ABRIELLE'S POV

I couldn't sleep, my whole body alert as I sat against the windowsill, staring out at the dark of the night. It was so beautiful to just watch the world turn, to watch the darkened sky shine like paint on an artist's canvas. The stars smirking down at our bodies and standing guard over our weak bodies as we sleep. It was something that most people took for granted, that they didn't understand. But I understood, and I felt it's pain. They saw a sky, not art. They saw time, not beauty. It was what told you to close your eyes and wait for the sun to appear yet again. But I saw it as my friend, someone that was there when no one else could be. An old friend that never ever changed, or left you, or moved on. It was a constant in my life, and something that I would stare at for hours throughout her life, days when I could no longer sleep, my mind too awake to let my body rest. And so, here I was, staring at the sky yet again, waiting for the first sign of sleep. Waiting to let my body finally rest after months of sleep deprivation. This always seemed to happen after a long kidnapping. The restless nights after finally being back in the comfort of my warm room. It was a normalcy for me. And it fucking sucked. I wanted to sleep. To feel no pain, and let my brain rest. But I couldn't. Not until my body said I could.

I sighed, releasing the breath I had been holding in as I turned my gaze to my own reflection in the mirror. I looked so different, yet I had seen this face of mine before. I was thinner, much thinner and my eyes were darker than normal, not the usual crystal blue they often were and instead a shallow blue abyss as if the life had been sucked from my face. I held scars and bruises that littered my whole body, and a red ring of raw skin that decorated my neck. I was a mess, or at least that's how I looked. I certainly couldn't feel it, after years of being tortured, this was so insignificant that my body simply felt numb. It was a welcome pain, something that took your mind off of reality and helped you focus. It was … okay. But that doesn't change the fact that I still looked like crap and I needed to patch up all the cuts before they go infected, if they hadn't already.

I stood, walking over to the bathroom attached to Sherlock's room and opened the cabinet door, searching for the first aid kit that John had hid in the bathroom months ago. But it wasn't there, and in its place was clumps of dust that had accumulated after so many weeks had passed. Which meant one thing, Sherlock had found it. I needed to face the person I've been avoiding since my return from Myc's approximately four hours ago.

I took in another breath, closing my eyes as I prepared myself for the conversation that would inevitably occur. I knew Sherlock Holmes, and I knew he wanted answers. Answers about my past, about my job, about everything really … and I hated telling people about my past. It was my past, not any one else's and no should judge me based off of what I used to be, someone that I wasn't any longer. But Sherlock was curious, and so, so very stubborn and he would demand answers. It was inevitable.

I opened my eyes, and walked robotically towards the door as if I were completing a task instead of going about my daily life. I exited the comfort of the room and walked down the hall, my eyes looking directly at the kitchen and taking no notice of anything else. I reached under the cupboard, searching for the kit, yearning to get my hands on it so I could hurry back to my room. I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I searched and his thoughts hurried through my own. He was curious, curious why I was still awake when he assumed me to be asleep since he couldn't hear me moving about my room. He was confused as to what I was looking for, and he was trying to deduce what I was searching for which was not good because if he found out he'd try to help. And I of all people do not need …

"The First Aid Kit is over here on the bookcase."

Damn it he figured it out.

I turned, my eyes wandering towards his face for the first time in hours. He was giving me a small smile, a smile so genuine it was a surprise to even see it on his face. I watched, frozen as he quickly stood, approaching the bookshelf in three strides and picked up the kit with his hand, walking over to where I now stood, holding the kit out, yet not seeming to be wanting to hand it over. I tried to take it, but he decided that he didn't want to make it easy on me so, using his height to his advantage he lifted the kit high above his head. I cursed between my teeth, letting out a sigh before quickly crossing my arms, ignoring the slight spike of pain that shot up my arms as I did so.

"What?" I said agitated, knowing he wanted something. He probably had a few billion questions that he wanted to know the answers to before he even let me near the damn kit. Stupid bloody injuries and stupid bloody Shan. I just wanted to fix my wounds is that really too much to ask at three AM in the morning?!

"I want to help you." He said, causing my eyes to widen in shock. He wanted to help me? Me of all people? That cannot be right. He did not help people of his own free will unless there was some big elaborate case involved. Unless … did he like me … the way I like him. Is that why he was suddenly so nice to me? No. Shut up. Stupid, stupid child. He didn't love me. I was so stupid. I really needed to stop thinking like that, like some young idiotic naive girl. Yeah, I knew, deep in my heart and within the depths of my mind that I had fallen deeply in love with the damn arsehole. But this was Sherlock Holmes we were talking about, and he didn't love. He was a man that thought caring was a disadvantage and a sociopath that did not know how to be in a relationship. I had fallen in love with the sky, something that would never love me back in a billion years, and yet I continued to show it affection. Because I was stupid, and knew nothing about boundaries. Because my heart had been lonely for a very long time. Because I was a Watson, and I felt things too deeply. He did not love me, this was all some elaborate scheme to get me to tell him what he wanted to know, I just knew it.

