I Love The Way You Lie Part 2

Author's Note: Hello readers! I am finally back with a new chapter. I hope you guys like it, though I do have to thankcorinnedanielle for inspiring me to keep writing for this story. Also, check out her stories Creation and Destruction... They are amazing! Without further ado, here's the chapter!

I was floating on cloud nine. The frigid February air blew my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. I wrapped my scarf around my neck tighter and hurried back to the flat, pressing the wrapped package in my hand tighter to my chest.

I pushed past bystanders on the sidewalk, my breath coming out in light puffs in front of my face. I was in a rush to return home before anyone else, or more specifically, before Sherlock did. It was Valentine's Day, and I was eager to give him his gift. I had been out all morning looking for the perfect gift, and was relieved I had not run into Sherlock while I was searching. Though a part of me hoped I would, because I hadn't seen him since he left early that morning. Not since he gave me the skull.

I smiled, remembering the strange object of his affection and hoped that what I had purchased for him would suffice in expressing my love for him.

In record time, I reached the flat, the letters 221B shining with snow, beckoning me. Home. I sighed in relief, reaching into my pocket for the keys. I smiled wider as I held the keys in the palm of my hand, musing at the gloves surrounding my fingers. The thick leather material dwarfed my small hands, yet seemingly kept them warm. The gloves were a reminder, mostly to me, that Sherlock did care. It also gave me the comfort that even when Sherlock wasn't with me physically, a piece of him still accompanied me.

I stuck the key in the door and unlocked it, quickly entering and shutting the door behind me, to escape the chilly weather.

Warmth instantly enveloped me, causing goosebumps to rise along my arms. I left the door unlocked, lest either one of the boys, (Sherlock or John) had forgotten their keys. Though usually it was Sherlock.

I unwrapped my scarf, a present from Mrs. Hudson, and hung it on the hook next to Sherlock's. I didn't take into account that Sherlock's scarf hanging could signal he was home, since he had a lot of scarves. Also because, I was admiring how perfect our scarves seemed placed next to each other. I was a romantic, and saw this as a symbol of good prosperity in our relationship.

I wiped my snow covered boots on the entrance mat and shrugged out of my coat, careful not to drop Sherlock's gift. I peeked into the downstairs kitchen to say hello to Mrs. Hudson, but found to my surprise that she wasn't there. Odd. I thought, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. But no matter. I shrugged, making my way upstairs. She probably just went out for a bit. After all, it is Valentine's Day. I smiled again at the fact. Today was a day dedicated to love and I wanted Sherlock to know how much he was loved. I had a feeling that before meeting me, he hadn't gotten much of it.

Hopefully it will be better than last year's. I thought, scowling at the memory.

Sherlock, of course, had forgotten the holiday and instead spent the day dissecting a corpse on the kitchen table. I wondered how he'd managed to convince Molly to give him one, but then made my own deduction that she hadn't. Needless to say, I was livid.

"But this year, things are going to be different." I whispered confidently, as I reached the top of the stairs. I pushed the door to me and Sherlock's room open, not at all surprised that it wasn't locked. After all, who would be idiotic enough to break into the apartment of Sherlock Holmes?

I slipped into the apartment and shut the door, laying my coat over the back of a dining room chair as I did so. I gently set down Sherlock's gift and placed his gloves next to it, before removing my winter boots. Then I lifted my head up and saw the rest of the apartment.

I gasped loudly at the sight before me.

Paper and trash littered the floor, as well as books and clothes. It looked as if a tornado had swept throughout the room. I noticed that upon closer inspection of the wall, fresh bullet holes could be seen.

I swallowed nervously as I glanced around the disaster area, worry filling me. Where is Sherlock? I wondered, afraid something horrible had befallen him. I glanced down at the floor so as to not step on anything dangerous, when my eyes landed on an object. It was Sherlock's computer. My heart raced at the sight of the mangled and broken electronic.

Beside his computer a picture of us lay torn. I carefully picked up the damaged photo and lightly stroked it, a slight smile making its way onto my face.

"He actually looks hap-"

I was cut off by a loud thump in the next room. Me and Sherlock's room. I snapped my mouth shut and quickly pocketed the picture of us, my mouth going dry. What should I do?! I thought in a panic.

I didn't have time to respond however, because a tall figure swept into the room.

I jumped back defensively until I realized who the figure was.

"Sherlock." I slumped in relief.

He didn't respond. Like he hadn't heard me.

