Haunted Holmes ➳ Sherlock x Reader

Go

"Sherlock!"

"Just go, Y/N...don't worry about me." Sherlock tells me, as he's bleeding from the bullet wound in his chest.

A gun drops from my hand.

"W-What have I done...?"

"Don't cry Y/N...it's okay."

"No, Sherlock -- don't leave me, please!" I cry.

"Hurry...before the police g-get you...live for me Y/N..." He croaks out dryly.

I stare at him one last time, before turning on my heel and running far away.

How could I do something like that...

HOW COULD I SHOOT HIM?

WHY DID I DO THAT?

Turn around, go back to him.

Why are you still running..?

STOP RUNNING.

. . .

STOP IT, NOW.

"Stop!" I gasp, sitting up quickly.

I rub my eyes -- they're wet with tears.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asks, quickly sitting up.

He's wide awake.

"Just a silly dream." I tell him, continuing to wipe my tears as I try to collect myself.

He quietly fixes an intense gaze on me, but my tears just won't stop coming.

"Shit..." I mumble, as they uncontrollably flood my face.

"It's okay, Y/N...come here." He tells me, extending his arms out sleepily for an embrace.

"N-No!" I whisper loudly, quickly getting off the bed.

He gives me an odd look.

"I-I'm fine." I tell him more calmly.

"Obviously you're not. Tell me what's wrong." He asks, slight irritation in his tone.

I bite my bottom lip and stare at him, as he waits for a response.

"I shot you...and ran away." I tell him slowly.

"Bad dream then?" He sighs, getting off the bed and walking towards me.

I stare down at the ground as he lifts my chin up to stare at him.

"Would you do that to me?" He asks, gazing into my eyes.

"Never." I answer.

"Then you have nothing to worry about..." He says softly, stroking my hair.

"There are so many things I have to worry about Sherlock, can't you see?" I brush his hand away from my hair and glare up at him.

"Like what?"

"Are you serious Sherlock? There's William, you, Moriarty, and...m-my drug."

"Sorry, what was the last one?"

"Nothing, I'm gonna go freshen up." I say, quickly running to the bathroom.

I've been enduring my craving for the drug all this time.

My custom drug.

It doesn't have a name -- it doesn't need one.

Moriarty was the only one who could supply me with it.

I quickly lock the door and start gagging and choking out nothingness in the toilet.

I need it.

I feel disgusting without it.

"Y/N?"

"What?" I croak.

"What's wrong, are you alright?"

"I'm okay!" I choke.

"Open the door, let me help you."

"No..."

I don't want him to see me like this...

"Y/N, open the door...NOW."

His voice becomes muffled, as he bangs on the door and yells for me to open it.

My vision becomes blurry, and I collapse onto the cold tiled floor, passing out.