BBC Sherlock Imagines (Book 2)

Sherlock: Scars (Part 2)

A day later you were released from the hospital. You had been lucky enough to be sent to St. Bart's considering your house was only a 30 minute drive away. "Okay so just make sure you apply the ointment to all of your scars. And if anything starts hurting or oozing something, call me."

"Thank you Molly," you said with a stiff nod. She gave you a tight lipped smile.

"And if you ever need anything else... A friend, a shoulder to cry on, advice, just give me a call. Seriously."

You nodded stiffly again, not trying to show how moved you were by this act of kindness. "Than-" You were cut off by Molly stepping towards you and giving you a friendly hug. You froze, not because the physical affection shocked you, but because the pain that erupted around your body at the slightest touch; it left you paralyzed. You moved your arms to hug her back and fire spread wherever your arms touched. You tried not to show pain, not wanting to make her feel bad, but you couldn't help the deep red shade of your face and the sweat on your brow. When she pulled away she observed all this.

"Oh (y/n) I'm sorry, I forgot about-I uh-"

"It's okay," you assured her with the sweetest smile you could muster. "That was very nick- Uh I mean nice... Nice of you.. Now uh, I have to gone- Uh I mean go. Thanks again." You slipped out the door quickly and immediately face palmed. You couldn't even thank a friend for a hug without sounding like an idiot.

You continued on your way, taking the elevator down to the first floor and getting ready to brace the real world once again. You were steps from the front door, you could see through the glass the world going about itself at its usual fast pace. Eager to rejoin it, you stepped forward, reaching your hand out to the push open the door, but you stopped when your sleeve slid up and revealed the scars that littered your arms.

You snapped your arm back, holding it tightly against your body so no one could see it although no one was around. With arms like yours you didn't know how you would return to society, or how you would ever wear t shirts and shorts again. "Miss, can I help you with something?" asked an older, good looking doctor from behind you.

"Uh, no, sorry," you mumbled as you flew out the door and tugged your sleeves down as far as they would go.

~

It was now two hours till Sherlock was to pick you up and your whole closet now lay on your bed divided into two piles: clothes that covered up your body and clothes that would show your scars. You picked up a dress from the "show scars" pile and slipped it on. It was your favorite dress, well it had been. The material fit the curve of your body and complimented your skin tone and eyes. You sighed sadly as you realized you would never wear it again. Maybe I should frame it as a memoir to my past life.. Your phone buzzed, interrupting your thoughts. It was Sherlock.

Plans changed, must find a serial killer at 7. Can I pick you up now?

Your eyes widened in fear. Now? You quickly typed back yes, not wanting to have to reschedule, and threw on a nice pair of dress pants and a long sleeved, flattering blouse. Thankfully you had already done your makeup and hair, so you were ready to go when the detective walked through the front door of your flat. You walked out the greet him, then remembered something - wasn't the door locked?

"How did you get in? I thought I locked the door."

"Oh you did, but it's so much easier to unlock it myself than knock. Wouldn't want to get splinters in my knuckles now would I?"