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

Chapter Fifteen

Third Person:

Sherlock limped through the door of his flat. John would be asleep upstairs. He limped quietly to his bed and laid down, staring at the ceiling. Emily loved him. She had said so. Her words played over and over in his head. But not the words of her saying she loved him. No. The words that scared him.

Don't you ever come back here, Sherlock Holmes!

Emily's p.o.v:

I woke up on the couch. The telly was on, stupid me. It was the news now. They were focused on the fact that Sherlock had come back last night. He was walking out if his flat. They tried to ask him questions, but he wouldn't respond. He looked shaken up. Really shaken up. Probably because I'd just screamed at him last night. I shook my head and turned the telly off once Sherlock had faded off into the distance. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee.

I sat outside on my porch stairs. The cool morning air blowing my hair slightly, tickling my shoulders. I took in the smell of fall, winter was in its way. A shadow formed in the distance. I squinted to see who it was. And I knew the silhouette instantly.

"I thought I told you never to came back here." I said, standing up. I pulled my robe tighter around my body. "I need a doctor." Sherlock said. "You've got John. You seem to like him more than you like me." I stated. "He's at work." Sherlock shrugged. "What makes you think I'll help you?" I asked. "The puffy eyes, the fact that you have a picture of you and I as you background on you're phone. There are lots and lots of reasons, Emily." Sherlock said, limping up the steps. I shook my head and opened my door. "Go on, sit down. I'll be right in." I said. Sherlock nodded and muttered something that sounded like a thank you. I sighed and leaned back for a couple of minutes.

"Hold still, Sherlock." I told him, bandaging his leg. I had already done his wrist. I finished the wrapping and sat back. "Done." I sighed.

"You said you loved me." Sherlock said. I shot up and stared at him. "Why?" He asked. "I don't want to talk about it." I said, getting up. "Why?" Sherlock asked again. "I don't want to talk about it." I persisted, my cockney accent becoming more prominent

Sherlock didn't seem to notice. "Tell me why you said you loved me." Sherlock said. "Because I do, Sherlock! God damn, you don't get it do you? When someone says they love you, they love you. That's it!" I shouted. He made me so angry all the time and I was tired of it. I was done with his ignorance. "Alright." Sherlock said. I took his arm and pulled him up, not to gently though. "Ow!" He winced. I dragged him down the hall. "What are you doing, Emily?" He asked.

"Kicking you out....again." I said. "Emily!" Sherlock shouted at me. "Shut up." I said, not looking back. Sherlock took hold of my arm and pulled me back into him. "What the hell, Sherlock." I stated, looking up at him. "Just listen." Sherlock said. "I don't want to listen, Sherlock." I replied. "Please, Emily. Just listen." Sherlock pleaded. That's when I saw it. In his eyes. A flicker of emotion. More than a flicker, really. It lit up his entire face. "What do you want to tell me? What could you possibly tell me that could make me feel any better?" I asked. "Nothing." Sherlock shrugged.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" I shouted. "Let me go!" Sherlock shook his head. "Let me go, God dammit!" I shouted. Sherlock shook his head again. "Don't make me slap you, Sherlock. Because I will."

His face was close to mine before I even knew it.

His lips touched mine and I closed my eyes.