 'prayer position' as I use to call it while I was younger. He didn't seem to answer the man's question so I raised my gaze at John, with a sigh.
"Yes, we do know each other. I have known him for a while now actually."
An hour later we were sitting in the living room, me on the couch, Sherlock and John in both armchairs, eating takeaway that John had brought. Apparently Sherlock still didn't eat much as John had to threaten him to eat something. I had thanked him and gratefully dug into my food.
Even though I was starving, I couldn't make myself eat more than a half of my food.
"I'm sorry that I broke in. I just couldn't figure out any other way. If I had turned up to your door, Sherlock would have sent me away."
Sherlock scowled. John frowned at him.
"You wouldn't do that, would you Sherlock?"
I watched curiously while Sherlock just shrugged and kept his eyes on me. It was obvious that he was deducting me, but I tried to look as I hadn't noticed it. I hated when he did it on me.
"You are too skinny", he commented suddenly. I raised one eyebrow at him. I was just about to answer him something, maybe not so wise, when a yawn stopped me. I was a bit exhausted; a few hours sleep and long journey do that to a person.
"It's late, maybe you could sleep on the couch for the night, then we can talk tomorrow, if that's alright with you of course", John suggested with a kind smile. I smiled back.
"Yes, tomorrow... sounds nice to me. I can sleep on the couch, if Sherlock doesn't have anything against it?" I asked and glanced suspiciously towards the said man. John hurried to answer before he did.
"Of course he hasn't anything against it."
"Okay... I think I'm going to bed then. Thank you, John", I smiled at him and moved to the couch, curling up and closing my eyes. Now, I knew I could sleep, at least one night. Sherlock was angry, and I couldn't really blame him – he had every right to be mad at me. But I didn't care, he was still here, I could see him and that was what mattered the most.
I didn't sleep more than a few hours, though I was still as tired as I had been before. I just couldn't make myself to sleep more, because I was afraid seeing nightmares.
I didn't rise from my spot on the couch, I just lay there, eyes closed, legs curled to my chest, hugging myself.
Suddenly I became very aware of the other presence in the room. It was either John or Sherlock because I heavily doubted that someone would have broke in so soon after I did, my thoughts were on the latter. I opened my eyes to see Sherlock sitting in his armchair, elbows resting on his knees leaning forward slightly. His hands were pressed together, palms flat against each other. He was looking straight at me.
I let my lips twitch on a tiny smile.
"What time is it?" I asked. Sherlock didn't answer for a while. The flat was really quiet: our breathing and the clock ticking were the only sounds in the room. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn't see around me.
After a few minutes I sighed and picked my phone from the floor to check the time. It said it was only two a.m.
Great. I'm gonna become a zombie if I don't start sleeping longer.
"Ten months. It's been ten months, Riley."
Sherlock's deep voice made me jump and I turned to look at him. He hadn't changed his position, but he was looking at me in a different way. Almost like he would have been struggling against something. I felt guilt building inside me and suddenly a carpet on the floor became very interesting. I couldn't dare myself to look at him any longer.
"Why? That's all I want to know. Why didn't you answer my texts, my calls?" His voice didn't betray his emotions, but I could tell he was suffering. I bit my lip before answering.
"I don't know. I really don't know, Sherlock. So many times it was so close – I wrote many texts, but I always deleted them before sending any of them to you. So many times I almost pressed the green button and called you, but something always stopped me, I suppose. . . I don't know, maybe I am afraid that you wouldn't want to hear about my life, my stupid, dull, mundane life anymore..." I trailed off, trying to fight against the tears that threatened to form in my eyes when I remembered all those times I had claimed myself that Sherlock did not care about me, that he did not care about how I was doing. Despite the fact that he had sent me numerous texts asking me to call him, that my phone had over fifty missed calls – all from him.
Sherlock's finger appeared under my chin and lifted my head so I had no other choice than look at him in the eye. His other hand raised and his fingers almost touched my cheek, but he stopped dead in his tracks. I really, really wanted to lean into his touch. I wanted him to comfort me like he had done that first time over five years ago. But I didn't lean into him. I hold still, looking into his silver blue eyes. If I concentrated hard enough, I could see my reflection in his iris.
Sherlock let his hands drop in his sides.
"If you really thought that way, Riley, what are you doing here?"
Thought. He said thought. Past tense. Funny, I almost had forgotten how clever he is.
