221c - A Sherlock Fanfiction

Allison

Hey guys, it's Lai. Thank you so much for all the reads! (I wouldn't mind a few votes or comments though.) Anyway, this is a super long section, but it's kind of a super important one, so please bear with me and read it all the way. Thanks so much, you guys are the best!

If I could say one thing, it would be that I was not expecting Sherlock to kiss me. He was certainly one of the most unpredictable people I had ever met. That was, I guess, the thing he prided himself in. Unpredictability.

That was one week ago. I was sprawled out on my sofa, trying to sleep. Insomnia had been my plague these last few days. I couldn't sleep no matter what I did. Sherlock had disappeared, and I was afraid of where I would find him if I did. Mycroft had been texting and calling me nonstop, and it was insanely annoying. I hated talking to him. He made Sherlock look like and idiot, and Sherlock made me look like an idiot. I made normal people look like idiots. Now maybe you understand why I hate talking to Mycroft.

My phone pinged. "Ugh Mycroft! Leave me alone!" But the text wasn't from Mycroft. It was from John.

Hey, Ally, have you seen Sherlock at all?

No, I thought maybe you had.

No. have you tried contacting Mycroft?

No. He, however, has been contacting me nonstop.

Oh

Yes. It's insanely annoying.

I sympathize

I read his last text and threw my phone across the room and it landed on my chair. "Gah!" I cried, and Mrs. Hudson came in.

"Dear, are you alright?"

"No!" I flipped over, pulling my blanket about me.

"What's the matter?"

"He kissed me, and leaves! Who kisses and leaves!?"

"He kissed you?!" She exclaimed, a little more shocked than anything else.

"Yes." I murmured. "It was nice."

"I thought, well never mind what I thought about him. He has a couple of bolt holes."

"Checked 'em all."

"Seriously?"

"Mhm. My theory is that he keeps moving. Every time I check one, he moves."

"Valid theory. So he kissed you?"

"God, Mrs. Hudson, are we still talking about this?" I snarled, flipping over further on the sofa. I couldn't help but feel immensely sorry for myself. I was in love with a total flake. Great.

Wait.

What did I just think?

In love?

With a flake?

He was a flake. And I was in love. God, the very thought made me even more depressed. I didn't open up. I didn't let people in. I stayed closed off from the world. I couldn't get hurt this way. I barely noticed Mrs. Hudson leaving.

I snarled at the air, angry at everyone. I hated feeling helpless. This was almost as bad as being bored.

I grabbed my gun off of the low table, spinning it in my finger, the crook of my finger hooked around the trigger loop. Suddenly I stopped swinging, and began to attack the wall with a barrage of bullets.

When I had tired of filling the wall with lead, I let out a huge, depressed sigh. I began to think about the subject of my depression, the consulting detective, and began to cry. I pulled my knees into my chest and rocked back and forth on the sofa, sobbing. I disgusted myself. I hadn't cried since my dog died when I was fifteen. And yet here I was, crying like any other broken heart.