Ginny sat out as rain fell from the dark sky. She had been walking the ground when the rain started to fall. Everyone but her ran inside to escape from the water as if it was acid. She found a nice bench in the middle of the grounds to sit as she stared into the pool of dark clouds about. Just for a time, she seemed at peace. Even with her white clothes becoming see-through and her hair becoming matted, she was at peace in the rain.
"Ginevra," a voice called out to her. She didn't need to turn to see her psychiatrist, Doctor Walker, coming her way. He had an umbrella in his dominant hand and a notebook and pen occupied in his opposite hand. She said nothing as he sat down next to her. He immediately regretted it as now his trousers were wet from the bench. "Do you want my umbrella?" he offered first, but she shook her head. She was always a quiet girl; she never spoke unless she had something to say. "What are you doing out here?" She paused for a moment as she considered her words.
"It's been a long time since I've felt the rain on my skin for myself," she breathed at as she inhaled the air with such vigor that Doctor Walker could see her enthusiasm for the rain he so hated. "I just thought it would be nice."
"You've had another visitor today," he told her hoping to get her to open up again. She seemed a bit off putted by her visitor, but she never lacked the ability to speak about him whether it was to damn him or praise him. "It was that young man again."
"Sherlock Holmes," she uttered. He had come to the asylum every day for two weeks, and still, she did not allow his company. It was not exactly that she didn't want to see him; she wanted to. She really did, but... he shouldn't want to, and she knew that. So she kept him away.
"Why do you not see him when he wants to see you?" Doctor Walker asked her. He has asked this question many times, and for many times, she had not answered. He wasn't sure she even knew the answer. She licked her lips as she looked for the answer.
"People like me make other's lives difficult," she replied quietly. "It's better we remain out of people's lives for their good. He will give up soon enough."
"He seems quite determined," Doctor Walker laughed. "I don't think he'll give up as soon as you think, and perhaps, that is good for you. Now," he slid off the bench, "I have sufficiently ruined a nice pair of trousers sitting next to you, and it was rather pleasant, but I think it's time for you to come in. You'll catch your death out here." She looked at him for a moment longer as if to challenge the statement before she pushed herself off the bench onto her feet. He happily lead her inside where nurses promptly gave her a dry set of clothes as well as a towel.
"Thank you," she mumbled before making her way to her single-bed room drying her skin off and changing into the stiff white clothing. It was nice to be out in the rain even if it was just for a little bit, she mused.
She allowed her bare feet to pad down the walls and steps to an art therapy room. There was a single staff member reading the newspaper inside the only colorful room of the hospital. Ginny hesitated at the door before clearing her throat. The employee gestured for her to come in as she pleased allowing Ginny to go to her easel by the window.
In front of the easel as her hands worked over the canvas. She ignored the noise around her as the strokes of her paint brush began to gather a picture of the world outside. She constantly glanced out the window to ensure she was doing the scenery some justice. All the while, she sung quietly and unintelligibly.
"That's quite beautiful," a voice told her making her jump, "but you're mumbling again. You know how I hate that." She paused in her seat and stared at the wall a moment. She would recognize that voice anywhere, and she just wanted to ignore him, but he wasn't a man that could easily be ignored no matter how hard she tried.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered before continuing her painting.
"Why?" he asked her making her slam down her paint brush on her easel in something of irritation.
"Because I make your life miserable," she answered in a huff staring at her painting as if it had done something wrong to her. "Look at what I did to Damon."
"You don't make my life miserable, Ginny," he assured her. "I wouldn't have gotten myself shot for you if you did. There would have been no point" She stood and left him to wash her hands at the sink in the art studio. She still didn't face him for fear of begging him to stay. It was Jen's memories and feelings she was experiencing. They weren't her own, she reminded herself. She hadn't experienced them.
"Come with me," she ordered quietly. She paused to look at Sherlock dressed in a white orderly's uniform. She sighed and shook her head as a smile played on her lips. Even if she was irritated with him, he still knew how to amuse her. "So that's how you got in, is it?"
"Right place, right time," he replied before they exited the art room into the hallways. He quickly observed her from the paint that managed to find its way to her cheek to her bare feet to her disposition. She was... much different than what he expected. Not that that was a bad thing. He expected someone who shared Jen and Raine's personality, but Ginevra was quiet. She didn't come off aggressive nor did she come off as passive. She came off as something else, and he could pinpoint it easily. She came off as a mother. She could be shrill when she wanted but quiet and wise when needed. However, that didn't mean Jen and Raine were both gone. He would have to wait and see the hints of each.
"You know the stage lost a fine actor, just as science lost an acute reasoner, when you became a specialist in crime, Sherlock," she mused. He listened to her feet tap against the floor as she walked. "You chose detective work… I always found it curious."
"You chose to be a psychiatrist. I find that curious considering they're all ill-suited for the job."
"You mean quacks?" she shot back with a smile. There they were.
