It's the next day. I have been waiting for the mailman all day. Not moving unless I have to use the resrroom. Sherlock and John gave up on getting me to move.
Soon, around noon, the mail came. And I got a package. I grabbed my mail once he left and rushed into my flat. I threw everything except for the small box and opened it hastily. Inside was a phone. Wait, a phone? I pulled it out and turned it on. My phone, not the one I got in the mail, started ringing. I picked it up and saw the caller ID. Sherlock.
"Hello?"
"(Y/n). Did you get your mail?" He asks anxiously.
"Yes."
"Hold on one minute." And with that he hangs up. I hear scrambling up stairs and heavy feet on the stairs, heading to my flat. My door bursts open and I see a heavily breathing Sherlock with a calm John behind him. "What is it?" He asks, out of breath like he just finished a marathon.
"A phone." I hold up the phone for him to see when it beeped, notifying us that it received a text. I opened the text to see something I didn't want to see again. His face, with a girl. The next picture was of the same girl, dead on the floor, with cuts all over her. That's not cause of death. There is a bullet wound right where her heart is. I tossed the phone over to Sherlock as I got up and went to my room. I closed and locked my door as I jumped on my bed, grabbed my pillow, put it over my mouth, and screamed bloody murder. I heard rushing footsteps come closer to my room and the door handle moved like the person trying to open the door's life depended on it.
"(Y/n)!" Sherlock's voice resonated through the door, a little muffled. I threw my pillow at my door, but, obviously, nothing happened. I grabbed the knife that I kept in my bedside table drawer and threw it at the door. It landed, blade first, in the door.
"(Y/n)?" This time it was John. Suddenly, everything clicked. That was supposed to be me. That's what he wanted to do to me 6 months into our relationship, but I managed to escape with a scar on my shoulder. I got up and unlocked the door. They threw the door open, embedding the knife deeper into the door. I dragged them in, closed the door, and grabbed a black tank top. It shows my shoulders, but nothing else. I went into my bathroom and took of my shirt, replacing it with the tank top. I looked in the mirror and saw the top of my scar peeking over my shoulder like a peeping tom. I put on my jacket and exited into my room. John and Sherlock were sitting on my bed, waiting for me to come out.
"I need to show you something." I said. They nodded, signaling me to go on. I took a deep breath and pulled my jacket off.
"Is that a scar?" John asked, seeing the tip of my scar on my left shoulder. I nod. I turned around and heard two gasps. I feel a hand trail my scar and I look over my shoulder. It was Sherlock.
"What happened?" The detective asked.
"He did this." I said, referring to the blond haired, brown eyed man in the picture. He just nods.
"So, he tried to hurt you? Why?" John said.
"That's what he does. He dates a girl for six months, them kills them. I manged to get away. I would have ended up like that girl in the picture if I didn't escape." I explained. He made me feel special, like I was the only one he would ever love. I would have been his first victim as well.
"He won't hurt you again. Not if I can help it." Sherlock whispered in my ear. The warm breath on my neck sent involuntary shivers down my spine.
"Thanks." I say weakly. Remembering him and what he did to me, I almost cry. It makes me scared. He is the only one that can do that to me. I feel a got tear roll down my cheek as I sit on the edge of my bed. John rubs my back as Sherlock comes to sit next to me. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his lap. I cry into his purple shirt as he rocks me back and forth. I hear the bedroom door open and close and Sherlock and I are alone. I continue to cry as he holds me close. He rests his chin on top of my head. I look up at him and smile a weak smile. He returns it and wipes my tears away as they fall. I lean up a and kiss him. A soft, quick kiss, but a kiss all the same. "Thanks." I whisper as I lean my head on his chest.
"Anything for you." He whispers back. He picks me up and lays me down on the bed. He then lays down beside me and pulls me close. We stay like that until I fall asleep in his warm embrace.
