Sherlock x Reader

Cat and Dog.

You stayed in the back room until the knocking on the door became frantic. Your fist had already developed dark bruises and the blood had congealed on your knuckles. At least you remembered to keep your thumb outside your fist, otherwise you could have broken it. Your feet were pained as well from the kicking. Now that you'd stopped with your angry outburst, you just felt tired. You were too tired to think, too tired to go home. But the person outside the door seemed to want you to get out so pushed yourself off of the floor, your hands protesting. Before you got out, you looked into the mirror again. Your hair was messy, your eyes dull. You turned away and got out. It turns out that you hadn't gone unnoticed. All you could hear was a murmur going round the cafe, and not the usual loud, chit chat. You saw faces looking in your direction, some looking at you as though you were crazy. Maybe they heard you punching the wall. You didn't even care. Aaaaaand there was your manager, walking up to you. Great. 

"So ______, I think it's a good idea to take today off. And maybe the next few days as well. We just can't have outburst like this here." You nodded slowly. 

"I understand. I'm sure I'll be better in a couple of days." You noticed how your voice seemed to have a lowered an octave, sounding devoid of life. Well, it matched your eyes. You got your coat from your little locker and left.  

You didn't go back home straight away. You just walked around for a bit. Although, your watch seemed to think 'a bit' meant 4 hours. Some people might have gone to the pub and drank their problems away but that didn't seem to do it for you. Drinking impaired all your thoughts, as you found out from the time you got dumped by the one person who you though would never leave, that jerk faced, lying scumbag asshole- 

Dammit. Your mind would decide to bring that painful memory back at the worst times. You looked up to see your feet had taken you to the park. It was mostly empty, apart from some teenage boys trying to look tough by smoking and shouting profanity at passing old people. You sighed. There was nowhere else to go and you couldn't go back to your apartment. Not just yet. You header over to the swings and sat down. At least the hinges had been oiled, so the swings dint make any horror-movie, creaky sounds. 

"What are you doing here?!" 

You assumed those teenagers hasn't noticed you but apparently they had. You heard them coming towards you now and you stood up. Looked up at them and took your hands out of your pockets. Sissy boys trying to look tough get scared once they see blood. Even if the blood on your knuckles had turned into a dark brown. But your hand was still a dark bruise, a reminder of uncontrolled anger. There were four of them. Only one looked like he did a sport of some sort and the rest were your typical hair-gelled-up, chino-wearing, douchebags.  

"What's wrong? Did your mummies kick you out of the house? Did your nursery class leave you here?" They weren't even good comebacks, but it was fun taunting them.  

"Ooooh, pulling out a knife are you? Yeah, that really makes you look tougher," you said, starting to circle them, their eyes following you. "Too bad none of you bothered to pay attention to biology." Just as you finished your sentence, you grabbed one of the boys' lapel and put pressure on a nerve that knocked him out. As the boy fell, you realised how tired you were. Your earlier outburst must have drained you more than you thought and you knocking the guy out sent pain shooting into your hand. But you saw another one balling his hand into a fist so you quickly punched him in the face. But it was too much for your hand. He fell down but the impact made you black out momentarily. And you resurfaced just to see the knife leaving your abdomen, glistening with dark red blood. You keeled over, onto your knees, your other hand desperately trying to staunch the wound. The boy you punched in the face had gotten up, clutching at his bleeding nose. Serves him right.  

"You really shouldn't have done that, you slag."  

You saw his foot go back.. And felt the kick at your side, right at the knife wound. But you couldn't scream. Pride enabled you to only grit your teeth and shiver with pain. You saw the foot go back again.. And stop. Someone was shouting at them. You heard running and cries from the boys as they received what was probably a hard punch. Generally, you didn't like to be the damsel in distress but maybe you could make an exception in this case. You tried getting up but slipped and landed on your bruised hand. You heard running towards you. Just one pair of footsteps. Good. You saw a gloved hand extended to you and you gratefully grabbed it. This person pulled you up easily and you looked at them to find out who they were.  

No. 

Oh god no. 

"Are you alright ______? Well obviously you're not, considering you've just been attacked but it is considered polit-" 

"What. Are. You doing here. Sherlock." You managed to hiss a sentence through your teeth, still gritted to keep you from screaming from the pain. 

"Well, it's actually quite simple. I could explain but I doubt your pain riddled body could let you focus on thinking. I'll explain when we get to the hospital, now if you just come with me-" 

"No!" You pulled your hand away from his, glaring into his pale eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I don't need your help!" You turned and started walking away, though each step felt like your side was being bludgeoned with a sledgehammer. You could hear him walking after you and you started running. You heard him shouting after you. You didn't care. You could feel the blood streaming down your leg but you kept running, out of the park and into the seemingly deserted road. Frantic shouting now. 

You didn't care. 

You didn't care.

You didn't look.