"Yes," he replied making her smile again as he became infected with her smile. Ginny stopped and pulled open the door to the single bedroom. He stepped inside before she shut the door gently behind her. She gestured to the chair in the corner, and he gladly took it as she pushed herself into her bed with her back pressed to the wall and her knees huddled to her chest. She watched him warily as if she was waiting for him to attack her.
"Why did you come?" she asked, but it sounded like someone was stabbing her in the process.
"I want you to come home," he replied trying to ignore the tone in her voice and then ignored the audible wince she let out when he made his request. "Construction is done; everything is moved back including the dog." She shook her head at him, pity laid heavy in her eyes. "What? What is it?" he demanded.
"Home…? I don't have a home, Sherlock," she reminded him. "Jen's home was Baker Street, and Raine's was the manor. I have no home expect for the one in Braxton, but that's long since been inhabitable."
"Your home is Baker Street," he assured her, "where Mrs. Hudson is, Damon is, Myra is, Toby is, and John and Mary frequently are. It's where I am as well."
"Sherlock," she uttered shaking her head. "The things... the things you have experienced have been with Jen, not me. It's like... viewing her life from someone else's perspective. Her memories, her feelings are not my own."
"Ginny," he uttered quietly, "I want you to tell me you don't care for me." She was silent for a good long time making the air in the room dead. "If what you say is true, then you don't actually feel anything toward me, and I want you to tell me that."
"Sherlock," she winced, "don't do this."
"Why?" he asked her. "You asked me yes or no, so I'll give you the same option. Do you still feel the same way Jen did? Yes or no?" He watched as she seemed to try and decide between a truth and a lie. If he was honest with himself, he didn't know what he would do if she said no, but of course, she didn't.
"Yes," she muttered looking away from him. It might have been from a different prospective, but even from someone else's point of view, you can fall in love. It's the things they do; the way they act around the person they loved. She saw it all and formed her own opinion, so of course she was in love with Sherlock Holmes. "But you can't possibly love me. You don't know me."
"Then let me know you," he offered her. "People are easy to understand; it won't take me long to understand you." She seemed to consider his offer before she quickly shook her head.
"I can't go back," she told him quickly in a single breath. "It's too much."
"Ginny-" he started.
"I killed Missy; I killed Peter; I might as well have killed Lucy. I can't go back there. There are too many memories of a life that doesn't feel like mine." She begged him not to press this upon her.
"Then make memories of your own," he demanded of her as if it was simple, but it was never so simple. She learned that the hard way. She thought she could move passed everything, but she had been wrong.
"It's not that easy. What if I break again? What if I can't help it? What if I hurt someone? What if I hurt you or John or Damon or… or anyone? This is what I am, Sherlock." She breathed in and out at an erratic pace pushing herself off her bed as she began to pace back and forth. "You can't change that. Damon thought he could and look what happened." she was practically crying as she let out her frustrations. Panic etched itself into her face making her look ten times older than she was. "I couldn't bare if I was responsible for anyone else's death. I am ready to collapse, to just break down. I'm barely holding myself together as it as and... it's best if I'm shut off from everyone when it happens."
"It does not define you," he answered firmly standing and approaching her. He backed off, but he didn't let her go far as he gripped her wrists tight keeping her firmly in place. She struggled to get his hands off her as she refused to look at him as he argued against her. "This was a part of your life; it doesn't always have to be. You're stronger than that."
"I think you overestimate my worth," she snarled at him as she finally had the gall to look up at him in something of a challenge.
"I think you underestimate it like you always have," he answered trying to be gentle, but gentle wasn't his way. "You're problems started when you thought you couldn't handle your life, when you thought you were worth nothing, but you're not worth nothing. Ginny, come home."
"No," she told him standing firm on her position. She would not bend to him.
"Fine," he growled taking a step closer to her, so he was looming over her. "I can't make you do what you don't want to, but you've forced me to come here every day of my life until one of us is either dead or until you agree to come home."
"I'll tell the orderlies and nurses to look out for you," she warned. "I'll have you thrown out."
"Do you really underestimate my abilities to break into places?" he asked her in challenged before she scoffed.
"Do you really underestimate my acting abilities?" she acted
"Acting abilities?" he asked before she let out a piercing scream that made Sherlock drop her hands and cover his ears in irritation. The door to her room was thrown open and two orderlies looked to her, who was now crying, that manipulative woman.
"I don't know who he is," she panicked. "I don't know who he is. He's not an orderly; he's a stranger. He tried to touch me, and I-" Sherlock was pulled roughly from the room, and the door shut again leaving her to stare at the empty walls as a hundred emotion rage in her. She wasn't sure what she was feeling, or if those feelings were hers.
A/N: Ah, yes, I am short 300 words again, so if I find myself free to edit, I will post again Sunday, but I have a lot going on, so we shall see. I hoped you liked it.
Thanks to reviewers: TinkerbellxO, hannahhobnob, zare . downey . okumura, Defender93, and short-skirtbluescarf. Review please! I'll see you all potentially Sunday.