"No, you really don't. Now, tell me the truth." I exclaimed, cocking my head to side as I waited for his reply. He looked at me, raising his eyebrow and then lowering the kit and placing it on the kitchen table, pulling the chair out before gesturing for me to sit. I rolled my eyes and sat down, holding my breath and listening for the endless barrage of questions to be fired towards me.

"I don't know how you know when I'm lying, but it is something not even Mycroft can do." He stated, opening the kit, and beginning to pull bandages and ointment out of it. I looked down at the wooden table and then decided to tell him the simplest of explanations, knowing he was trying to start pleasant conversation to ease me into the questions.

"Everyone has a tell." I explained, daring myself to look up at him as he took out a cloth and put some ointment on it.

"I know you want me to talk. You obviously have a question, so just ask it." I continued, whispering as I looked down towards the ground. I was afraid, afraid he would ask me something I really did not want to answer. Something I didn't want him to know. But I knew I had to let him ask, I had to, otherwise he'd just keep asking and asking and asking and if he still didn't figure out his answer he'd find a way to get it, whether from me or somebody else.

He looked up at me, pausing in what he was doing, his hand lowering to the table and placing the dampened cloth on the table. "You saved Soo Lin, yet she said you had told her you only wanted to help people and save lives. Wasn't saving her doing both of those things?" He asked me, causing my eyes to automatically meet his oceanic blue ones. I was in shock. Out of all the questions in the world I never would have expected that of all questions. I didn't know what to tell him … how could I possibly explain my past, my horrible life, my horrible self, and my still present horrible self perceptions. How do you explain self hate to a person that understands very little about human emotion. It was impossible. Yet, somehow, it was a question that he deserved to know the answer to. All this time I had been dreading answering his questions thinking they'd all be demanding answers about my past … yet, all he truly wanted was to know why I thought I was so bad in the first place. He didn't want to know my past, what he wanted to know was me. And that was honestly all she could ever ask for.

"I saved her, and that was helping her and saving her in the end. But that wasn't really something I had done before. My past … well, I wasn't …" I paused, my thoughts muddled as I tried to explain my past without actually going too in depth. I wanted him to understand, but I didn't want to tell him what had happened. I just didn't know what to say, and so I did the one thing I knew best, I distracted myself. I took the cloth from the table and began doting my cuts and bruises with the ointment, grabbing bandages as I went, not once able to feel the pain of the insignificant injuries.

"What about your past?" He pestered, whispering it so I could barely hear the question. I finished bandaging my final cut and placed the bandages on the table, once again looking towards his curious eyes. He deserved to know. I had to explain it. I needed to tell him something. He would just keep asking if I didn't.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what I was about to say, knowing that I would never be ready for explaining things like this, no matter how simplistic it was. It was time to tell him the truth. Who I was. And hopefully, just maybe, he'd understand and leave it alone from now on.

"M-my past was not a good one, I was not a good person, and the things I did were horrendous. When I started working with Mycroft, even though I was doing good things, I didn't think I'd ever be able to pay back for all the bad things I had done, and I didn't think I'd ever actually be a good person. I still don't think I'm a good person. So even though I saved Soo Lin, I will never be a good person like John, no matter how much I wish I could be." I said, my eyes filling with salty water ready to fall from my face. I was surprised I had managed to tell Sherlock. To explain what my past had been. And now it was okay, now I could sleep without awaiting the questions I thought he would ask me. Now I could leave the room knowing that Sherlock knew who I had been, more or less. And so, leave I would.

I stood, walking out the room and holding my head high, thinking that Sherlock would judge who I had been like every other person that knew. And that was not something I wanted to see. It would break me too much to see someone I loved so dearly looking at me with the disgusted look that they would always look at me with. To see the hate in his eyes like they had had hate in theirs, and to see the disappointment deep within his mind, like they had held in theirs. It would break me. And so I would leave the room before it happened, before he could break my heart.

"You are a good person. You're wrong, you aren't bad." He said, my feet freezing before I reached Sherlock's room. I turned, looking over at him with a small smile on my face as the tears dropped down my cheeks and onto the floor.

"Thank you." I said, reaching once again for the knob, ready to open it once again. Yet before I could, one simple sentence left my mouth before I could stop it. One simple sentence that held so much emotion in it, so much gratefulness in it, so much love and I couldn't stop it.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, Bree." He replied sending me a small smile in return. A smile so genuine it was a miracle it had even happened. And just like that, I entered my room, closing it tightly behind me with a dazed smile on my face. Yes, he knew who I was, but he wasn't frightened or disgusted, or even hateful. He thought I was actually a good person. And that lead me to one final thought before falling to sleep that night. Maybe I wasn't falling in love with the sky … maybe I was falling in love with the night sky. The piece of art that very occasionally could love you back, if you just took the time to see it's beauty.