So, since the first chapter seemed to be a hit, I decided to add on.
From now on, I shall be posting odd little drabbles and short stories in relation to the little family so I hope you enjoy them.
"So, this will be your room from now onward, right beside mine and Joan's in case you need anything during the course of the night though usually, one of us is awake." Sherlock explained, placing Luna's large backpack to hang from the foot board of the small bed which sat bang in the centre of the room. Admittedly, it wasn't the nicest room in the entire building but the only other room which possessed a decent bed and had a rather nice view of the city for any restless nights of stargazing.
The young teenager nodded, taking a couple of hesitant steps into the room, her eyes scanning the walls and the floor for a few brief moments before stopping in order to wince. Seeing this, the consultant detective threw himself onto the bed, making the springs shriek loudly under his body weight. "Come on Luna, don't be afraid. Take a seat."
"O-Okay." she murmured softly, perching herself right on the very edge but the detective wouldn't allow her to put such a distance between them as he placed an arm around her waist before yanking her back into the middle of the bed, causing her to gasp and tremble though the contact was only quick. However, that held no comfort for Luna. Her breathing became shallow and frantic; all colour drained from her face, going from a delicate ivory to a pasty white.
Of course, Sherlock reacted quickly.
Placing a hand on her forehead, he gently guided her back into the bed so she was laid as straight as she possibly could before carefully resting a hand on top of her chest. "I want you to breathe as deeply as you possibly can for me; hold it for five seconds then release it very slowly. Come on." She tried but it seemed as though her throat was completely closed but the detective did his best to try and shatter that belief. "Come on Luna. It's a simple illusion because the muscles are tense so breathe!"
Out of options, and feeling the slightest prickle of panic work it's way into his system when her skin began to tint a pale purple, he quickly unfixed a badge from the lapel of his tattered jacket then jabbed it into the softest part of her thigh, causing her to gasp loudly. Almost instantly, colour returned to her cheeks and Sherlock released the breath that he didn't realise he was holding.
"Ouch." she muttered once she caught her breath, her eyes locked onto the ceiling.
"I'm sorry dear but I saw no other option. Erm... How about we don't mention this little incident to Joan? You know as well as I do, she will over react and blow the whole situation out of proportion." Nodding in agreement, she moved to sit up then glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes. "What would you like to say?"
"I'm... sorry. I s-shouldn't have r-reacted like that." Upon hearing this, the detective's eyes widened a fraction. She was apologising... for something she had no control over. Using a couple of fingers, he gently tilted her head up so their eyes met. In hers, he could see fear, shame and a good measure of uncertainty. Though he wouldn't admit it, he didn't like the idea of her feeling those things.
"No need for an apology. It's a programmed reaction. Something you couldn't stop but... if you'd like of course... I could help to give you a measure of control. It would take time but it's highly possible." he told her.
"Thank y-you Sherlock."
"Good. Now, come along. Joan won't be back for an hour at least so why don't the pair of us go get a nice cup of tea? After, I will show you a few techniques."
Thank you for reading.
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Love you al