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

Chapter Twenty-Three

I settled into his chair, straightening out my black, arrow print dress. I picked up my book and began to read. I read quite a ways before I heard something. A scream. I slammed the book down on the table and ran down the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I called, turning around the corner towards her flat. She was standing in the kitchen, looking lime she'd just had a heart attack.

"Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?" I asked, helping her into a chair. "I-I saw Sh-Sherlock." She mumbled, pointing to an open window. "T-that's impossible, Mrs. Hudson. H-he's dead." I stated quietly. "But I did. H-he's right there." Mrs. Hudson said, pointing exactly where I was standing. I froze, feeling someone's breath on my neck. Someone's hands on my sides.

"I see someone's taken a liking to 221 B." A deep and familiar voice said.

"It can't be. You're d-dead." I stammered, whirling around. A tall man with dark, curly hair faced me. His emerald-blue eyes looking straight into mine. "I-I saw your body on the ground. Y-you were dead." I stated, pulling away from him.

"I-I'll leave you two alone." Mrs. Hudson said, getting up and leaving.

I pushed him back slightly and back he came.

"Two years. Two god damn years." I barked at him. "You couldn't even bother to let me know that you were okay?" Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but I stopped him. "I'm sure you told John. I'm sure you told him to keep it from me. That fact that you were still alive."

"I didn't tell anyone, you were supposed to be the first one to know. Last night in the flat, I was going to tell you. But you pulled a gun on me."

"I'm contemplating the idea of pulling one on you now." I stated angrily.

"Emily, please, just listen. Will you please just listen?" Sherlock begged. "You can't just run off, Sherlock. Not after....not after what you said to me. Life doesn't work like that." I told him. "Emily, what I said was true. What I did was wrong, I know it was. But it was the only way I could save you." Sherlock said.

"You don't just pretend to kill yourself after you tell someone you love them! That makes it seem like their fault?" I shouted. Sherlock cringed. "Emily, I had to tell you. I didn't know what was going to happen." He said. "God dammit, Sherlock! You just don't understand!" I shouted, storming out if the room.

I slammed the door of my flat shut and locked it, sitting down in his chair. Sherlock's key slipped into the lock and I heard the tumblers click. He pushed the door open.

"That's my chair."

I laughed sarcastically.

"Sorry, sweetie, but you moved out."

Sherlock sat down in the chair opposite me and we sat in silence.

"I never moved out." Sherlock finally said. "Two years, you weren't here." I sighed. "Yes, well, I didn't expect John to give it away." Sherlock stated. "Well, boohoo. Life goes on." I replied. "What'd you do with all my stuff?" Sherlock asked. "Boxed it up, put it away." I said. "Where?" Sherlock asked. "Upstairs." I said. Sherlock stood up and started out the door.

"Oh no. Don't you think for one moment that I'm letting you move back in here." I said, following him. "Then I guess you'll just have to move out." Sherlock replied. "Not happening. This is my flat now." I said. Sherlock picked up a box and turned around.

"Then I guess we'll just have to share it." He said, walking down the stairs. I followed him quickly. "I'm not sharing a flat with you." I stated, anger showing in my voice. "That's your only other option, because I'm not moving out." Sherlock said. "I own this flat, Sherlock. I make the rules here." I said, walking through the door after him. He set the box down and turned to me. "Take your boxes and move them out of here." I told him. "My god, is there really only one way to shut you up?" He asked. "What the hell are you-?" Sherlock's lips were on mine.

He pulled back and looked at me.

"Are you going to say anything else?" He asked. My mouth formed words, but no sound came out. "Good."

•

"Where are you sleeping?" I asked. "I'm my room." Sherlock shrugged. "You've forgotten, that's my room. I own the flat." I said. "I'm not sleeping on the couch, if that's what you're saying." Sherlock said plainly. "I'm not sharing my bed." I replied. "You're forgetting, I bought that bed." Sherlock said. I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "Where's my violin?" Sherlock asked.

"In it's case, where it should be." I stated. "And where might that case be?" Sherlock replied. "Over by the bookshelves." I said. Sherlock hopped up and flipped the case open, pulling his precious violin out. He flipped it up onto his shoulder and started to play a sad melody. He wandered around my chair.

"You're not going to make me guilty." I sang. "I wasn't trying to make you guilty." Sherlock frowned. I clicked my tongue, "why do you always have to lie to me?" I asked. "I-I....you sound like....him." Sherlock stammered. "I do? Well, I guess you've pissed off more than one person." I said. Sherlock glared at me and continued to play.

"When are you going to tell John?" I asked. "Tonight." Sherlock replied. "Yeah, that's not going to go over well." I said. "And why is that?" Sherlock asked. "Because he's a bit....let's say....occupied." I told him. Sherlock set down his violin and frowned at me. "What do you mean by that?" He asked, sitting down. "You'll find that out for yourself."

"Go back to your thinking. I was enjoying the song."