The last 2 chapters are being posted today, here is the first of todays updates.This one is my favourite of all of the chapters in this work.
There's one more left.
Sorry for any mistakes.

4. Sherlock's claustrophobic

"No signal." Sally groaned, frustrated, as she held the phone up towards the skylight above her from her position on the floor. As if being trapped in a cellar wasn't bad enough as it was, she had to have been trapped with none other than Sherlock Holmes himself. And the consulting detective was currently in a rage, ranting and raving about the incompetence of the officers and how they should have noticed by now that they were missing two people and hadn't Sally told someone to guard the door?

She had in fact. And that someone was one Philip Anderson who had apparently either forgotten that they were looking in there for evidence or just couldn't be bothered to make sure that she and Sherlock were safe.

Usually, Sally would have bitten Sherlock's curly haired head off or snapped and insulted him. Anything to get him to shut up. But there was something different about this. This wasn't typical Sherlock muttering.

He was pressed tightly up against the damp wall, doubled over slightly. His hands were wrapped around his stomach as though he was trying to hold himself together. Sally could only pray that he wasn't trying to stop himself from throwing up. His speech was faster than normal and his usual eloquence was missing. His words were blended together and almost unintelligible, occasionally punctuated with jumps and pauses that Sally would describe as stammering.

If he were anyone but who he was, Sally would have sworn that Sherlock was scared. But of course, he was Sherlock Holmes and he didn't do emotions.

"How about now?" He demanded suddenly and Sally was aware that he was referring to the lack of signal on her mobile. Just to humour him, because he was so out of character at the minute, she checked again, shaking her head when her signal bar came back empty.

He dug his own, trembling, hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out his own phone, letting out a shaky sigh when he discovered that he was receiving no signal either.

After a moment, once he had shakily stuffed his phone into the pocket of his jacket, it appeared that any strength the man had left him and he came crashing to the floor. He only just missed hitting his head on the concrete ground by smacking it on the end of Sally's shoe instead. She winced at the thought of the bruises that would develop of his knees from the impact of the fall.

She didn't really want to ask him, that would suggest she cared, but it was only decent, particularly after such a fall;

"Are you okay?" She inquired, very surprised when he actually shook his head.

At such a remote admission, Sally was on her feet again in seconds. She hooked her hands under his armpits and lifted, unsurprised at how light the detective actually was. She managed to move him so that he was sitting on his bottom, leaning up against the wall opposite where Sally had been sitting. She sat down beside him, a hand resting on his forearm so that he knew she was there.

Poor Sherlock was trembling from head to toe, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. And Sally noted a damp patch on the floor directly beneath where Sherlock had fallen that she hoped hadn't come from him.

Sally didn't speak for a moment, she couldn't think of what to say. But when she glanced up at his face, she felt her breath hitch painfully in her throat.

This man sitting beside her wasn't Sherlock. This wasn't the freak that she was so used to bullying and tormenting without a second thought. This was a terrified human being who, if the blush painting his cheeks was anything to go by, had wet himself out of fear of being trapped. There were tear tracks making their way down his cheeks, tears flowing, following them.

She might not like the man. But she couldn't just ignore that.

"It's alright, Sherlock," Sally promised him, the words feeling foreign on her tongue, "accidents happen. We'll be out of here soon."

Aside from the blush on his cheeks, poor Sherlock was deathly pale.

Sally had never expected to be provided with the proof that Sherlock was, in fact, a living, breathing, feeling, human being. To her, he'd always been nothing more than a machine, a freak.

Somehow, now that she'd seem him in such a vulnerable position, that name just didn't fit him anymore.

A sound escaped Sherlock's lips as his chest heaved. It was a sound that Sally was convinced was a sob and she couldn't stop herself as she reached out and enveloped him in a hug.

He might have been 'the freak', but that didn't mean that she wanted to see him hurting. Not like this.

The last thing that she expected was for him to reciprocate the hug. But he pushed his head into the space between her chin and her shoulder and brought up his thin arms, wrapping them around her in as a tight a grip as he could muster.

She couldn't help but note how he seemed like a sad child seeking love as he sobbed, his chest heaving irregularly. She was certain that she could feel his heart pounding beneath his suit jacket.

Sally hadn't been more thankful to see Doctor Watson as she was the moment the door to the cellar was pushed open to reveal the pair in one another's embrace. She spoke softly to Sherlock, assuring him that it was okay now, they were free, they could leave. She helped him from the floor, taking his still trembling, gloved hand and nodding wordlessly to John as she guided the apparently claustrophobic detective out of the cellar.

Sherlock was subdued, the tears still falling in quick succession despite finally being out in the open and Sally was sure that she knew why. In the summer sunlight, the dampness of his trousers accompanied by the unmistakeable smell of urine was obvious.

She took him as far away from the cellar as she could get him, over to where Lestrade was standing as John quietly followed.

She looked away from Sherlock to berate Lestrade for not finding them earlier, only to notice the amused glint in Anderson's eyes and the obvious snarl on his lips.

She knew what he was going to do. He was going to taunt him, tease him for having an accident, for crying. For being human.

"Not a word." She hissed through gritted teeth. "It's your fault that he's in this state."

Soon enough, John had taken Sherlock home, thankful that he was more like himself than he had been. And Sally had left a bewildered Anderson at the crime scene.

Sherlock couldn't be more grateful that Sally didn't allow his little breakdown to change anything between them. When he saw her at the next crime scene John forced him to attend, she was back to her old self.

"Hey freak!" She called as he went to enter the most recent murder scene. He turned to look at her; "Don't be a stranger okay?"

She couldn't miss the smile that played on his lips.

Just because the name didn't suit him now, it didn't mean she was going to stop calling him it.

What did you think of Sally?

Thank you for reading.

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