This is just too much fun to write, and I have the end planned! You'll love the plot twist(s). Your guess is as good as the next person's what they'll be! TRIGGER WARNINGS!
You, Sherlock, and John looked after Jim until he was totally out of sight. Your vision stayed on the spot your brother had gone, but you were broken out of your revere when you felt a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a head nuzzled in your hair.
You hugged back, momentarily stunned. "Never do that again." you heard the deep voice of the consulting detective from the top of your head. He lingered for a few moments more, then pulled away abruptly, straightening his suit jacket with a crisp tug. "Sorry about that." he said regaining his usual brisk manner.
John stood there, mouth hanging open, then closed it profusely looking distinctly annoyed. "What's got a bee in your bonnet?" you asked, placing your hands on your hips and raising an eyebrow.
"You two would just make such a good-"
"Couple?" you and Sherlock rang out at the same time. You both giggled slightly and some color rose to both your cheeks. I wish he'd like me, but he doesn't have a heart, he's made that clear... You thought with a look of dismay flickering across your face. Sherlock looked at you and a smile tugged at his lips.
She's too perfect to settle for me.. He thought to himself, a frown now tugging at his lips.
A Month Later
Sherlock had died today. You didn't know what to do with yourself anymore. Your only brother was dead with him. John was at his grave saying goodbye. That was something you could never do. You weren't good at goodbyes.
A glint in the corner caught your eye. You did a double take. It was one of the things that you were familiar with. Sherlock had finally noticed a week ago.
_-Flashback-_
You had your hands folded underneath your chin and were sitting on the therapist-like couch that was in the living room. You were in your Mind Palace and weren't paying attention to much. Sherlock sat down next to you and you came back to reality.
You tried to yank down your sleeves. It was a reflex by now. Sherlock gripped your wrist with a little pressure: Enough that you couldn't get away, but not too much that it hurt. "You keep doing that." he said, tilting his head like a curious puppy studying a bone, "It's on impulse when people approach you." he said, gripping your wrist a little tighter.
"But why?" he continued to inquire. You tried to hold your composure, but you let out a whimper of pain as he began to grip your wrist tighter.
"What's under your sleeve?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He felt the scars, you thought, damn the scars... His hand reached precariously up towards your sleeve. You struggled to pull back as hard as you could.
He ripped down your sleeve to reveal a pathway of scars. He could only see your wrist and you could tell he was already horrified. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped slightly, his breath intake was sharp and forced, and you could feel his pulse shoot up. You were emberassed and tried to pull back once more, but he wouldn't let you go.
The only word he could manage to utter was a faint, "Why?"
You froze. Anger, anger?! It felt slightly different it felt like pity, sadness, anger and emberassment all together. But whatever it was, it was building up inside of you. Why? WHY?! What sort of a question was that?! Had he never felt alone?! Unwanted?! Unloved?! Abandoned?! you thought, But wait, a gentler, more sad tone took in your mind, Of course he has...
You took a deep breath and the detective looked up at you with something in his eyes that shocked you. Tears.
"Sherlock..." you began hesitantly.
"What?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Let me explain to you 'why'." you stood up and this time Sherlock let your fingers slip gently from his hand.
You picked up the violin from the center of the room then sat back down next to Sherlock. You were glad John wasn't home. You exhaled deeply then readied the violin and bow. Sherlock visibly relaxed. "Don't be relieved yet," you said with a chuckle, " I sing like a screeching hag."
"I think you sing like a beautiful Siren." Sherlock said with a shrug, "Then again, the song may be falling on deaf ears." he smirked. You knew it wasn't true, but you were pleasantly surprised at the compliment.
A string of notes came together in a beautiful melody and began to sing in the voice that enchanted Sherlock every time.
"There was a time, when I was alone, nowhere to go and no place to call home, my only friend was the man in the moon, and even sometimes, he would go away too..."
_-Flashback Ended-_
You sighed remembering how John broke another mug when he heard that you had been self-harming. He dropped his mug and walked over to you to give you a hug. Though he never said, you were like a little sister to him.
You walked over to the corner and picked up the razor. No, you thought, that's not enough pain. You supposed that death wouldn't come close, but it would be more painful. Maybe it'd be better than this living hell. You grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. Then you hesitantly grabbed your phone.
You flipped through the songs then found one that made you smile, even though tears were hitting the screen. You clicked play then paused it right away. You wanted to be found with the beautiful song playing in the background.
It remind you of him. The note you wrote was short, and you hoped it meant something to the people around you. For the first time in your life, you realized you had friends. You had someone more than a friend who never even knew what he meant to you.
The note read:
Dear Everyone,
If you even care, I'm sorry. Sherlock is dead and I don't even have my brother. I tried to play on the side of the Angels, but that doesn't make me stop being a demon. I suppose I was full of trickery and lies. I kept a stash of secrets that never saw the light of day. I spilled my secrets to my chosen few. Only at this time do I realize I was never truly alone. I suppose I now realize I have friends. So to the friends that I dont know care at all, thanks for something.
Goodbye,
[Y/N]
Sure the ink was blotched in places because of tears, but there was nothing you could do. You left it on Mrs. Hudson's desk. It was in an envelope labeled: To My Only Friends.
You walked up the stairs to the flat and sat back down in Sherlock's room. It still smelled like him.. Cedar, old parchment, and London. The hint of his cologne stil in the air. Fresh tears came to your eyes.
You reached over and grabbed your phone with a trembling hand, and a bottle of sleeping pills with the other. Your finger pressed the play button and the sound of the violin played and the fist few words came out in your voice from the phone. You joined in with the recording.
"Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done..." You popped open the lid to the bottle and rotated one pill between your fingers. You popped in in your mouth. It tasted bitter, matching your life at the moment.
With your hand shaking wildly you tipped the rest of the pills in your mouth. You chewed and swallowed. A tear rolled down your suddenly pale face. "Don't you cry no more."
DON'T WORRY! THIS ISN'T THE END! I'm doing at least one more chapter! Comment what you thought of this chapter!
