Rosalie (BBC Sherlock Fanfic)

Chapter 5

(Rosalie’s POV)

     The next morning came fast. I fell asleep at almost the exact moment my head touched Sherlock’s pillow. I saw these sorts of visions, dreams that were very vivid. It took place in the forest, it was dark and even though it was a dream, I could feel the cold wind on my face. I saw a pair of legs; the black trousers were torn at the bottom. They moved towards me slowly. Right before I woke up, the right leg kicked me in the side, and then kicked my legs and arms repeatedly.

     I sat up quick, my arms hugging my chest. The door opens, and John runs into the room. 

     “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” He asks, speaking quickly and sounding worried.

     “Nothing, just a nightmare I guess.” I explain, wiping a tear from my cheek. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “Uhm, they were very vivid.”

     “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, walking over to me and sitting on the edge of Sherlock’s bed. I turn my head away from him, embarrassed.

     “No. It’s fine, I’m alright.”

     “Are you sure?”

     “Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “I guess I just need a minute to pull myself together.” I say, forcing a small laugh.

     John stood up, a look of concern on his face. “Well, alright. Come down when you’re ready, I guess. “

     When he finally leaves, I throw the blankets off me and sit on the side of the bed. My eyes are closed and I move my hands up to my face. What was that dream about? Was it even a dream? Maybe it was a memory. No, probably not.

     I take my hands away from my face and hold on to the edge of the bed. I should get up now. I think. As I stand up, I here a crashing noise downstairs. I turn my head, and read the alarm clock next to Sherlock’s bed. 7:00am?

     Or I could go back to sleep.

     When I finally wake up, I sit up and stretch. The alarm clock says 12:00pm, so I decide it’s time to go downstairs. My hands push on the edge of the bed as I push myself off of it. I start unbuttoning my top, but jump as I hear a voice behind me

     “Finally, your up.” It says. I spin around quickly and find Sherlock siting on the floor on the other side of the bed. “I’ve been waiting for three hours,”

     “What the hell Sherlock?” I shout. He stands up and looks at me, confusion on his face. I walk over to his side. “You almost gave me heart attack!” I punch him in the shoulder and he just stares at my hand.

     “Ah, you slept on your right side.”

    “Shut up! Now what do you want?”

    “Oh, yes, give me Johns phone.”

    “I don’t have it,” I reply, shaking my head. “Don’t you think John should have John’s phone?”

     “No, he left it with you on the bedside.” I turn and look, and sure enough there’s a phone in front of the alarm clock.

     “And you couldn’t be bothered to get it yourself?”

     “Nope.”

     I go over and get the phone, and hand it to Sherlock. “There, are you happy now?”

     “Satisfied, yes.”

    “Get out.” He leaves, closing the door behind him, and I continue to change clothes.

     When I get to the sitting room, Sherlock is in his chair staring at the wall. I’m pretty sure he isn’t even blinking. His eyes are looking at one spot, not wandering.

     “What are you doing?” I ask.

    “Thinking, shut up.” He snaps.

    I ignore his attitude and sit on the sofa, noticing I have a tremor in my hands. It’s probably just from the nightmare, I think. It’ll wear off soon. Sherlock jumps up from his chair, and I jump a bit, frightened by his sudden movement. He quickly turns to face me. “You screamed last night, why?” His tone was serious. He was demanding an answer.

     “Nightmare.” I answer him, confused.

     “Have you had any dreams since you arrived here?”

     “No.”

     “That wasn’t a dream.”

     “What?”

     “That wasn’t a dream,” He repeats. “That was a memory.”

     “How would you know?” I ask, and he gives me a look before he talks again.

     “When I was in your room earlier, you jumped when you heard my voice. After you came down, when I jumped up, you looked like you thought I was going to beat you. You have a tremor in your arms and hands. You’re eyes keep wandering around the room like your watching out for something dangerous and your eyes are wide open as if you’ve had a fright or you’ve relived a traumatizing experience.” He says, talking fast; not taking even a second to breath. “So there you go, you’ve had a memory now explain it to me.”

     “I’d rather not.” I say, shivering at the thought of that being a memory.

     “Rosalie, do you want to find out what happened to you?”

     “Yes, but-“

      “Then explain it to me.”