I tried again.

"Sherlock?" I asked hesitantly moving over to where he was standing by the window. I glanced at him, noticing his clenched fist and disheveled hair, and moved to touch his shoulder when he moved abruptly.

I followed his movements warily, not knowing what to do. He had never acted in that manner before.

All of a sudden, Sherlock growled in frustration and kicked a book across the room, before tugging harshly on his hair. I jumped, suddenly afraid of the man before me.

"It's wrong. All wrong." He spat, his back still to me. I stared at him in confusion, wringing my hands and biting my lip, not sure what to say.

"Nothing adds up." He continued, pacing around the room.

"Sherl-"

"Shut up. I can't focus with your incessant prattling." He cut off rudely, still turned away from me.

I gaped at him in shock. Who was this man? He looked like Sherlock, but his behavior was that of a stranger. And it terrified me. And when I was scared I sometimes did stupid things. This was one of those times.

"What's wrong Sherlock? Why are you acting like this? How can I hel-"

"You can help, by leaving. Your presence is infuriating, and every second you stand there adds to my level of annoyance and decreases my patience." He said this as he swiveled un expectantly and was looming over me. I could see his eyes then and finally understood what was wrong.

"You've been using." I stated, swallowing to clear my dry throat. Sherlock sneered, stepping closer, until our noses were practically touching.

"Does that frighten you? Disgust you even? I expected it of someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"A woman. Always so judgmental, wanting to change everything about a person, yet wanting them to stay the same. A bit bipolar if you ask me." Sherlock said, a wild look in his eye.

I turned my head away, not wanting to look him in the face. Partly from fear, and partly because he was right.

"Though you would never admit to the fact, would you? You try to hide your flaws while pointing out mine. And you claim it is all in the name of love. Your affection is nothing more than abuse disguised in the form of soft words and gifts."

I scrunched my eyes, tears forming in them.

"Your tears won't faze me. I have no capacity to feel sympathy for you, or your fragile emotions. Now, if you don't feel the need to hear me insult you further, I would advise you to leave." He said lowly.

I opened my mouth to respond but he wasn't finished.

"I don't need nor want you here. Just seeing you reminds me how much of a nuisance you are, and how big of a hindrance. Go be distracting somewhere else."

The slap resonated around the flat.

My hand stung from the sharp contact, but I was too angry and devastated to care. I glared at Sherlock, my tears flowing freely now. He had his hand to his cheek, which had reddened, and was looking at me in disbelief.

"How dare you! I've done nothing but love and support you through all your antics and misfortunes! Even through all the insults and bullying, and long nights of crying myself to sleep, I still stick by you! All you do is push me away….." I yelled, my chest heaving.

The room was tomb silent. My heavy breathing could be heard as well as the buzzing city outside, but nothing else stirred. We stared at each other, neither of us moving or speaking, until Sherlock turned towards his chair tersely and swiped his coat, pulling it on in a flash.

I could only watch, as he swept out of the room without a word, his long coat trailing behind him. Once I heard the front door slam shut, I broke down.

My knees buckled from under me and I laid my head in my hands. I let out a strangled sob, my tears streaming down my cheeks, before staining my hands. You hit him. My mind chastised. You actually hit him. I shook my head, not wanting to believe it myself.

The squeal of tires brought me out of my thoughts. My head snapped up and without thinking, I rushed out of the apartment, my feet taking control of my body. Scenarios flashed through my mind, though one horrifying notion stuck the most.

Please no. Anything but that. I pleaded, making my way on the street.

A group of bystanders were crowded on the pavement, surrounding something. My heart skipped a beat at the thought that it could be what I feared. Shakily, I pushed my way through the crowd, praying that my assumptions were wrong.

My eyes found the coat first. Then the hair. I didn't dare to look at his face. Blood covered the pavement, turning the white snow a grisly red. I covered my mouth with my hands, dropping on my knees next to his body.

"Please. Don't do this to me. Leave me if you must, but not like this." I cried, cupping his face delicately. I found the courage to raise my eyes to his, hoping to find a glimmer of life in them. They only stared up at the sky vacantly.

"Sherlock, please, don't be dead. I love you." I sobbed, laying my head on his chest. Arms lifted me up then, which I fought, until I realized who it was.

I cried on John's shoulder as they wheeled the body into the ambulance, unable to control myself. I gripped his jacket tightly, like a life preserver, knowing it was the only thing that could keep me afloat.