Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

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"Rhys." I stared at him horrified, body felt like stone, carved into the floor.
"It's been far too long." His wicked grin sent shivers down my spine. He stepped forward, the power in his step made me feel weaker and weaker.
"Get out." My voice came out as less than a helpless squeak, like a mouse. I took a deep breath, shaking.
"What was that?" Rhys hovered over me, his eyes flashing with rage.
"Y-you can't b-b-be here." I whimpered, trying to back up, feeling the wall behind me.
"Why not, will someone stop me?" His voice came out in a dangerous whisper, making me freeze-
"(Y/N) can you come help with the groceries?" John called from downstairs. Rhys hesitated, looking away for a moment. I pushed forward, shoving him away from me, but he was two quick. With a swift moment, he tossed me onto the floor, knocking the wind from me.
"(Y/N)?!" I heard John shout, his footsteps thundering up the creaky wooden stairs. I laid back on the floor, my head spinning. My back throbbed violently, sending waves of pain through my body.
"(Y/N)!" Sherlock cried, I could hear him bolt across the room.
"I-I'm- Rhys- He was-"
"Shh. She's having a panic attack, Sherlock." John informed him, I knew he was right, but I didn't want to seem weak.
"I'm-" Sherlock lifted me up in his arms, bridal style, and carried me to his room. I pressed my head into his chest, shaking. Slowly, I felt myself being placed in his bed. I took a deep breath, trembling as I pulled the covers over my ears. The blankets smelled like Sherlock, and for whatever reason, this soothed me.
"He was here." I heard Sherlock growl to John, just outside the door. "He hurt her, he made our home unsafe for her." His voice was dripping with a deadly anger, one that struck terror in me.
"Sherlock, he's gone, we'll call Lestrade-"
"Lestrade is useless!" Sherlock roared, making me jump. I heard him pause, and the door creak open. "Dearest, (Y/N), I'm sorry..." Sherlock crossed the room, and sat on the bed beside me.
"It's okay." I rolled over, looking up at him.
His eyes softened.
"No, it's not. My anger has taken the best of me, and I frightened you." I felt his hand grip my own. "I do not experience the human emotions you do, the fear you do, or I thought I didn't until I realized what losing you would feel like. You and John are the two most important people in my life, my dear. Forgive me." I could see the honesty welling up in those brilliant eyes. I laid there, frozen with disbelief, before shooting up and wrapping my arms tightly around him.
"I forgive you, Sherlock." My voice cracked as I spoke. "Never before has a man made me feel at home, only books. You're real and that means everything could be, and I will always be grateful for that." I whispered. Sherlock held me there for a long moment, before pulling away. His hand gripped the bottom of my chin, pulling it upwards to look at his face, half of it cast in shadow, the other half brightly lit by the sun streaming through the window. My heart hammered in my chest, I knew this moment, I knew it all too well from every romance novel I crammed into my brain, my guilty pleasures. His lips ghosted on my own, teasing me with such anticipation, wondering if he would seal this moment with absolute perfection.
But he pulled away.
"Forgive me." Was all he said, before standing, and exiting the room.

SORRY FOR BEING DEAD, I WAS SICK AND THEN STRESSED AND THEN EXAMS AND THEN VACATION BUT HERE