Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

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TW: PTSD/Flashbacks

Despite my ominous actions, Sherlock followed me without once questioning me about my brother. I would never tell him, but I deeply appreciated his silence, it gave me some time to think about all that had happened, and all that may happen.
I pushed open the squealing door to my flat, gazing into the pitch black room. I flicked on the light, and made my way over to the bookshelves.
"I'm sorry." I stopped, turning to face the man who never apologized for anything, as far as I had heard.
"What?" I stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief.
"I'm sorry, (Y/N)... I have disturbed your mind, I can see it in your eyes, the fear you have towards me." Sherlock' gaze held my own. I had never expected a claimed sociopath to apologize to me for making me uncomfortable.
"I'll be fine, Sherlock." I smiled faintly, turning my back to him.
"You suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, your legs are trembling, your voice is higher pitched, and judging by the clutching of your right hand, you've dealt with it before. Your brother is a trigger subject, he has done something awful enough to you, that you live in secrecy, hidden from the world in a flat... I can see that, and I want you to become my client." Sherlock stepped towards me, but I flinched away as soon as he got close.
"Client?" I couldn't keep the shock from my voice.
"Yes, I can help you-"
"Since when does a sociopath care about helping people!?" I demanded, my fear coming out in uncontrollable anger, I couldn't even stop the tears rolling down my cheeks.
"I help people everyday." Sherlock stared me down, his eyes calm and cold.
"For a high." I shot back, my words spitting out like venom.
"Does that change the fact that I save people's lives instead of hiding in a library!?" Sherlock shouted, his dark gaze sent me into a spiral of fear. I felt my trembling legs buckle underneath me, and I hit the floor. I placed my head in my hands, sobbing wildly. I heard Sherlock shift away from me into the kitchen. I felt like I couldn't breathe.
Shaking-
"I thought I killed you."
Trembling-
Why is the air-
Blood. Burning, hot pain, searing through my throat. Stabbing.
Thin-
Help-
"Die already!"
Me-
I stared up at the bloody face, eyes wide with hatred, and pure madness, help me, help me, he's going to he's going to kill-

Help-

I felt something damp and warm on the back of my neck, and a cup being placed in my hands. I lifted my gaze hesitantly to a patient looking Sherlock, who sat against the wall across from me. I attempted to take a few deep breaths before sipping at the lemon tea he had retrieved me.
"I needed to see how bad it was." Sherlock whispered, staring calmly at me. I couldn't speak, so I just nodded slowly in acceptance.
For the next period of time, we sat in silence as I calmed down. My chest ached from my fast beating heart, and my head was thudding from anxiety.
"Why are you still here...?" My voice came out shrill and weak.
"I don't want you to get hurt, so I'm staying to make sure you're safe, especially from your brother." Sherlock's eyes grew cold once more.
"You can't stay here forever." I muttered, rubbing my eyes tenderly.
"No, but for tonight you'll be safe." He surprised me with a faint smile.
"My hero." I mimicked a damsel in distress pose, earning a soft chuckle from the strange man.

Sherlock went home the next day, asking me to come over tomorrow at lunch for our first deducting session. I sighed, cleaning up the shelves, and dusting the counters. After taking a bath, and putting on an oversized hoodie, I returned to my reading.
My mother entered the flat around 2:30, to find me still reading contently in a corner, enjoying some time to myself.
"You look happy, (Y/N)! The neighbours said you came home late though." Mother smiled, making her way to the kitchen, bags of groceries in her arms.
"I am happy, this book was a good choice." I stared at the pages with admiration, before turning to face my mother.
"Oh... Well I guess that's something." I could here the disappointment snaking through her voice, but chose to ignore it. "Honey, I know you love books, and the organization you've built is wonderful- but you need to build a life for yourself." Her eyes softened as she gazed at my small form, huddled up in the comforts of my chair.
"I have a life, I run a successful charity, a flat of my own, and I'm going to Sherlock's flat tomorrow so he can teach me about deductions." I informed her, turning back to my books.
"That's all fine dear, but what about a husband, and a college degree?" She sat down in the chair to my right. Irritation rested upon my shoulders as she suggested such stupid ideas.
"I'm not even close to interested in getting married, and college is far too far away from my flat." I snapped, closing my book abruptly.
"I know dear- I've spoken to the neighbour, he has a lovely son about your age-"
"You're not arranging my marriage!" I cried as I placed the book back in it's spot.
"I'm making a future for you, his son knows about your oddities and he's okay with helping you-"
"I'm not broken, mom!"
"You're far from normal!" She retorted, gazing spitefully at me.
"I'm fine." I growled, storming towards the kitchen.
"You're not fine! You're a hermit who hides in her house, terrified that your stupid brother will come out and expose what you were, what you are!" Mother shouted. I froze, staring silently at the wall before me.
"Say it." I snarled, not turning to face her.
"What?"
"Say what I am." My voice lowered with rage and hatred. Mother stared coldly at me, before stepping closer.
"You're a freak. A freak who locked your brother away because you couldn't handle the truth." She hissed. "You couldn't handle that I loved him more."
The next thing I knew, mother was on the floor, and I stood there, shaking my sore fist as I turned and walked out the door.