Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

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Just a quick Authors note, the reader in this does suffer from PTSD, so from now on, there will be mentions of flashbacks, and if there are any extremely triggering topics, I'll point them out before they arise-

I stared uncomfortably at the door knocker in front of me. I was never really good at approaching people. I wondered if Sherlock would turn me away, when he found me standing on his doorstep, cold and nervous.
The door opened abruptly-
"(Y/N)?" John cried, stepping towards me.
"H-hi John." I waved nervously. His eyes softened as he lead me inside.
"What are you doing out there? It's freezing, Christmas Eve." He rambled, going on about the fact that I had no coat or luggage.
"I punched my mom." I stated, leaning against the warm walls of the staircase.
"What!? Why?" John stopped on the stairs beside me. His eyes were large with concern, hair in disarray, and not wearing something that he would usually wear to go to town. I scanned him; confirming my beliefs of the unhealthy sidekick character.
"She was being unkind." I shrugged, not meeting his sharp gaze.
"Al-" Sherlock cut him off before he could respond.
"Nice to see you again, (Y/N)." The gentleness in his voice caught my heart off guard. I stared up at the curly haired man, his cold blue eyes had faded to a soft, caring stare.
"Er... It's nice to see you too, Sherlock." I smiled softly, running my fingers through my hair.
"Come upstairs, Mrs.Hudson will bring you some tea." He gestured up the stairs behind him. Slowly, I followed him up to the flat. He opened the door, nodding to a chair in the centre of the room. I sighed, entering the foreign flat. My heart pounded as I gazed around the new place.
"Sherlock, I'm going to get some groceries, I'll be back in a little while." John called from downstairs, before going out the door.
Sherlock sat down in a chair, by the window, I stood beside the chair in the centre of the room, taking everything in. The knife above the dusty fireplace, the ox head with headphones, large drapes that overlooked the streets.
"Sit." Sherlock's eyes scanned me curiously. I did as he asked, watching his expression change throughout the different stages of his observation.
"I didn't hit her hard." I murmured.
"Your fist says different." He pointed to my bleeding hand, as if on cue, I could feel the pain pulsing through it.
"She called me a freak." I scowled, looking over at Sherlock. His eyes narrowed, as he turned and looked out the window. The silence frightened me, Sherlock was never this quiet for this long. "Maybe she's right." I shrugged, slumping over and placing my head in my hands. My chest ached with rage and hurt, I could feel every inch of me screaming out for aid, for my mother to apologize so I didn't have to be here alone. My teeth dug deep into my lip, until it drew blood.
Hold it together, no one likes an emotional wreck. I warned myself.
"Oh poor dear, you look exhausted!" A kind feminine voice caught my attention. A small, curly haired woman stood in the doorway, holding a tray of tea and biscuits. "Were you being harsh, Sherlock?" She turned her attention to Sherlock, with a scolding, motherly tone.
"N-no, he's been fine." I came to his defence, terrified that I had gotten him in trouble with his mother.
"You let me know if he bothers you." She pulled a small table over, with a cup of tea and biscuits. I gazed hesitantly at the biscuits, before taking the cup in hand, drawing a gentle sip of the warm contents inside. Once I finished, the woman was gone.
"Your mother seems lovely." I commented, staring after her.
"Mother?" Sherlock looked amused, he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.
"She's not your mother? She seems very caring." I smiled, sipping my tea once more.
"That, she is. She's our landlady, but she acts like family." Sherlock explained.
"Well I'll take her for a mother any day." I smirked lightly, placing my cup on the mahogany table.
"Im sure she'd be thrilled." Sherlock grinned slightly, but his expression became solemn again. "Your mother, I knew there was something off about her." Sherlock's eyes narrowed with frustration.
"About her? I'm the one she always said was 'off'?" I cocked my head eagerly.
"What did she say to you, what were her exact words?" Sherlock's eyes met mine, they were filled with a strange fierocity.
I recited word by word what my mother said, portraying the emotions shown in both of us, and by the end, I was panting, tears brimming in my
(E/C) eyes.
"The therapists all diagnosed you with something, yes?" Sherlock gazed curiously at me.
"Yes, depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and Avoidant personality disorder." I muttered, I hated those therapists, they always prodded at me for more information.
"Why would she bring in more, if they already knew what you had?" Sherlock paused, bringing his hands together, into an almost prayer formation.
"She sees me as inferior, maybe she was worried her pet project was sick." Each word I spoke dripped with hatred, casting a dark aura around me.
"Or she was trying to find a reason to send you away, if you were proven mentally unstable, they may look at your claims differently." Sherlock suggested. "What exactly did your brother do-

I tuned out.

Bright flash-

Oh god, keep running, we'll get out of here soon.

Screaming, why is there so much screaming?

Where did she go? Where did-

"Look at me." Sherlock's voice pulled me back. His face blurred into view. I was crumpled on the floor, my knees to mt chest, nails dug deep into my shoulders.
"I'm sorry." Shame bubbled up from inside of me, I was absolutely humiliated thay he had seen me breakdown twice.
"You talked during your episode, you don't have to explain what happened." Sherlock informed me.
"W-what did I say?" I peered up at him hesitantly.
"Enough for me to understand what your brother did." His eyes flashed with anger, but somehow I knew it wasn't directed at me. "I'm going to have John fetch your things, you can stay here, I'll teach you deductions like I promised." Sherlock smiled gently. My heart soared at that smile, it was so genuine and calming.
"I don't want to intrude." I whispered, gazing at the floor.
"Intrude? You're giving me the chance to prove I'm smarter, I wouldn't call that intruding." His eyes gleamed with amusement.
"I suppose I'll have to prove you wrong." A chuckle came out involuntarily. Sherlock smirked, sitting down beside me.
"We'll see."

Five chapters down, also listen to the song, its absolutely amazing!!