"Like you don't know the answer yourself. I know that you deducted it on me when we ate, if not before – my point being here that you know and I can tell you're dying to tell me off, so go on. Yell at me as much as you want. But please, don't wake John up. I don't want him to hear my past." My voice was harsh when I started speaking, but it was barely audible anymore in the end. I could already feel my breakdown starting to make its way through me, I just couldn't let it happen until I was alone.
He crouched in front of me, locking my eyes with his. His hand raised again and I closed my eyes, flinching a little. It was stupid, really. He wouldn't ever hit me, right?
I kept my eyes closed when I felt his cold hand on my cheek, his finger brushed away one tear that had escaped under my lid.
"Don't – Don't cry. You know I hate it when you cry. I'm not angry at you, Riley."
I couldn't help letting a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"You should be... You should be yelling at me, you should be angry with me. I almost relapsed, Sherlock. And I'm so afraid." My voice broke and I desperately tried to stop the tears in my eyes.
"But you didn't take anything, did you Riley?" He asked. His voice was almost soft. I shook my head no.
"Then there is no reason for me to be mad, is there? Use that stupid head of your's, you silly girl. I'm not going to tell you off. Whenever have I done such thing? No. Wait – don't answer that. The first time we met. Do you remember it, Riley?"
He chuckled a little at the memory. I did remember it, of course I did. I was just a little girl back then – well, almost a-ten-year-old, but still little- and I had been so damn scared and I wouldn't stop crying and screaming and then Sherlock was there, yelling me to shut up, because I was disturbing his thinking. That had been the start of our friendship, or at least I thought it was, not so sure that Sherlock did.
Despite the fact that I was crying, I couldn't help smiling just a little and let out a sobbed laugh. Before I even knew what I did, I launched towards Sherlock, wrapping my arms tightly around him and burying my face to his chest, almost tackling us both on the floor in the process.
Sherlock stiffened under my touch and hesitated a moment. Then he put one arm around me, gently pulling me closer to him.
For a moment we just stood there awkwardly like that, before Sherlock pulled away and looked down at me.
"I still don't understand what caused it. You almost relapsing, I mean."
"Aw, you just completely ruined the moment, you dickhead", I mock-whined and slapped him on the arm. Sherlock's lips twitched. I sat back on the couch and wrapped my arms around me. I didn't want to remember it. I didn't want to remember what had almost caused me to take drugs again, it wasn't my fault. Not really. I sighed and bit my lip. "The family I was in – we went on a holiday to..." I swallowed and took a deep breath before continuing, "to Ireland."
The couch gave away when Sherlock plopped down beside me, muttering something that I didn't hear.
"Sorry, what?"
He smiled a little. His face was so kind, so different than what it had been when John had still been in the room.
"Nothing. Your mother died in Ireland, didn't she?" I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and just nodded. I didn't trust my voice enough. Slowly I leaned back against the fabric and closed my eyes.
"I miss her, Sherlock."
"I know, Riley. I know."
The silence fell and I almost dozed off.
"Sherlock. I don't want to leave. I don't want to change from foster home to another anymore. Couldn't – Couldn't I just stay here? With you and John... Please..." I trailed off and fell into the darkness. Before I was completely unconscious I registered that I curled up against Sherlock's side. I wasn't sure, but I think he wrapped an arm around me.
Sherlock wrapped his arm around the little girl, who had curled up against his side. She was only fifteen, but life definitely hadn't treated Riley Cole well. Sherlock knew it well enough. When he felt the girl go limp against him – fast asleep -, he raised from the couch and picked Riley up in his arms, carrying her to his bedroom. He wouldn't sleep there that night anyway, and Riley needed her sleep.
"You promised me S'lock." He smiled at her, when she talked in her sleep. Though, there was truth in her words: he had promised her.
When Sherlock closed the bedroom door, he made up his mind and decided to text Mycroft in the morning. It was his turn to take care of Riley. For good.
I'm sorry! There is so much mystery around them! I promise it will all come clear at some point! Well, Riley did mention drugs... I'll leave you to your deductions, eh :D
I'm also sorry that Sherlock is a bit OoC in this, but I like to think that he is more 'open' with Riley because they have known each other for so long.
I'm going now before I accidentally slip something that I really shouldn't.
I should probably mention that this is not a romance story. There's nothing romantic between Sherlock and Riley, pure friendship only.
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