Expect The Unexpected {s.h x reader}

Chapter 3

(A/N: I do not own any writing from Sherlock. All credit is given to the writers of this amazing show. I am taking quotes from a transcript of the show by Ariane DeVere.)

I open my eyes looking at the ceiling of John's room. I look to my left at the window and it's still dark outside, the moonlight paving it's way through the room. I look to the right at his bedside table and digital alarm clock, reading: 3:01 AM. I let out a quiet sigh, and try to shut my eyes to rest. I can't shake the thought that's penetrating my thoughts every second.

The feeling of that bullet leaving my gun, the crash of the windows, the look of Sherlock's eyes when he realizes what happened. I can't shake the look of the cabbie's face when he realized he has been shot.

I can't shake the feeling of people taking pictures of me sobbing, not really caring what pain I'm being put through. The news reporters dying to ask me questions, despite my terrible state.

I can't shake the feeling of the milliseconds of comfort from Sherlock, which was very unexpected, knowing his reputation of being cold to everyone he meets. He's a friend of mine now, and I'm glad he thanked me for doing what I did. It made be feel just a little bit better when he hugged me, spoke to me softly, gave me a gentle look, and rubbed my back.

But then again, anybody would do the same for anybody.

I toss and turn once more, trying to find a position suitable for sleeping. I lay on my back, stomach, right and left side, just trying to find something comfortable. No success of course. I give up on trying, and quietly open John's bedroom door to the living room. I take a peak in the dark room, expecting to see John sleeping soundly on the couch. Instead, I see him and Sherlock wide awake, watching the telly in the dark. I walk out quietly and whisper to them.

"Boys, what are you doing up?" I ask them quietly.

"Y/N! Why are you up?" John asks, concerned.

"I couldn't sleep. Now answer my question." I say, smiling a little bit, and yawning. I was still standing in John's bedroom door frame.

"We don't sleep." Sherlock says, looking at the television like his life depends on it.

"This one keeps me up." John chuckles softly. I turn on a lamp next to John, so he doesn't strain his eyes, and roll my eyes. I walk to the kitchen, the telly lighting up the room. I turn on the gas stove, and put the tea kettle on.

"Do you have Chamomile?" I ask the boys, looking through cabinets and drawers. I come across one bottom cabinet, and I open it up. In it appears to be a goats brain in a yellow fluid.

"Yes, I think it's-" John starts to say, getting up before I cut him off.

"Is that a goat brain?" I ask loudly.

"Sherlock!" John says, turning around to face him.

"It's an experiment!" Sherlock says innocently, now flipping through different channels. I turn my back to look at him, and every time he flicks the channel, a new news reporter is talking about what happened at the college. I lightly sigh, and find a box of Chamomile tea in an adjacent cabinet John pointed out to me. I put the bag in a U.K flag mug, and pour the hot water. I sit down on the sofa with my hands tight around my mug, inhaling the steam and closing my eyes.

I open my eyes a moment later, to see Sherlock looking at the television, more specifically a news program. A woman is outside the college with a microphone in hand, talking loudly about the incident. You can see the yellow police tape surrounding the college. A picture pops up on the telly screen. It's a picture of me and Sherlock sitting on the ambulance, with the orange shock blankets around us. His arm is around me and I'm sitting with my elbows propping up my head on my knees. My face is down, and all you can see is my hands over my face.