Pretty Stranger...Why Are You Following Me? (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Thirteen

(The beginning is kind of like a diary entry, but it's not one. Just filling you in.)
~ Madeline Holmes
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So....

It has been two months and....

Sherlock and I....

Don't....

Talk....

Anymore....

Not since I....kissed him. This makes me extremely uneasy. First, he didn't talk to me in person, but he texted me. Then, he stopped texting and talking to me all together. John was the one who has to tell me that they needed me on a case. Soon, I fear, Sherlock won't let me on any of the cases. Soon, I fear, I won't be part of his life anymore. And that-that makes me scared. Sherlock being part of my life has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. And now, I just sit in my flat, waiting for a case so I can see him. Thinking....about how to fix this.

It's been two months....and I miss Sherlock Holmes more than I miss my mother.
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I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing madly. I picked it up quickly, almost dropping it. It was John. At three in the morning? What could this be about?

"John, what's up?" I asked quickly.

"Sherlock," John panted. Had he been running? "Sherlock is missing."

My eyes widen and I fumbled for words. "W-what happened?" I asked. "It's not important." John said. "Is he with you?" He asked. I suddenly turned cold. "Why the hell would he be with me?" I spat.

"If he was at my flat I wouldn't be asking what happened, now would I?" I was angry at the question. Probably because I wanted Sherlock to be here more than anything. More than I wanted my mother back. "Just," John panted. "Can you get over to the flat? I'll meet you there." And he hung up. A beeping sound was all that remained. I didn't even get to answer.

I got up and threw on a black t-shirt and some light wash, ripped jeans. Throwing on red and black flannel over it. I pulled on a pair of combat boots and snatched up my keys. I bolted out the door and down the road. I was scared out of my mind. Beyond belief. For all I knew, I could be crumbling away inside.

I arrived at two-two-one B Baker Street in a matter of minutes, but it felt like hours. I kept my eyes peeled for any sight of a man with curly black hair and emerald-blue eyes. Any sign of a trench coat with the collar turned up and a scarf draped over it. But there was nothing. I burst through the door, Sherlock hadn't taken my key. Thank God for that.

Mrs. Hudson and John were sitting in the flat. "Did you phone the police?" I asked hurriedly. "Yes," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "But they wouldn't do anything about it." I nodded and sat down, my head in my hands. Yes....I was on the brink of tears. "It'll be alright, dearie. Sherlock'll come home soon enough. Like a dog, runs away for a couple days, but he always finds his way home." Mrs. Hudson said, patting my back. I looked up at her, anger in my eyes.

"But Sherlock's not a dog!" I shouted, now crying. Mrs. Hudson looked completely frightened. "H-he's the man I love." I cried, wiping off my face and standing up. "I'm going home. I need sleep, I've got work in the morning. Call me of you find anything." I said, slipping out the door. I shut it and then leaned back. I'd really just told them that Sherlock was the man that I loved.

Well, John had probably deduced that. But Mrs. Hudson believed that John and Sherlock were a couple.

I proceeded to drive home and lay down in my bed. I cried myself to sleep.