Bookshelves (Sherlock x Reader)

•11•

3 weeks passed, and I had continued living in Sherlock's flat, hardly ever leaving my room, except to go to the bathroom and shower. I had built a small shelter out of books to hide myself from everything bad that was outside my room.
Sherlock entered my room, I'd often hear him pause outside, as if he was going to knock but instead he just stands there, silent. At night I'd hear him play the violin through the walls, it was always a sad and desolate sound, probably portraying how he felt.
John stopped by often, he'd come check on me, bring me supper, ask if I needed anything, my answer was usually a couple more books, which had begun to pile up in the corners.
"Morning, (Y/N)." He said cheerfully after he entered the room today.
"John." I acknowledged him. I pulled myself out of bed and walked to the window.
"(Y/N)... We're getting worried, you don't leave your room, you constantly read, it's driving Sherlock mad." John sat down on the edge of my bed, staring hopefully up at me. "How long will you hold a mistake against him?"
"Have you ever isolated yourself, John? For years?" I turned to face him.
"No, I haven't."
"Never, once in my life, have I felt anything for anyone. Sherlock was different, and maybe that gave me hope that I could have a somewhat happy life, but I was wrong." I growled, staring him down, feeling the shadow fall across my face. John stood, and nodded.
"Okay, but come out into the living room, just for a while, Sherlock's out on a case." John pleaded, giving a soft reassuring smile. I hesitated, this could be a trick, but I agreed and exited my room, moving swiftly into the empty living room. There was sheet music scattered violently across the floor, bullet holes in the wall, and his chair was kicked over. The sight left me unnerved, a part of me hated Sherlock, the other wanted to help him.
"That's what the fuss was last night." I commented, bending down to pick up his sheet music.
"Sorry about that, he was quite upset, case gone cold." John sighed, picking his chair back up from the ground.
"I don't blame him, it must be an irritating feeling." In that moment, I realized I missed talking to Sherlock, especially about his cases.
"He can't focus, he's always pacing about and muttering nonsense."
"Is that not like him?" I shrugged, placing the papers back on his music stand.
"Well it is, but this isn't about the case. Sherlock doesn't  really feel guilt, I don't think he knows what to do with it." He explained, sitting down where he usually sat.
"Well I hope he learns." I muttered coldly, sinking back onto the couch.
"Will you ever forgive him?" John asked, leaning back in his chair.
"I've forgiven him, John, but that does not mean I trust him again." I informed him, feeling a slight relief from admitting my forgiveness.
"Well that's a start. Maybe you could have dinner with us tonight? Fish and chips?" John shot me a look that could only be described as 'puppy eyes'. I grimaced at the thought, and immediately denied it.
"(Y/N), please. It'll be good for both of you, I won't tell him you're coming with us." John begged. I thought about it, Sherlock may be a jerk, but he deserved to know I had forgiven him.
"Yes, I'll join you both."
"Brilliant! Well I'll see you tonight!"
"I suppose so."