I disappeared after the books arrived in their flat. I wasn't sticking around for all that and according to my lack of missed calls, I wasn't needed at home either. Instead of wandering around after dark, I decided to just head home instead. I was greeted by a single light on in his bedroom. I stood outside our house for the longest time before I really had the courage to actually walk in.
Even then I stood with my hand on the door knob, I could hear a car come to a stop behind me and looked back to see the glint of metal back at me. I waited second, trying to hear the cock of a gun click back or anything, but all I could hear was the person take one single step and wait. I turned slowly, halfway expecting to be shot by the same imbecile in the museum. If this was my time, so be it.
"You're on edge this evening, Rose." Mycrofts voice drifted towards me with some resigned force. I looked down to see it'd been the point of his umbrella that I'd seen.
"Its not often I'm preyed upon outside of my house at 10 PM, Mr Holmes." I replied softly, folding my arms across my chest, gently enough to not distress my arm. His suit was wrinkled but he didn't smell of his office, no. He'd been waiting in the car for when I'd come home. It was either that or he'd been working in his car now.
"Sherlock's rubbed off on you." He commented warily, balancing on the tip of his umbrella. I shrugged in response, not opening my mouth. I assumed this conversation had a point to it and I wasn't about to discuss Sherlock Holmes. The man had me going back on myself. I heard him sigh loudly and take a step.
"My brother...hes not someone you'd want to plan a life with, Rosalyn." He shook his head under the lights, frowning.
"Nor am I." I retorted in a more reprimanding tone than I'd meant.
"I must disagree." Mycroft gazed at me for a second. I raised a brow as I switched legs to lean on. I wasn't responding.
"You really ought to see that its in your best interest to stay away from him." He sighed after a second.
"You really ought to see that its in your best interest to stay away from here." I motioned to the house and the lit bedroom.
"Rosalyn..." He sighed, sounding a little exasperated. I merely raised a brow.
"Perhaps, in the future, you abstain from handing Sherlock your phone." Mycroft declared, leaning forwards with a pinched brow.
"Right. Thanks for the advice." I scoffed and stared back at him. We went silent for a second, he was expecting me to apologise I supposed. It wasn't happening.
"Your divorce has been signed by Mr Barsworth. You need only to sign yourself. The money and possessions will be divided equally amongst you." He intoned. I nodded as I heard papers being rustled from his coat pocket. I took the steps in one bound as I landed in-front of the frumpier Holmes. He paused, taking in my expression before leaning closer to me. I raised a brow as he didn't stop leaning in, forcing me to lean back.
"Myc-" I opened my mouth in confusion as he wrapped his fingers into my hair and pulled my towards him, our mouths meeting in the middle.
"Enough!" I pushed backwards as I regained control of my limbs, yelping when I jostled the stitches. They were achy. I glared at him through the pain, yanking my papers out of his hands and turned to walk back. I was angry as I ignored him calling my name and slammed the door behind me. The house was silent for a beat before I went into the kitchen, I always went here first when I came home.
"Have a fun time out there?" A voice slurred behind me.
"U-um" I froze at the contact of his hand on my good shoulder. He was drunk. He was drunk and knew I was divorcing him and now I was alone with him. Why was I so stupid sometimes?
"I bet you did, Rosalyn. Its great your fuck buddy got all the papers ready for ye." He spun me around roughly, still slurring. I stared into his bloodshot eyes with fear locking up my arms and legs. I didn't know what to do, all my bravado left me.
"Couldn't even wait, could you?" His fingers curled around my hurt arm like a snake digging it's way into my skin. Without thinking, I headbutted him. I, at 163 cms and only 55 kilos headbutted my angry, drunk ex husband. It quickly backfired as my forehead throbbed in waves of dizziness.
"You bitch." He fell back out of shock, hitting the Island counter with his back, grasping it for balance. His eyes locked on me as I made another quick decision to run, I'd gotten two or three steps away when he yanked my left leg out from under me. I landed on my elbows and stomach with a yelp as the pain hit me. Again, not my best plan.
"Stop it." My voice was meek, looking back at him. I could feel the tears prickle up in my eyes, now with one foot on my calf. His weight was pressing it to the ground and stopping me from getting up. I was scared now as the tears began to fall down my cheeks.
"Or what? You're going to call for your fucktoy?" He bit out, reeking of alcohol as his breath hit me.
"I'm going to have one last night of fun." He took his foot off my calf as I attempted to scramble away again, instead he straddled me as he rolled me onto my back.
"William! Stop it!" I could feel a hand clumsily mess with my sweater. I scratched at his arm, pulling my nails back. There was nothing down here I could use but my own limbs.
"Nononononon-" I essentially went into hysterics as I hit his chest and neck, trying to go for his wind wipe but he kept swaying. I wanted Sherlock here or John or literally anyone but him.
"FECK" I think I hit it because a second later, he froze and gasped. Then I felt a brick slice through my cheek, friction and knuckles forcing my head to the side and bouncing it off the tiled floor. The world spun as I laid there for a few minutes, he wasn't on top of me anymore but I was still crying. I heard a door slam as I curled into a ball, shaking with sobs.
An hour passed before I really calmed down. I didn't move from the floor, I was just staring at it blankly. There were some red speckles but nothing like it'd been at the museum. My cheeks were sticky and crusty at the same time. I stood warily, trying to not put pressure on my arm as I went to the downstairs bathroom.
My ponytail was limp looking now, farther down my head that I'd thought. My cheek was swollen but the cut was minor, it'd only bruise badly. I stared at myself for a few more seconds.
I'm done with crying. I'm done with it all. I refuse to cry anymore. I went upstairs and changed, locking the door and shoving my dresser to sit in front of it. I laid ontop of the covers and drifted to sleep, slowly. I would wound him next time. It wouldn't be his pride, it'd be his skin.
I awoke to the sound of banging on my bedroom door with a jump. It looked closer to the afternoon than morning outside, and I couldn't understand who would be banging on my door like this.
"Who is it?!" I yelled warily.
"Who do you think?!" I heard a scoff and a deep baritone voice come through. I paused a second before deciding it was Sherlock and shoved the dresser just out of the way enough to open the door slightly.
"What do you want?" I asked softly, looking around for a sign of William. I'd only really peeked with one eye in the crack I'd left open.
"Preferably to have you and I leave this house at some point. Can you open the door?" He deadpanned. I paused before nodding and shutting it to push the dresser the rest of the way back. He opened the door as I put my hand on the knob, coming around the corner easily. He froze as he stared at my face, stepping closer. I cringed as he put a finger lightly on top of the cut and forming bruise.
"He did this to you?" Sherlock came out in a whisper as I shrugged. I didn't really want to show weakness infront of Sherlock. I looked up after he'd gone unusually silent for a beat, he was glaring at my cheek. His eyes narrowed into slits as he tilted his head and shook it, muttering to himself.
"Are you quite alright?" I raised a brow at his expression as he nodded slowly, beginning to grin.
"Perfect. I believe we have a date to keep, come along now Rose." He left my side and went to the dresser, chucking clothes at me as he went.
